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buckets-and-trees · 3 months

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The Only Way of Knowing You [Nick Fowler x Reader]

Title: The Only Way of Knowing You Characters/Pairings: leshy!Nick Fowler x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: When you visit a cabin, you're drawn more and more to the forest, the flora and fauna, and a handsome stranger you cross paths with in the woods.

Content Warnings: explicit smut - nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse, initial consent to questionable/dubious consent ending, kidnapping, intimidation, implied stalking and explicit stalking, human to monster transformation, monster fucking

Logistical Notes: Very belated, but this is my addition to the Enchanted Birthday Fest and my humble gift to all of you who come around and read what I write. Incorporating Mania (obsessive love - stalking) for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love challenge. Thank you @goldylions and @sgt-seabass for blasting this with your beta energy. It certainly benefitted from your poking, prodding, and polishing.

Narrative Notes: There's a lot of leshy lore that's evolved over time since differing versions existed across Europe and you've got modern media takes. I took pieces that stuck out to me as I combed through. The most significant trait I adopted was that a leshy king could shape shift into human or animal and would adopt disguise to hide, adapt, or even lure people into the forest.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You gasped and stopped on the trail.

“A dog,” you whispered to no one but yourself, a grin splitting across your face.

The wilderness of the forest around you rose into a small, banked ridge on the left. You had only just heard the rustle of leaves that drew your attention over to that side to see the creature. You couldn’t tell the breed for sure – all dark fur, pointed ears, looking something between a husky and a wolf – but with him being so calm and willing to come this close to the path when he’d undoubtedly heard you walking, you assumed he couldn’t be too wild or feral. He had piercing blue eyes that locked with yours.

You were so tempted to try to call him over, but if he was wild, it was probably better not to, and if he belonged to someone, you didn’t want to lead him away from where he needed to go.

So, after another beat, you continued along your path.

After the four hour drive to your destination with some of the team from your office, as soon as you had unloaded and eaten lunch, you had been eager to get away to stretch your legs and to have some time away from everyone else, and you had some time before the rest of the team arrived for the work retreat your boss had put together. You had six days of training, strategizing, and team bonding ahead of you with a professional consultant and facilitator flown in who had built the agenda. There were breaks built throughout the day, and as you set off for this first walk, you imagined both the physical movement and the time away from the group would help keep you focused, energized, and from actually strangling your co-worker Rachel who regularly burst into song during casual conversation.

You saw the dog again as you took the same path the next day when your group took a mid-morning break. This time, he walked alongside your path, keeping his distance off to the side, but only kept pace with you for about five minutes before wandering off.

You were hopeful to see him when you headed out in the afternoon.

But instead of the dog, you encountered a man in almost the same area, approaching you on the path.

The man was dressed in sturdy hiking boots, dark jeans, a dark green flannel over a white shirt, and a tan jacket over that. He was tall, well-built, with short brown hair, and entirely too handsome a person to encounter in real life, especially with his devastatingly blue eyes – eyes that were the same color as the dog.

You groaned internally for comparing his eyes to the dog’s.

“Hello,” he said, nodding at you a few paces before you were about to pass each other.

“Hello,” you managed to return – it was mostly automatic, but the intensity of his gaze almost prevented you from the customary politeness of fellow trailwalkers.

After he passed, you shook your head. No need to be flustered by the momentary passing of a stranger.

You looked back over your shoulder, and then your heart thudded to discover that he was looking back at you, too. He smirked, turned, and kept along his way.

You shook your head at yourself and then kept on your way.

The walking path through the forest was narrow in parts, wider in others, and rambled on for a mile or so before it split, allowing its travelers to eventually circle clockwise or counter-clockwise around a still, blue body of water that was bigger than a pond but not quite large enough to be classified as a lake. The trees ran right down to the water in many areas, and the path, as it circled, sometimes came very close to its edges, and in other places only came within ten or fifteen meters of the shore.

On day three, you saw the man in the morning, and the dog in the afternoon.

The man, the same you saw before, came towards you after he'd done a circle around the lake. You reached the two forks before having to directly pass him, to which he waved and said hello, the same casual niceties.

In the afternoon, the dog approached you slowly but directly, and you knelt happily and held out your hand to encourage him to close the gap. He did, and after a quick sniff, let you pet him and scratch his ears.

“No collar?” you asked as you pet and admired his smooth, shiny coat.

After a minute, you stood and said, “You seem pretty familiar with this forest, well-fed, and so friendly. I don’t need to worry about you, do I?”

He circled you quickly, wagged his tail, and you laughed. “You want to join me for my walk this time?”

He trotted ahead a few steps, then looked back at you and waited.

You laughed. “I guess I’ll join you for this walk then.”

The two of you kept pace with each other all the way around the small lake, and then shortly after you got back to the main forest length, he trotted off the path into the forest again with only a small look back and a happy bark before bounding away.

That evening, because you had gone on so many walks, the rest of the group at the cabin decided to take an evening stroll around the lake. The planked wooden path made an adventure after dark doable enough. You didn’t see either of the strangers – dog or man – but there were a few times you had the keen sense you were being watched. In the dark it was impossible to tell, but the feeling came and went.

The next morning, you made your way down the deep forest path without encountering anyone and took the right fork to make your way around the lake.

At nearly the same place the dog had approached you the afternoon before, the man came striding your way from off the path.

“Hello,” he greeted as soon as he’d stepped out of the trees.

It was evident he intended to speak to you.

“Hello,” you said, trying to be friendly, but unsure how this would unfold, and a little nervous over engaging with the stranger.

Your heartbeat sped up the closer he got, but not because he was still a stranger, but because you were reminded he was altogether too handsome of a stranger. This was made even more obvious than your brief passings the previous two days, as now you could only stand still and watch as he approached you.

You remembered he was tall, but today he seemed taller. Those blue eyes had you rooted to the spot where you stood, and his face had a small but easy smile. You tried in vain to keep your heart from racing the closer he got.

“I’m Nick,” he offered, once he was close enough for conversation.

You gave your name in response.

“Nice to actually meet you,” he said as he stepped up onto the boardwalk. “You’re not from around here. Staying in one of the vacation cabins?” he guessed.

You nodded. “And you are from around here?” you surmised. “Do you live here? Work here? Both?”

“I suppose you could say both.” A calm but crips breeze swept through the trees around you, rustling through the leaves.

“Oh, are you the caretaker?”

“Guardian, caretaker, king of the forest,” he joked.

You laughed, and it was an easy laugh.

He echoed your laugh. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, of course, I do,” you said.

“If you let me join you, maybe I can prove my place here in the forest, share some of the history of the land, and some of my expert knowledge.” He raised his brow in a questioning look.

You were torn equally between hesitance and intrigue, but you were more unsure of how to decline, nor did you actually want to, so you nodded, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. He swept his arm to the side, gesturing at the path, and as you started walking, he fell right in step with you.

“So, what brought you to the forest?” he asked.

You explained how your boss had booked the large corporate retreat cabin for your team, planning many days of bonding and strategy conversations and leadership workshops with the consultant flown in from New York City.

As you walked together, he made good on his promise to tell you more about the forest and the lake. He pointed out some of the flora and fauna, showing his care and consideration for the wildlife and growth of the wilderness.

“It must be nice living out here.”

“You would like it.”

You looked over at him, finding he was already watching you, and then turned your head back to the path. “I think I might. Being out here the past few days has me contemplating quitting my job, selling off most of my stuff, and just finding a small cabin in the woods and writing or something.”

“You should.”His concentrated attention both unnerved you and put you at ease at the same time. It was a strange feeling. There was something within you that wanted more time with him like this, but it was silly to want. This was only your first conversation with him. You wouldn’t be spending day after day stumbling into walks with him any more than you would be abandoning your city life to embrace a secluded existence in a cabin in the forest.

But it might be nice, you thought.

“If only,” you finally sighed.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “When are you supposed to leave?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He hummed in thought. “That seems like an awfully long cabin retreat for a team of colleagues.”

You laughed. “It certainly is. My boss has too much money and got very excited. It’s mostly a good office of people, and there are about ten of us here, but I definitely like my time away from the group – we’ve been encouraged to spend our breaks however we need.”

“And you took to your walks in the woods.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed and smiled softly. “Oh, actually, do you know about the black dog running around out here? I’ve seen him every other day, but not yet today.”

“He caught your heart, didn’t he?”

You grinned and nodded. “Does he have owners out here, or is he wild? He doesn’t have a collar.”

“No owners.”

“Not unlike you?”

“Oh, have I caught your heart, too?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you tried not to let your pace falter. “I–”

He gave a chuckle, but he also let his fingers brush against yours as you continued to walk side by side. “Don’t worry, if I didn’t want to see you, I would know how to go unnoticed by you in this forest.”

“Oh.” It was a small response, especially compared to the burst of warmth that bloomed in your heart, but you weren’t quite sure how to respond. You were flattered with the flirting and his insinuation that he did want to see you. A whisper in the back of your mind wondered how many years he must have walked these woods to know its secrets and be so confident that he could wander it undetected, but he gestured for you to listen to the faint call of a pair of birds nearby. He identified them as veery thrushes, and then you were carried along into learning about them and some of the other animals that inhabited this area of the forest during the rest of your short morning walk.

Nick came across you walking again in the afternoon. He told you more about the forest and its history, but more and more he started to ask more questions about you.

You liked that he asked about you.

It seemed impossible that this unbelievably tall (was he even taller than he was before? Surely he wasn’t), dark, handsome man was so keen on your company, but you couldn’t help but take to him, and to the warmth of the attention he shined on you like the sun that filtered through the leaves of the trees to bathe the rest of the flora in the forest.

It may have been silly to dream about him that night when you went to sleep, but you had no real control over that, and although this whole excursion was for work, a small, inconsequential crush on someone you would never see again when you went home was fine.

The next morning, you didn’t run into him during your walk, but you were happy to run into your furry companion again, and he stayed right at your side while you took the loop around the lake. You were only a little sad there was no sign of Nick, but even though he clearly spent a lot of time there, you couldn’t expect him to always be in the woods.

So, when you were just starting along the path for your walk and hear footsteps coming up behind you, you eagerly looked over your shoulder, only to see two men walking some twenty to thirty yards behind you. You sighed and kept walking. You hadn’t seen a great deal of people on the trail over the past few days, but these weren’t the first strangers, as it was an area with enough scattered cabins throughout the forest to merit the establishment of the sturdy planked path in the first place.

But as you continued on, the men seemed to keep pace with you, speeding up when you did, and slowing down and maintaining some of the distance when you tested it, and that made you nervous. You would feel better even just to see the wild dog so you could call him to you. You were sure he would deter the men. But there was no sign of him either.

As you approached the fork that created the lake loop for the path, you didn’t know which to hope for – that they would take the other path and you would have to potentially pass them, or take the same one as you and you could hope that they would keep their distance.

They went the same way as you.

And they started to close the distance.

You thought you were imagining it at first, but when you increased your pace, theirs quickened even more, and there was no more of the hum of talking between them.

You didn’t want to panic and run. They both had a height advantage with longer legs, and if you could simply continue to walk more quickly, you could at least stave off the need to run until there was no more choice – because you were sure the second you ran, they would follow suit, and you didn’t know how long you’d last.

Especially now that your heart was already racing.

“Hey sweet thing,” one of them called out.

You focused on keeping your quick pace and didn’t look back.

“Nice day for a walk,” the same gruff voice added.

Still you refused to engage. You expected this now and then in the city, but it wasn’t supposed to happen out here. You didn’t have a phone to suddenly get on and call someone or keys in your pocket to thread through your fingers for makeshift protection.

“Nice day for more than a walk, don’t you think?” the second man chimed in.

“Yeah, maybe a little afternoon delight.”

Your skin crawled.

“A little fucking,” the second one jeered.

Maybe you did need to run.

And then suddenly at a bend in the path, you turned and there he was.

Nick.

Your heart leapt in relief, and you rushed to him.

He had to have instantly seen the panic in your eyes as his own blue eyes changed immediately into a dark storm, and he looked beyond you as he quickly strode forward to meet you. He saw the men immediately as they, too, turned around the bend, and you heard their footsteps slow immediately.

Nick pulled you into his side, wrapping a protective arm around you.

“Afternoon,” one of the men said, both of them nodding, trying to pass off casual greetings as if they hadn’t been closing in on you, making their intentions clear.

“Turn around, pack up, and leave this forest,” Nick said, voice flat and threatening.

“Hey! Look, man,” the other started, but Nick cut him off.

“Turn around, pack up,” he repeated, enunciating each word with more fury, “never come back.”

They stopped walking, putting them only ten yards away.

“Now,” Nick growled.

A ripple of fear shot through you at his tone, and it wasn’t directed at you. There was a sudden groaning and crashing of trees in the distance that only added to the tension of the moment, and then the two men turned around and retreated.

“I know where you’re staying. Don’t make the mistake of thinking my directions are idle or that I won’t check to make sure you’re gone,” he spoke loudly enough for them to hear as they got further away.

With them no longer in sight, Nick turned his full attention to you, taking both your hands in his. “You alright?”

You took a deep breath in then let it out to release the tension from the fear-driven adrenaline and nodded.

He murmured your name, pressing in concern, ducking slightly to gaze directly into your eyes.

You smiled softly at his worry, the seeds that bloomed earlier in your heart coming to life and blooming a bit more. “I’m fine now,” you reassured him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Really,” you promised. “Not the first intimidating creeps I’ve ever encountered.”

“Okay.” His face relaxed, but only a fraction, and you had the impression it was only to help ease your tension. “If you’re sure.”

You nodded.

He dropped your hands, and you reminded yourself not to let your face drop as he did.

“Sorry I didn’t meet up with you earlier, I-“

You cut him off, “I wasn’t expecting you to meet up with me, and I don’t always get to steal away for these walks at the same time.”

He nodded. “I know. But I want to show you why time got away from me.”

“Okay.”

His face split into a bright smile. “Follow me,” he said, turning around and trekking into the trees.

You trailed behind him as the ground gently sloped toward the lake. The trees and underbrush were abundant yet thin enough to allow the two of you to pass through. The wooden path varied in how close it was to the lake as it wound around, and here it was less than a minute before you could see the water’s edge. Nick abruptly stopped and put his arm out for you to also stop.

Since he’d been walking so quickly, you did bump right up against his arm with a small mumbled, “sorry,” and he turned his head to smile. Then he turned to look ahead and pointed to a cluster of rocks right at the shoreline.

You squinted to study them, and then you gasped when two little furry heads popped up over the top of the rocks.

“Otters!” you whispered.

“Yes,” Nick confirmed. “Freshwater river otters. I think we’ve got a clan of at least four that have only appeared today in the lake. Probably migrated down the river from the lake further up. They’ve been getting a bigger tourist draw up there, and I imagine they don’t want to be constantly disturbed by humans encroaching on their habitat.”

He took slow, measured, unassuming steps closer, and you tentatively followed. The two otters both perched up higher on the rocks, giving tiny yelps.

Nick motioned for you to kneel as he did. He held out his hand toward the pair of mammals.

“They’re a curious and friendly species,” he said, and even as he said the words, the two darted up and over the rocks, coming closer by a few feet before pausing. The slightly larger one gave a little trill and took a couple more hops forward. Its companion sauntered right up next to it, but then took a few more steps forward, bopped its nose against Nick’s hand, huffed and turned away, darting right down the bank and into the water, gliding smoothly away. The other came forward, gave Nick’s outstretched hand a little more of a sniff, then turned its head to you, and edged your way. You quickly but carefully stretched your hand out, received a couple of sniffs, and then this otter also snorted and trotted away and into the water, trilling as it slipped into the clear water.

“No fish, no interest,” Nick said, and the two of you laughed.

He moved to sit on the ground, and you sat next to him. The pair of otters re-emerged, swam up to shore, and dove back in and out of the water frequently as the two of you watched and talked.

You only stayed there for a short space of time, and then Nick seemed to sense without you needing to prompt him that it was time to get back to your walk. He stood and gave you a hand up. He held onto your fingers for just an extra moment, looking at your hands together, before letting go and brushing himself off. You did the same, and then fell into step with him, heading back to the path.

Easy conversation, just like the day before, continued to flow between you. He appeared to have endless questions about you, and again his rapt attention was its own warm, addictive rush, and that thing in your heart continued to grow, vines starting to sneak out of your heart and around your chest.

Suddenly he stopped, and you stopped another step ahead and turned to look back at him. “What is it?”

“We’re at the spot that leads up to the cabin your group is staying in,” he answered, a broad smirk on his face.

“Oh,” your cheeks heated, and you ducked your head to laugh. “Oops.”

You didn’t want your last walk with him to suddenly be over.

“You’re quite taken with all of this, aren’t you? The forest calls to you.”

You let out a wistful sigh and looked back up at him. Damn those impossibly deep blue eyes. You were overcome with a terrible ache that radiated from the base of your throat and the top of your chest, and you desperately tried to tamp down the thick emotion.

“But I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Come walk with me tonight.”

You bit your lip.

“Come on,” he urged you. “It’s your last night, and it’s a full moon. You have to see the forest bathed in the full moon's light. Come with me.”

“Yes,” you heard the word tumble out of your mouth, unable to deny him.

His eyes darkened and sparkled. “I promise you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.”

Though Nick wasn’t far from your thoughts, you focused well enough on your last evening with the group, engaging in dinner and the evening’s bonding activities. Wine and mocktails were poured for a final night looking up at the stars around a fire in the firepit on the balcony, and you made sure to enjoy that time, too. You had liked some of your coworkers before the retreat, but now you had a better understanding and appreciation for all of them.

However, once it got closer to ten, you anxiously started taking stock of the minutes passing away further into the night. Two of your group said goodnight at ten, but that was too early. You determined you would do well to stay with the balcony group until at least half-ten so you didn’t get too anxious about seeing Nick later.

At ten-thirty, a few more peeled off from the group, and so you retired to your room so that your timely departure didn’t seem unnatural to anyone.

You showered and messed with your hair for a bit but didn’t bother with makeup since it was after dark. You put on your favorite pair of joggers, a crewneck, and good walking shoes. You certainly hadn’t anticipated taking to the forest with so many walks each day, it wasn’t anything like how you were at home – busy with work and taking care of your life in the city – but it had been so natural to take to the outdoors while you were here. This final walk before your party went home in the morning wasn’t going to be like any of the others. You tried not to feel foolish for indulging in a walk at midnight with the hulking man with the most captivating blue eyes you’d ever seen who could easily take your breath away and whisk you off your feet.

But you had said yes because when else would you ever do something like this?

The answer was never.

And there was no harm in taking a handsome man up on his offer for a midnight stroll in the moonlight.

You put on the watch your grandmother had given you and the simple necklace you typically wore. They weren’t much, and you told yourself you didn’t need to dress up anyway, but they were small touches all the same.

Looking briefly in the mirror, you smoothed your hand down over the front of your shirt and took a deep breath. It’s fine, you thought. He’s seen you plenty before now, and it’s going to be dark, and it’s only a walk anyway. You checked your watch, and it was just a few minutes before eleven-thirty, which is when Nick had said to meet him.

You slipped quietly out of your room, down the stairs, and out the back door. The full moon was bright out here so far away from any city lights, illuminating the familiar path from the cabin that would take you down to the main boardwalk trail.

So many times Nick had simply appeared in the forest, but he was waiting for you right at the end of the path. Your heart raced just a little as his lips turned up in a smile.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“You came.”

He studied your face intently. You were unsure what he was looking for and simply focused on returning your gaze as unassuming as possible, telling your heart to settle and stop beating so fast. Yes, he made you feel things, but one of those things over the past few days had also been a sense of calm and safety in his presence, and you concentrated on that.

After another moment, finally, you responded with a simple, “I said I would.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “Then let’s go.”

You fell easily into step with him, the trail so familiar now, though it had been less than a week, and knowing this ramble down to the lake and back, your chest started to feel thick in anticipation of missing it already. As you walked and talked, you thought you were keeping pace with Nick, but maybe you were more tired than you thought because it seemed like you were working to stay in stride with him as you hadn’t had to before. Either that or his legs were longer than before, but that – of course – was an impossible thought.

You shook your head.

Nick paused and turned. “What are you shaking your head at?” he asked. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” His tone was soft and teasing.

“Sorry, I got distracted, and my imagination got a little carried away with impossibilities.”

He cocked his head slightly. “Maybe more is possible in this forest than you might think.” His eyes danced with a hint of mystery.

“Is that so?” You played into his mischief.

He leaned closer. “This is an old forest, and it’s a full moon. Anything could happen on a night like tonight.”

Your body seemed drawn into him, leaning closer as well. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he whispered, and his eyes flicked down to your lips.

The moment hung between you. You tilted your head up, and your eyes fluttered closed. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

And then he tugged on your hand, yanking you out of the moment. “Come on, pretty girl, we’re almost there.”

You sighed, letting out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

But with how tightly his hand held yours as he led you off the boardwalk and into the trees, you didn’t feel too disappointed.

He was quiet now, but he also kept you close as he led you through this part of the forest. The trees were more thickly woven together here, with girthier trunks, and you couldn’t help but feel how they were older the further you wandered in. There was no trace of a path now, but Nick kept a confident pace, clearly knowing each inch of the forest intimately, and his surety allowed you to let yourself be swept away further and further along.

His steps were swift but nearly silent, and you tried to walk as quietly as possible. The sounds of the forest at night were soft but present – soft wind whistling through the trees, the song of nocturnal birds, and the chirping of crickets. The light filtering through the branches was minimal, and it had to be tricking you because you knew he was tall, but it felt like he was somehow taller tonight. It had to be the nature of how you were keeping so close just behind him, focused on the square of his shoulder and the gentle pull of his arm leading you.

He wasn’t taller now than he was earlier today, was he?

“Just up ahead,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at you, one of the easy smiles that made your heart sigh painted on his face.

His pace quickened, and your anticipation built as you hurried to keep up.

Seconds before the tree line broke, you heard the rippling sounds of water before emerging into a glade. Nick stopped a few steps into the clearing, and you came to stand right next to him. The first thing to draw your eye was a stream running into a small pool. The meadow on the side of the stream where you stood sloped gently down to the water, and it was covered in blankets of wood anemone, reaching right down to the bank and springing up and sprawling away again on the other side. The trees surrounding the glade were certainly some of the tallest you’d seen in the forest, and they rose as giant sentinels toward the inky black sky, which was studded with stars around the bright full moon.

As you looked up and around, the coupling of the simplicity and the majesty of it all had you enraptured, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment.

Nick brought your hand up to his face, pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart stuttered in your chest. You turned to look at him. His eyes almost appeared to glow an even brighter blue.

“I said it earlier, but this forest calls to you, doesn’t it?”

Your brows furrowed.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

You did.

He dropped your hand, and you let it fall to your side.

“Take a deep breath,” he whispered.

You inhaled slowly, letting the breath fill your belly and lungs, fresh, clean, and calm. You tipped your head back, your face craving the moonlight in that moment.

Although you didn’t hear him move, suddenly you felt the warmth of Nick standing behind you. “Now, listen and feel,” he murmured softly in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You shivered but remained rooted to the spot. His fingers brushed along the backs of your hands and began to trail slowly up your arms. Your whole body was humming at his touch.

He pressed one soft kiss to your neck, and you sighed and let your neck fall to the side. When his hands landed on your shoulders, he pressed another soft kiss at the bottom of your neck, then turned you to face him.

“You should stay with me.”

Before you could respond, he took your head in both his hands, cradling your jaw. He searched your eyes for any hesitancy, but you knew you couldn’t summon any, nor did you want to. Instead, you pushed up on your toes, seeking his lips, and he met you halfway, claiming your lips with his.

Your hands came up to clutch at his wrists as he held your face, and you leaned in, longing to feel your body close to his. His tongue teased at the seam of your mouth, and you let him in, allowing the kiss to deepen, to sear into your very soul. His left hand moved, quickly coming to press at the small of your back, drawing you flush against him. One of your arms wound around his broad chest, and the other came up to mirror how he was cupping your cheek, feeling the trace of stubble along his jaw with your fingers. You stroked his tongue with yours, moaning into the kiss, and he reciprocated stroke for stroke. You quickly became so consumed by his kiss, feeling lightheaded but not sure if it was him or a lack of air, because you couldn’t tell if you were still breathing. It was a fevered kiss driven by something you’d never felt so strongly before, and you needed more.

Nick sank to his knees, and you went naturally down with him. He sat back on his heels, and you followed, perching in his lap. He held you there, your core over his groin, for a delicious moment, and then suddenly he lifted you up and laid you softly but swiftly onto the soft flowery bed of the meadow, his lips never leaving yours. You gasped and giggled against his mouth.

“What a lovely sound,” he said tenderly. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a satisfied grin on his face.

Whether it was smug or sweet, you weren’t sure, and you felt your cheeks growing warm under his hungry gaze and his soft praise.

“I wonder what other lovely sounds I can draw from you,” he added as both of his hands moved to your hips. He began kissing you again, having only given you a moment of reprieve, then his hands slid slowly up your waist, skimming up over your ribs, pushing up the fabric of your sweatshirt. When his thumbs brushed up against the underswell of your breasts, he pressed back and forth a few times, teasing you, drawing a little whimper, before he let his thumbs run up and over your nipples. They were both peaked, and you shivered in pleasure, the teasing through the fabric of your bra its own unique sensation, but you were eager for more, so you moved your hands to begin quickly unbuttoning his flannel. He took the hint, helping you by shrugging off his jacket, and when he leaned up for a moment to pull off his flannel and remove the t-shirt he had on beneath it, so you shifted beneath him to pull off your sweatshirt and reach for the clasp of your bra, tossing that to the side as well.

You hadn’t hesitated to rid yourself of your clothes, but you were hit with the rush of baring your chest to him now as – with his own clothing discarded – he froze and looked down at you from above. You flushed with heat, but as you moved one hand to tentatively cover yourself, he grabbed it in his, drew it up to his mouth, and kissed your palm.

You were aware of every imperfection as his eyes roved over your body, but when he looked into your eyes and said, “gorgeous,” his face was so serious, so hungry, you didn’t question that he meant it.

He lowered himself back down over you, supporting himself by planting one forearm on the ground next to your side, and this time his lips sought your chest. He kissed down your sternum, then took one breast in his mouth, and palmed the other with his free hand. You moaned as he sucked one nipple and rolled and teased the other with his fingers. You arched beneath him, your body responsive to his diligent ministrations. He switched to the other breast, flicking his tongue over the nipple before lapping and sucking at it. You hadn’t cum before from nipple play alone, but he had you wondering if you might as the pleasure mounted.

You trembled and whimpered beneath him, and as you began to writhe more desperately, he took his mouth off your breast with an audible pop. He moved back up your body, and his hand cupped your face again, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek, urging you to open your eyes and look at him.

“Tell me you never thought about it, about staying here with me after I left you earlier today,” he said.

You were already breathless, or else the powerful drive in his deep blue eyes would have stolen your breath once again.

“You must let me have you,” he implored.

You couldn’t answer, but only because you were overcome by the desire in his eyes. For you.

Your name fell from his lips, and his voice was soft, deep, and controlled, but you could still feel the edge of the desperate plea as he uttered your name.

“Yes,” you keened, and you rocked your hips up against his.

“Say the words,” he said. “Say my name and tell me I can have you.”

He slipped his hand down, hooked two fingers into your waistband, and pulled teasingly along the edge from your hip to just below your navel. The torturous movement along your soft skin only drove the hunger that was building for more.

He had to know how he was mounting and playing with the anticipation. But if he needed you to say it, you’d say anything to get what you wanted right now under the light of the full moon from this inimitable figure of a man, nearly unreal in his beauty.

“Nick, you can have me!” You cried.

He wasted no time in pulling your trousers and underwear down in one go. You tried to kick off your shoes, but slightly struggling to do so, his hands helped remove your shoes and socks more deftly, and he was able to more easily toss it all away. And as your legs settled back down on either side of him as he knelt above you, you realized he was suddenly somehow as naked as you – though you didn’t know how he managed that so quickly, so quickly it felt like magic. Everything about tonight felt illusory, and yet it was all tangible and indisputable, and you gave yourself over to it. When else would you ever find yourself in such an enchanted set of circumstances like this ever again?

So what if it felt like a dream?

You took a deep breath and let your fingers tangle in the grass and the stems of the wood anemone. Your eyes traveled up his thighs to a cock so thick and long and hard for you, then up further, over his hips, defined abs, chiseled chest, and broad shoulders, and you whined. Every inch of him ignited heat through your body, and when your eyes met his again, your pulse stuttered.

You could dream like this for one night.

Keeping his eyes locked on yours, Nick settled back on his haunches and pulled your thighs up over his, drawing you up over him, angling your lower half up as an offering, and his piercing cerulean gaze moved to your core, fully on display. His fingers brushed over your lower stomach, the touch so light it tickled, and you jerked, but his other hand held your hip firmly in place. His fingers parted your folds without hesitation, and he licked his lips.

“Such a pretty, wet cunt, my little nymph,” he said, and you felt both shy being so exposed to him, and desperate for him.

“Nymph?” you couldn’t help but question, surprised by the pet name.

“Mhmm,” Nick hummed. He traced your wet folds with one finger, in no rush. “You belong to this forest.” He spread your wetness along those lips with the attention of an artist to his canvas. Then he slipped two fingers inside your cunt.

You gasped, and your eyes fluttered closed.

He pushed them all the way in, then gave a few slow, shallow thrusts in and out.

You never wanted to wake up from this, but you needed more.

“Nick, please!”

He withdrew his fingers and then pressed them to your lips. “Taste your sweet nectar, nymph.”

The digits easily slipped into your mouth, and the urge to suck was a near primal reaction. He applied gentle pressure on your tongue as you sucked, and it only drove the craving in your core further. You were entirely lucid, and yet you felt thoroughly intoxicated by him, by everything around you.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and you did.

You swore he could see into your soul when he looked at you so intensely, but rather than fear, it soothed your nerves. It also more deeply stoked your desire for him, and as much as you wanted to linger in this moment, there was an undeniable pull you couldn’t ignore.

“Kiss me,” you breathed.

He shifted to lean down over you, remaining rooted between your thighs but shifting forward so you were nearly chest to chest. He bore his weight on his forearms, caging you in. As he settled, lips only a breath away from you, you felt the weight of his large, thick cock rest on your stomach. You lifted your head to pull him into the kiss you wanted. You ached for him to fill you up, but you also wanted to give everything just to this kiss for a few beats longer.

It was like he was drinking you in. One of your arms came up around his back, the other brushed up along the side of his arm, seeking and ultimately finding his hand, and your fingers instinctively entwined together.

He moved his other hand down briefly to guide the head of his cock to your weeping hole, and you gave a little moan into his mouth as his head entered you.

As he seated his cock fully inside of you, the tip nudging your cervix, you had to break off your kiss to concentrate on breathing. Nick dropped his forehead to yours, seemingly unable to refuse some form of intimate closeness as he rocked into you again. “You can feel it,” he spoke, the warmth of his breath still close to your mouth.

“Yes,” you panted. Your legs wrapped around his torso. He resumed thrusting, slow, deep thrusts.

“I can feel it, too,” he murmured along your jaw. “You’re answering the call of the forest.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, hardly focused on what he was saying, but the deep warmth of his voice made the words swell through your mind.

He continued his unhurried thrusts, almost methodical in nature, and after a few more minutes, his cock began to swell inside you. And it continued to grow.

You moaned – or groaned – you couldn’t decipher if what you were feeling was real and whether it was painful or pure ecstasy. Your hand clasped his more tightly, and his answering squeeze was accompanied by tendrils of vines sprouting and circling around your hand and down around your wrist.

“What?” Your eyes flew open, and then you gasped. “Nick!”

He was transforming before your eyes. His face remained familiar, but a crown of horns appeared around his head, and emerald moss and glossy leaves intermingled and sprouted throughout his dark hair. Two enormous, magnificent antlers had emerged from his temple and were still slowly growing, just as he was still slowly growing inside you as he continued his steady thrusts. His shoulders broadened, and you knew he was growing in stature.

You trembled beneath him, tears springing to your eyes, in danger of spilling over.

“I told you, my little nymph: I’m the king and guardian of this forest – it speaks to me like it wants to speak to you. You’re answering the call, and I can’t,” he paused to groan, and with a shiver, you felt the ridge of his spine shift from skin to a supple tree bark. “It’s midnight, and with you giving yourself to me and the forest, I can’t hold back my true form.”

He began to thrust more quickly in and out of your cunt, a few of the strokes a little erratic. You whimpered, overwhelmed, and a few tears spilled over your cheeks.

“No, none of that,” he scolded, but kissed away the tears. “You didn’t want to leave, and now you don’t have to, nor can you.”

His free hand moved between you and found your pulsing, puffy clit, applying immediate, furious little circles that refused to let you feel anything but pleasure in response to his ministrations. His lips reclaimed yours once again, and as your body continued to tremble, his thrusts sped up even more, your channel never more full, making the mounting wave of pain and pleasure so exquisite as the waves grew that you let out a sob as your orgasm crashed over you.

Unrelenting, as your cunt contracted around him, Nick more demandingly sought his own release. He moved both hands to grip your ribs below your wrists and railed into you with abandon, punching the air from your lungs over and over, and ultimately pushing you into a rushed second orgasm only seconds before he roared his own ecstasy, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep loads of his seed inside of you, a warmth you could feel permeating you.

And then Nick petted your face, showering kisses softly over your lips, cheeks, and eyelids before ultimately resting his forehead on yours, and gently caressing your neck.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you, for this, and now you're mine forever.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

If you enjoyed this at all, read the other two fics from the Enchanted Birthday Fest! They're both exquisite!

#nick fowler #sebastian stan #nick fowler smut #teratophillia #terato #female reader #nick fowler x female reader #tw: dubcon #sebastian stan smut #aspen wrote something #aspensenchantedbday

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thelightsandtheroses · 8 months

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Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: When Joel finds you on your self-assigned insomnia bench one night, it sparks an unexpected friendship that quickly develops into more. Finding peace in the middle of an apocalypse always seemed impossible, but being with Joel feels natural, like a missing piece has fallen into place at last. However, when a ghost from your past surfaces and threatens to destroy the peace you’ve found in Jackson, everything will change.

Overarching Series Warnings - 18+ blog - minors do not interact, unexpected friendship, developing relationship, idiots in love, flangst, typical TLOU content, references to cults, references to past manipulation, references to past violence, references to PTSD, single parent reader (child is a teenager), age range implied but try to avoid specifics, some secondary original characters, etc. No use of Y/N, any further warnings to be added as appropriate.

Title from the Explosions in the Sky song of the same name.

One: I was just coasting till we met (2.5k) 11th Sep Drabble: You're face to face with the man who sold the world (1.1k) 23rd Sep Two: there goes the fear again (4.3k) 26th Sep Three: I found it hard to find someone like you (4.4k) 12th Oct Drabble: and my soul has changed, and my heart (1.2k) 12th Nov Four: rumours about my hips and thighs and whispered sighs (4k) 25th Nov Five: we’d only die of lonely secrets (3.4k) 27th Dec Six even the iron still fears the rot (4.4k) 27th Jan Seven: me and the devil, walking side by side (5.4k) 25th Mar Eight: don't let this darkness fool you Nine: Ten Epilogue

If you would like to be added to to the taglist please let me know. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs.

Moodboards and other things Moodboard #1

#your hand in mine fic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us hbo #aka the insomnia bench fic

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sunkissedchld · 6 months

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𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚

the piles go from left to right. therefore, pile one is the new jeans CD, pile two is NCT, and so on and so forth.

take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don’t be afraid to say if the message resonated or not. it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it’s “bad”.

good luck to you, reader 💿

𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝚰𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒:

this PAC includes mentions of specific celebrities! this is in an attempt to describe the energy of each pile.

in one pile's moodboard example, i use a tweet from stan twitter to visualize how one's fandom might be. i don't necessarily agree with the example tweet, but it was a good example of the pile's energy, so i used it. it doesn't imply or show my true feelings about that fandom or artist.

additionally, sections of this PAC make reference to adult topics such as sex, drugs, alcohol, addiction, and more. please use your discretion when reading your or each pile.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈

Cards:

Queen of Swords, The Fool, Four of Wands, Two of Coins

King of Wands (Rx), Ten of Cups, Eight of Cups (Rx), The Devil, Four of Coins, Nine of Coins

Page of Coins, The Emperor

Knight of Swords (Rx), Ten of Swords, King of Swords, Page of Cups

The Star

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be soloists.

the music you make would be hard-hitting and active! tons of choreography would be involved, and you'd make people want to learn your dances even if they weren't professional dancers! a significant amount of your songs might even go viral on platforms like tiktok. your music would be a fresh breath into the music industry; you would probably write your own songs and not be afraid to venture into a variety of music genres. you might do surprise releases (like beyoncé did with her self-titled album)! you'd gain tons of success with your works, so much so that you'd end up throwing celebration parties often due to it! you might find it hard to keep up with so much work (you're probably booked and busy with interviews, concerts, promotions, etc.), but you also love the lifestyle, and that energy shows through the music you make.

in your musical career, you may come off as some sort of diva who knows how to talk their way to success. you come off as someone who has a great personal and professional life. you would have the type of career and life others' dream of having. you may stay in a healthy relationship. again, most of your songs would be upbeat and about happiness - which may be a breath of fresh air in relation to more emotional, heavy music. as you continue throughout your career, you may lean towards that emotional music because of depression or life struggles. you may be worried about the future of your career after your "prime". this might be after a period of time of years of hard work and seemingly little rest; you might fall into addictions to materialism, drugs, or alcohol. you will be protected though! people will be looking out for you and steer you back onto the right path which will keep you from going downhill.

your fans would look up to you a lot. it's giving "these are my kids" energy. you may pay off their student loans or even party with some of them on a night out if you see them. you might appeal to a younger crowd - teens, college, and early adults. your fans see you as fair and as a pillar of authority. they look to you to determine how to move and act as a fandom. you act as the compass for order in their eyes. whatever you say to do, they will do. want to win a specific award? your fans will make sure they buy enough albums and vote enough for you to win it. want to collab with a specific artist? your fans will flood that person's timeline to make sure you two interact. it's almost like they fulfill your wishes! it reminds me of the saying ARMYs have about "anything yoongi wants, yoongi gets".

the general public may have some conflict with you. some people may be prejudiced towards you (maybe because of race, gender, sexuality). some of the public will be hasty to judge you and bash you. this feeling will change fairly quickly. the public will realize they were wrong to judge you and feel horrible about what they did. some people may pray for your downfall and instead bring their own because it's like negativity towards you is reflected back on those who want to harm you; this goes back to you being heavily protected. in the end, the general public will see you as trustworthy and fair. some will think you're very innovative and great at executing your creative ideas. you could become a county's favorite artist. kind of like how Girls Generation is seen as the "Nation's Girl Group'' in South Korea - that would be your title as a soloist. the general public would end up doting over you and loving you.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈

Cards:

Knight of Swords, The Devil, Four of Wands (Rx), The Hermit

Four of Coins, Five of Cups, King of Wands

The Moon (Rx), The Sun

Page of Coins, The Emperor (Rx)

Ace of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd probably be the main rapper in this group. your group's music would be fast-paced and energetic. tons of choreography and you all would do major concept changes often. you all would also travel often or experiment with different cultural music. your sound would be bold - you might talk about taboo topics (ie. addiction, sex, violence, obsessions, death). your music might get spoiled before release. there may also be some times when the album is expected to debut on a certain day, and it isn't released until later - maybe because of music clearances or lack of preparation. your music would force people to confront difficult life topics instead of ignoring them. you all would also help people with mental health issues because they relate to the music so well.

your group would achieve a ton, but i still think your company would be a little tight on finances. your company may be cutting it close to making payments on time, but you and the other members would be financially stable. the company would stay afloat, but it's like they struggle with money management maybe? you also would have a strong fanbase and a strong personal group sound (even while exploring so many genres). i feel like your company's struggles would impact the group and bring down morale. you all would have good successes but it's like your company takes you one step forward and three steps back. regardless, you all pushing through would just create more inspiration for music which in turn makes your fans appreciate and relate to you all more.

i feel like fans would feel very protective and proud of you. the mismanagement of funds happening within the company would be revealed to the fans and public, but your fandom still has fierce loyalty to you all. they outwardly call out the mismanagement and want better for you all. you might have a lot of sasaengs because of fans' fierce loyalty to you. specific to you, fans may feel like you're very masculine or heavily into you masculine energy. you may be seen as the "sunshine" of the group. people look to you for happiness; there may be tons of compilations of your funny moments. you're like a light to a room to your fans and others.

the general public learns a lot from you all. that sounds nice, but i think they mostly learn how not to run a company. you all definitely start important societal conversations on taboo topics like explained before, but that really gets overshadowed by company misadventures. people may see your company as young and maybe ignorant of how to be run? they'll feel like your company is abusing their power. you all may not get tons of promotion, so you may only be known to the public for your company's failures.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

Cards:

Six of Swords, Nine of Wands (Rx), Three of Coins (Rx), Page of Swords

Knight of Wands (Rx), King of Cups, Page of Cups (Rx), Three of Cups, Nine of Coins (Rx)

Five of Swords (Rx), Five of Coins, Five of Cups (Rx), Knight of Swords (Rx)

The Hierophant, Three of Wands (Rx), Six of Cups (Rx)

The Wheel of Fortune

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd probably be a vocalist. your music would have a theme all throughout your discography. it would be very consistent, and the albums would play beautifully altogether. each song would fade into the other and almost seem like a movie with just music. people may think you steal songs or there might be plagiarism controversies. someone from the group might be ousted, and that may be talked about in the music or hang over the group for a long time. this might be connected to the music you make in that your group isn't afraid to talk about being left behind and having to forge your own journey. someone in the group may be lazy.

i think your group might break up, and you become a soloist? then, you'd be left to prove your worth in the music industry. you would come out on top, and let people know that you have a message that you're getting out regardless of the struggles you have to go through in order for it to be heard. i think ultimately you'll be left to work behind the scenes in the music industry - maybe as a songwriter or producer. it'll be the situation of people wanting to hear your words and you wanting to get them out, but it only materializes when it's told through someone else if that makes sense.

your group career would be very messy. again, some members would be lazy; others would have bad attitudes and either be jealous and even violent. there's tons of in-fighting between members, and it's a major mess for everyone involved. you personally will not be like that though! you'd be the member others feel like they can trust and confide in. you're insightful and might even protect your members who are being bullied or on the receiving end of jealousy. similarly to pile two, your group's album would experience delays - due to plagiarism, samples not being cleared, lazy members, etc.

your group produces music that's similar to what you all would be experiencing - troubled and emotional youth, manipulation, moodiness, immaturity, and unrequited love. despite all the in-group issues, you all would experience success for a time! ultimately, it will go away due to company mismanagement and all the group issues coming to light.

fans might not like you because of what messy group members say about you. they'll say you're attention seeking and manipulative even though it's other members doing those exact things and NOT you. you might feel isolated because of the hate you receive. you may think no one likes you, and you might stare off during interviews because you're being ignored. you'd feel really lonely. as you keep going, you will gain strength and feel confident enough in the fact that you know you're a good person despite others believing the opposite. you'll know your truth is more grounding that others' lies. i think this is what will ultimately lead to you preferring to be behind the scenes rather than in the light of the music industry.

i don't think the general public will hate you as much as fans seem to. the general public would be way more understanding of circumstances and would be willing to hear your side of the story rather than blindly believing you members. you'd have a major impact on the collective, and you might even become an expert in whatever you do behind the scenes. i think people will see that you were used by the machine called the music industry and would feel for you. i also think the public would pick up on the fact that you eventually feel unsure about your musical abilities. they'll see you as disorganized because of how the industry left you. your past would be at the forefront of the general public's mind, so it would be best for you to work behind the scenes, so the music can speak for itself rather than you speaking for the music.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐦

Cards:

Five of Swords (Rx), Queen of Coins (Rx), Six of Wands, Strength

Queen of Wands, Knight of Wands (Rx), The Magician, The Hanged Man (Rx)

Page of Swords, King of Swords, Three of Wands

The Star (Rx), Seven of Cups

Four of Cups

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd probably be a main dancer and a vocalist (but not a main vocal). your group's music would be shocking. it would deal with topics like manipulation, gossip, paranoia, and the theme might revolve around uncovering secrets and overcoming those who want to harm you. almost like a horror concept! i'm slightly reminded of xdinary heroes or even rage against the machine. your music would seek to uncover immorality in the world and put it in the face of society instead of trying to hide it like we've been taught to. super unique concept! your listeners get the feeling that they can uncover and fight through anything after listening to your music. the music is very strong (maybe even in the rock genre for some of you), and there's a confidence in the music (including sexual confidence).

there's strong sexual themes in your music. femme fatale and dominatrix vibes are present. this group would be filled with strong female figures who are confident in who they are. in some instances, you all want to be seen as arrogant in order to provide a view of women that's not often seen in the music scene - at least not in a way where women are in control of their own power. this group would play off of gender stereotypes and archetypes in order to make a point to society. again, super creative concepts, and it might even include the occult! like divination tools might be seen in the background of some of your music videos. the point is to show young women that they can be powerful and also know when to hold back in order to show all sides of that power.

your fans might be on the younger side - teens and young adults. they will like giving you handmade messages and gifts. it's almost giving you being the older sibling, and your fans are the younger sibling who looks up to you. they learn a lot about themselves from you, and see you as this intellectual that has great creative ideas. they also see you as just and fair and might come to you for advice. they may see their future selves in you and look up to you because of that. both of you have tons of love for one another (it's so cute!).

the general public may not really like you. you may disappoint them because there's this societal view they have of how gender roles should be enforced or how your group should behave, and you all totally go against that. it's like they're thinking "that group would help themselves out if they just followed with the standards. they make it hard on themselves". they see you all as immoral and a bad influence on the younger society. they also see you all as delusional.

reader's note: do not think of the general public's view as a bad thing! personally, it's important to remember that change only comes when society is forced to confront irrational and prejudicial thinking. if anything, the general public viewing you as this is a compliment in my opinion.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕

Cards:

The Lovers, Eight of Swords, The Emperor, Queen of Coins, The Star

The High Priestess, Ten of Cups, Knight of Swords

Five of Cups, Six of Wands, The Hermit

The Chariot

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

you'd be the face of the group/the center - maybe a visual position? your group focuses on love songs and relationships. you all would talk about all the ups and downs of creating, maintaining, and losing relationships. i feel like on the outside, the concepts of each title track might be visually very different, but the major theme of relationships would always be present. for example, there would be a very rosy and cheery song about how in love you all are in a romantic relationship (like a Twice title track), and then your next comeback would be more solemn and serious about how you lost a loved family member or something like that (like what's mentioned in DaBaby's "Gucci Peacoat"). you all would have long lasting careers and be seen as good senior musicians. you all would probably be very personally involved in the music making process. your music would be very comforting and relatable for whoever listens to it. i think you'd give many people hope when it comes to handling relationships.

i feel like the group's music heavily focuses on emotional connections - so much so that spiritual and occult elements might be present in the process or music videos and things of that nature. your group might be seen as mysterious outside of the music you all make. it's like you all are only focused on the music aspect in the public eye and don't really reveal a ton about your deep personal lives (like siblings or TMIs or things like that). you all really want to emphasize the music! you and your group members would be very close in personal and professional life! you all may feel more like family members rather than friends which will translate into the music. it's like you all will recognize that you'd achieved your dreams all together and you would cherish one another greatly for that. you all may be internationally famous or gather fame quickly - maybe as soon as you debut! it also may be super easy for you all to make and release music.

i get very despondent energy from your fans for some reason? they may frequently feel disappointed with you all - maybe because of how different title tracks and aesthetics can change for you all? it could also be that they're the type of fans that are always focused on how much bigger you all could be, so they never stop to appreciate how far you all have come and therefore they seem ungrateful. they will eventually get over this though! so maybe in the beginning they feel disappointed about how little known and unappreciated you all are, but when you blow up they feel very proud of your successes and feel like all of yours and their effort has paid off. your fans will look to you for guidance and support when it comes to mental health issues and gain personal strength from you. they may like how withdrawn you and your group can be when it comes to disclosing personal information.

i didn't get any cards when shuffling to ask how the general public would view you. i only got the bottom of the deck energy which was The Chariot. i feel like this means your success will be so widespread it's hard to contain how the public views you to a couple tarot cards that may give a more in-depth explanation. they'll see you and your group as having great drive and ambition that leads you all to great success despite a long, uphill battle that comes with pursuing a musical career. i feel like they'd be especially impressed because you all come from a small company? it's like you all started from the absolute bottom to become major stars, and the public finds that admirable.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐠𝐲𝐧𝐲

Cards:

Nine of Cups, The Emperor, Four of Cups, Five of Wands, Six of Wands, The Empress

The Sun, The Fool, Five of Coins (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins, Four of Swords, Knight of Cups

Three of Cups (Rx), Strength, Page of Coins

The High Priestess (Rx), Five of Swords, The Star, Six of Swords

Ace of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

off bat, you'd be super successful! i get the feeling you'd always be happy, and that might translate into your music. you may encourage listeners to be happy and invite abundance and gratefulness into their own lives the way you welcomed it into yours. i think you'd be very hands-on with your music, and you'd take the reins in everything you do - i'm almost reminded of beyoncé and how people view her as a perfectionist about her work. despite your perfectionist tendencies, you'd definitely be open to others' ideas, and you'd be nice to work with. people wouldn't have a bad word to say about you in that aspect. you'd be super hypnotic as a celebrity, so people would totally be drawn to you. i think you'd be open about all the "goods" and "bads" of fame. you'd talk about how financial abundance and overflowing love from people is very enticing, but isn't all it's cracked up to be. you'd be open about your struggles, and people would find that refreshing and admire you for your honesty. i think your spirit guides would be guiding you to and throughout fame because you were destined for it. you'd be spiritually protected.

you'd exude energy and success in your music. you might even make perfect manifestation music! your music would be very original, and i believe you'd write music directly from your heart. you wouldn't worry about being "too vulnerable" because you want to be because it's like that's the essence of music for you. you take setbacks from your life and still find hope in them in order to take good from the indecipherable bad. i think that's what would make your music most unique. you'd treat music as your past, present, and future and because of how close you hold it to your heart, it becomes obvious in your music. the point of your music is to show personal growth, and people would connect with that immediately. i also think relationships and romance would be important in your music since your emotions would always be in your songwriting. your breakups, makeups, and new connections would always be written and released to the public - i'm reminded of Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande.

fans (or maybe more so the general public?) may see you like the two artists i just mentioned are viewed - promiscuous, always in a relationship, and maybe even excessive and overindulgent in life and financial endeavors. others will say that you're confident in yourself and your sexuality and find that empowering. they see you as someone who is secure in themself and doesn't need public approval to do whatever you want. there's a subtle, grand confidence in you that people see. your fans may want to be like you and be students of you, writing your every word down. you might be popular with teens and young adults.

the general public will see you as someone who is secretive and doing shady things behind the scenes. they'll feel like your energy and personality is too good to be true. they'll say you're immoral and maybe even involved with the illuminati or something like that. some might even say you're misusing spirituality or witchcraft to get your fame. people would want to speak negatively on you and cause you distress; they might often engage in smear campaigns to lower your credibility. for others, you give them hope. overall, people's negative intentions will not matter because, as said before, you'd be heavily spiritually protected. you'll be able to brush off smear campaigns and negative, false publicity very easily. your foundation is too strong to be broken by bullies and those who are so miserable in their own lives they push it onto others.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Cards:

Knight of Swords, King of Coins, The High Priestess (Rx), Three of Cups (Rx)

Ten of Swords, Nine of Swords (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins

Queen of Cups, Ten of Cups (Rx), The Fool, Page of Cups

Five of Cups, Five of Wands, King of Wands (Rx)

Judgment

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

you'd be very involved in the musical process. you'd likely write most (if not, all) of your music. anything you make is sure to be a hit. you're ambitious with your ideas, and you're quick to create and hop onto new trends. i get the feeling you wouldn't trust your musical abilities despite how they always seem to work out for you. maybe you need a ton of outside support to finally decide "okay, this is a good idea". you might even be older than expected when you become a musical artist. you might feel unfulfilled in life in general and especially in the music industry despite your successes. you might spend way more money than you have, or you might just flaunt your wealth excessively. you might rely on drugs, alcohol, or sexual adventures as an escape from your feelings of loneliness. it seems you'd be successful but unhappy.

your music may include information about the traumas you have. whatever is causing you to turn to your addictions will be explicitly mentioned in the music you put out. a lot of your music may mention themes like grief, depression, and hardship. it's like your music allows for you to constantly relive your traumatic experiences and that makes it hard for you to heal or create different thematic content if that makes sense. i think once you gained success you thought you would be happy, but it only made it worse because you realized fame and money does not automatically bring happiness. ultimately, i think those around you will urge you to gain confidence and help you to know you're on the right path. you'd slowly but surely become more emotionally stable and start traveling more and feeling more happiness.

your fans would see you as very in tune with your intuition and femininity or feminine energy. they'd see you as caring, sensitive, and emotional. i think that's because those are the elements you use to make your music. they also see you as wildly artistic and creative. they might feel like you come up with music and ideas that no one else would even think of. they'd see you as an innovator. i also think they'd see you as broken or coming from traumatic and undesirable circumstances. i think they'd recognize and feel your pain. they'd view your life in the music industry and your fame as a new beginning for you and would see it as a chance for you to be free from what's hurt you. they might like writing out their love for you through social media campaigns or through giving you handwritten letters. they'd see you as someone who is constantly growing and learning, and they'd feel happy seeing you happy.

the general public may have wishy-washy feelings towards you. they might find out about your addictions and feel disappointed with you. some people will feel empathetic and recognize how your misfortunes affect you and may have the view of "oh, it's horrible that they went through that. i hope they no longer do that and start feeling better and happier". others will feel like you're selfish and didn't appreciate what you were given if you engaged in your addictions while you were successful. they might think "they gained all that money and fame, so why even go down the route of addiction? they were just wallowing in their sadness". very different points of view, so the general public would feel split on their feelings towards you overall.

Playlist:

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬; 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

Cards:

Ten of Coins, King of Wands, Five of Wands, Temperance, Four of Wands

Nine of Swords (Rx), The Emperor (Rx), Five of Swords, Three of Cups

The Devil (Rx), King of Coins, Six of Cups

Ten of Wands, The Hanged Man

Knight of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

you might be discovered purely by "chance". maybe you posted a song cover on YouTube or became popular on TikTok, and a label decided to pick you up. your music may have to do with your personal life like your family, how you gained your fame, your life history, and things of that nature. your music would be very motivational and strong. you may be very specific about your aesthetic and visuals because you want to stand out among the artist-filled industry. you would be super competitive when it came to the music game. you might be a rapper? i feel like you'd focus a ton on things like word-play. you also might like making society and listeners think about life, society, and spirituality/their life purpose. i'm reminded of artists like Jhene Aiko and J. Cole. you'd benefit a lot from your fame.

you may be a perfectionist about your craft. you might miss out on healthy sleeping and eating patterns while working on an album. you may love the idea of working yourself until you can't work anymore. you see the struggle of work as a labor of birthing these creative ideas and appreciate each time you can create something new. i know i mentioned earlier that a record label may have wanted to pick you up, but i think you might prefer to be an independent artist. you wouldn't want to be confined to company standards and expectations; you would want to focus on the music. people and companies may want you to fail because of this. they may intentionally block your music from being played on the radio or from being nominated for awards. despite this, you would still gain success from you giving to others and others finding your energy welcoming. a strong group (could be your fans or the collective) would ensure your success.

your fans would see you as someone that breaks free from the societal mold. they'd see you as someone that knows how to think for themselves even if the group wants them to think differently. they also see you as someone that knows how to keep going and growing when shit hits the fan. you'd be seen as someone that doesn't allow for life circumstances to bring them down. they'd see you as a successful business person who has the perfect ear for music and eyes for aesthetics. they may also see you as someone that is very guided spiritually. they can tell someone is watching over you to be sure you succeed in the industry.

the general public would see you as someone who made something from nothing. they may not view you as this huge, international superstar, but you would be somewhat known. some parts of the population would be able to recognize you from a photo or from the mention of your name. some of the public may feel like you're delusional in what you're trying to achieve (especially if you're an independent artist going against big companies). i think the general public would also be able to tell that you're spiritually guided and protected. parts of the public will like that you give a fresh perspective to them and the rest of society. you could begin an idea shift in the collective.

Playlist:

#tarot #oracle #pick a card #PAC #tarotblr #sunkissedchld #Spotify

177 notes · View notes

idolatrybarbie · 6 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door.

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.”

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize.

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: lover be sweet

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 4 months

Text

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

#morpheus x reader #fic: persephone's devotee #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x oc #fic: hello mr. monster

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slavghoul · 1 year

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Big news for Ghost this week, with the release of their brand new EP of covers, Phantomime, this Friday May 19th, and two days later, the launch of an eight-date French tour. Frontman Tobias Forge tells us more about the creation of this record, as well as his future projects and the few unforeseen events that have come his way...

I guess you must be very busy with the promotion of Ghost these last few days here in Paris, but have you planned any time for yourself, like a vinyl shopping session for example?

Yes, I have, but it's really just a hobby for me: whenever I go somewhere I go to record shops, it's kind of my own relaxation. As far as promotion goes, these few days are indeed quite productive with a busy schedule, but it's actually quite nice to sit here, watching what's going on around me, at least it's more pleasant than doing a day of interviews locked up in four walls. I'm more of a stimulus kind of person, so when I have a phone call with someone I play Playstation at the same time, so I can concentrate on something while I'm talking. My whole life has always been a bit like that, listening to a record at home with the TV on.

You're releasing an EP of five covers on which you cover Television, The Stranglers, Genesis, Iron Maiden and even Tina Turner. How do you choose the songs for the covers on your EPs? Are they songs that meant a lot to you, that you listened to a lot when you were young, or are you looking for lyrics or a theme corresponding to the Ghost universe with references to religion for example?

It's a little bit of all of that at the same time! But the main criterion, what counts the most for me, is really the lyrics. From the rhymes used to the existential, philosophical or biblical themes. Of course, we could have fun covering "Disco Inferno" and try to put our own spin on it, but I think we need to be able to add a little something to it. I actually like to take songs that are written in a different way to my own, so I'm always trying to find songs that I couldn't have written myself. If I opened a restaurant tomorrow, I would have to find different dishes to enrich and diversify my menu. It's also a way for me to learn, to experiment. Besides, the exercise of reworking is always interesting, and sometimes it works, other times it doesn't.

Does this mean that you have considered other covers than these five titles?

Yes, I did. And the covers that didn't work just don't appear on this record! My original idea was to do a whole album of covers. And I had to take half of the songs off, because five of them didn't really fit with what we wanted to do with them, or they didn't sound like they were finished.

For example, I recorded a Rush track, but I felt I wasn't adding anything to the song. Not to say that other bands are flawed, but I just think that Rush's music is too perfect. There is nothing to improve, nothing to emphasize or accentuate, no nuance to add this or that contrast to. I felt like I was playing Rush just like a lot of teenage boys do, and nothing more. I'm not implying that girls don't like Rush, of course, but you know, there's that old joke that Rush is a teenage boys band. In any case, I felt that my version was going to be a bit too redundant to the original song.

Then there were other songs that made it to the quarter finals, if I may say so [laughs], that we dropped because there was too much to improve on, or the overall quality was not good. I can have a really good idea on paper, and then listen to the piece and think it doesn't work very well, or it's not entertaining enough.

How did the recording of the EP go?

The demos of all these covers were made at the same time as the recording of Impera. The producer of the album told us that he didn't want to deal with covers. That's fine, and it's true that it doesn't pay to do covers. We had just come out of the Impera recording session and we were exhausted. It was very hard, after all it's often said that the fifth album is particularly difficult. We had quite a lot of ambitions for this record, it took a lot of time and energy, and when it was finished, my engineer Martin and I went back to the studio, with the idea of recording another album.

But once we'd recorded those demos, I realised that there were some things that weren't quite right and that we had to take out. We kept those five songs. Five rock songs, full stop. Keeping things simple, easy, and even for the recording: it was good to remember that not everything is as difficult as the album we just finished. This EP is ultimately something spontaneous, simple, and having the demos already made it easier for us. Anyway, I had a lot of fun making it, from the recording to the mix, the atmosphere was quite happy.

You can feel this on the EP, this lightness and a feeling of fluidity. Without it being too basic, because there is a serious work on the arrangements and the atmospheres, which sound very Ghost by the way.

I'm glad to hear that, because that's exactly what I was looking for: to convey that lightness without the final product sounding half-baked, if I can say that! What I mean is that when you go into the studio for an album, you're 110%, whereas for an EP, with only covers, it's normal to be 100%. But I didn't want the difference to be felt between the two, like between the first Star Wars and the 1978 Star Wars Christmas Special! [Laughs]

It's been a year to the day since the Impera album was released. How do you look back on this fifth album, which marked a turning point in Ghost's rise?

In a way I feel relief, because this album has fulfilled its mission, the one it was supposed to fulfill. I don't want to fool the fans into thinking that it's all about magic and believing in it and so on. You have to be pragmatic and think about the results you got with the album. Of course, with every new album you are convinced that it is the best, but after the release you have to see what it does on stage. It's only by seeing how well that performance worked that you can tell if that album is good or not, in the end. Today, one year after the release, I can say that Impera holds up well. What has distorted our perception a little bit is what happened on the side.

You mean what happened with "Mary On A Cross", a track released on a 2-track EP in 2019 but which went viral last year on TikTok?

Yeah, when it came out, it kind of messed up our album cycle. It wasn't a problem per se, but it's just that we didn't plan for it at all, it kind of got in the way. And the label panicked and said "What are we going to do?!" I told them we weren't going to do anything. It was already out of our control, already naturally present on TikTok, what could we do? As we didn't want to damage the Impera promo, but we didn't want to lose the song "Mary On A Cross" either, we did the bare minimum, but our priority was really to get back to what we wanted to do as soon as possible at that point, which was to focus on our Impera. And then, from a pragmatic and slightly cynical point of view, we didn't want our historical fans to think that we were going to stop everything to please these newcomers who discovered the band via TikTok.

As far as Impera is concerned, I only realised today that it was an anniversary. Looking back, I can see that the cycle that started with this album, from its release to the tours, has been one of the most important in the history of Ghost, and that's really great. Now we're preparing for the next tour, which will start at your place [the Re-Imperatour kicks off this Sunday, May 21st in Rouen], and there are future projects that we're trying to work on. It's been a year since the record came out, but really it's been two years since the recording, and now it's time to move on to the next thing... things will start moving in the autumn, I hope.

Are you talking about the sixth Ghost album?

Yes, that famous sixth album, as difficult to make as the fifth! I've already started working on it, and after the tours this year it will be time to go into the studio for that.

So for me, the goal is to manage all these things at the same time without losing sight of these goals and next steps. So of course I'm happy that there are lots of new fans coming through TikTok. And I also welcome those who don't like the TikTok track but discover the rest of our discography and join us. But the most important thing is really to stay on our trajectory, and not to stray from the path we've set for ourselves. We have to make sure that we don't forget our mission, just because someone says they like fucking gnocchi better when we serve sushi. [Laughs]

What you're saying here is a bit like what you were telling us earlier, when you were talking about your care in planning things and having a vision for the band.

Exactly, it's very important for me. Being an artist is not just about aesthetics, it's about many other things. I've always been interested in the holistic approach, in this more global vision of things. To use the image of the restaurant business that I used earlier: I like to cook, but I also like books, people, interior design. In fact it's a collection of many things, and they're all important, almost in equal measure. Some rock or pop artists, or even actors, have been able to break through almost by accident, but that's not usually how it works. You have to work a lot, but above all you have to make a lot of decisions yourself, otherwise others will make them for you, and it will be done in an unthinking way, without a long term vision. It's impossible for me, as a control freak, to consider that! [Laughs]

#the band ghost #tobias forge #interview

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sunkissedchldrecon · 1 year

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𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚

the piles go from left to right. therefore, pile one is the new jeans CD, pile two is NCT, and so on and so forth.

good luck to you, reader 💿

𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝚰𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒:

this PAC includes mentions of specific celebrities! this is in an attempt to describe the energy of each pile.

additionally, sections of this PAC make reference to adult topics such as sex, drugs, alcohol, addiction, and more. please use your discretion when reading your or each pile.

𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Queen of Swords, The Fool, Four of Wands, Two of Coins

King of Wands (Rx), Ten of Cups, Eight of Cups (Rx), The Devil, Four of Coins, Nine of Coins

Page of Coins, The Emperor

Knight of Swords (Rx), Ten of Swords, King of Swords, Page of Cups

The Star

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be soloists.

𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Knight of Swords, The Devil, Four of Wands (Rx), The Hermit

Four of Coins, Five of Cups, King of Wands

The Moon (Rx), The Sun

Page of Coins, The Emperor (Rx)

Ace of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

𝐈𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Six of Swords, Nine of Wands (Rx), Three of Coins (Rx), Page of Swords

Knight of Wands (Rx), King of Cups, Page of Cups (Rx), Three of Cups, Nine of Coins (Rx)

Five of Swords (Rx), Five of Coins, Five of Cups (Rx), Knight of Swords (Rx)

The Hierophant, Three of Wands (Rx), Six of Cups (Rx)

The Wheel of Fortune

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

𝐈𝐕

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Five of Swords (Rx), Queen of Coins (Rx), Six of Wands, Strength

Queen of Wands, Knight of Wands (Rx), The Magician, The Hanged Man (Rx)

Page of Swords, King of Swords, Three of Wands

The Star (Rx), Seven of Cups

Four of Cups

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐦

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

𝐕

Your Playlist:

Cards:

The Lovers, Eight of Swords, The Emperor, Queen of Coins, The Star

The High Priestess, Ten of Cups, Knight of Swords

Five of Cups, Six of Wands, The Hermit

The Chariot

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be in a musical group.

𝐕𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Nine of Cups, The Emperor, Four of Cups, Five of Wands, Six of Wands, The Empress

The Sun, The Fool, Five of Coins (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins, Four of Swords, Knight of Cups

Three of Cups (Rx), Strength, Page of Coins

The High Priestess (Rx), Five of Swords, The Star, Six of Swords

Ace of Coins

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐠𝐲𝐧𝐲

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

𝐕𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Knight of Swords, King of Coins, The High Priestess (Rx), Three of Cups (Rx)

Ten of Swords, Nine of Swords (Rx), Three of Wands, Knight of Coins

Queen of Cups, Ten of Cups (Rx), The Fool, Page of Cups

Five of Cups, Five of Wands, King of Wands (Rx)

Judgment

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

Your Playlist:

Cards:

Ten of Coins, King of Wands, Five of Wands, Temperance, Four of Wands

Nine of Swords (Rx), The Emperor (Rx), Five of Swords, Three of Cups

The Devil (Rx), King of Coins, Six of Cups

Ten of Wands, The Hanged Man

Knight of Coins

Reading:

those who chose this pile would be a soloist.

#tarot #oracle #pick a card #PAC #Spotify

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 8 months

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Hastily Made, Very Lackidasical Body Count!

I just felt like counting up some numbers from stuff I've already read, cause I feel like for all of those memes where it's like 'what is each member of the batfam going to prison for' the answer is straight up all of them in for attempted or successful murder lmao not a single one of these birdies are innocent!

Stephanie Brown: 0 But not for lack of trying!

The Best Robin attempted to kill her dad, the Cluemaster. This was not spur of the moment either, she premeditated that shit and only Batman's influence (and threats) prevented her from going through with it!

Cassandra Cain: 1 but like, c'mon now, give her a break, she was only eight, we can't count that against her, and no court of law ever would either

Dick Grayson: 2 he is Very Sad about this

He's killed both Blockbuster and The Joker. To my knowledge, only one of those two ever got resuscitated!

Tim Drake: Uhhhhhhhhhhh Several. Like At Least Five. Also a Serious Attempt.

To be extremely conservative with our numbers we are going with just ONE ninja dead per base he blew up. Also worth noting: He very nearly goes through with an exceptionally premeditated murder scheme against Captain Boomerang. I'm legit not sure he wouldn't have done it if the other Bats weren't there.

Jason Todd: Maestro, please begin the benny hill music, cause we've got a count to roll through and it is loony toons long my ghouls!

Skipping dear Filipe's moldering corpse due to uncertainty, we start with Lost Days

Human Trafficking Truck Driver Ian, Egon, Steel Beam mercenary crew estimated at least five strong, three more of his teachers, eleven nameless russian mobsters, a cousin and a running buddy of a russian mobster: 23 people

Under the Red Hood

Eight heads in a duffel bag, four thugs with Freeze (Freezy boy does not die), Two confirmed on panel delivery man kills (Five-ten more suspected but we won't count em), Ten goons in the doorway when he swings the minigun on them as he and Onyx retreat, five more goons, Rocket launcher blast kills "most" of a security team with at least three members left so we'll call that three kills (far more deaths are implied), shoots a guy holding lit molotov catching him on fire, then kills Captain Nazi (yay), forces Black Mask to kill six of his men, and finally dear old Black Mask's PA is thrown through a window (his cycling class will miss him dearly): 41 people

That Time He Kidnapped Mia

Short and sweet, he just ices a pack of "brain donors": 5 people

Brothers in Blood

Two human traffickers, three more drug runner goons, two more goons later on: 7 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part one

Starting the running with two cops, lightning bug assassin, six mobstery big wigs, a guy, Flamingo: 11 people

Red Haired Foolishness Phase part two

Littleman Beaver's brother and his brother's fourteen goons, fifteen of his fellow inmates, then the grand poisoning of eighty-two people (well he poisoned more but we only get eighty-two confirmed as dead): 112 people

This is not even slightly a complete list, so consider this final number a lowball of:

One Hundred and Ninety-Nine people

as Jason's body count... at least pre-new52, don't ask me what's going on over there in modern canon, idk

All former Robins (that aren't from the future, a space starfish, not known to me personally, add more caveates as needed) have tried to kill someone at least once, but like, hot damn I'm pretty sure Jason is definitely still keeping his title as the murderous one of the bunch!

If someone knows more about Damian, I'd be happy to have his count added in, but like this is just a tumblr fun post and my ass needs to start cooking spaghetti, I don't got the time rn to start reading his stuff yet.

#stephanie brown #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #damian's tomfoolery #tw death #fictional death counts #idk what to tag this shit

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thegayhimbo · 7 months

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Stranger Things Suspicious Minds Review

WARNING: The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS for the book, as well as Stranger Things Season 4!

If you haven't yet, be sure to check out my other Stranger Things Reviews! Like, Reblog, and let me know what your thoughts are in the comment section! :)

Stranger Things Six

Stranger Things Halloween Special

Stranger Things The Other Side

Stranger Things Zombie Boys

Stranger Things The Bully

Stranger Things Winter Special

Stranger Things Tomb of Ybwen

Stranger Things Into The Fire

Stranger Things Science Camp

Stranger Things “The Game Master” and “Erica’s Quest”

Stranger Things and Dungeons and Dragons

Stranger Things Kamchatka

Stranger Things Erica The Great

Stranger Things “Creature Feature” and “Summer Special”

Synopsis: The year is 1969, and Dr. Martin Brenner has set up his base of operations at Hawkins Lab. Having brought along a five year old Kali/Eight to keep her contained while her powers develop, Brenner begins recruiting new tests subject for the MKULTRA Project in the hopes of finding others with potential. When college student Terry Ives hears about the experiment, she becomes intrigued and signs up for the program, believing it to be extremely important in shaping the course of history. However, as she starts spending more time on the project, she begins to realize the Lab and Dr. Brenner are not what they seem.........

Observations:

This is going to be a longer review compared to my other ones because I had a lot to say about the book, the show's mythology, and certain theories I have that might come to fruition in season 5. This will be split into four parts (which are titled below), so heads up on that! :)

Last year, when season 4 premiered, I ordered all the Stranger Things tie-in materials that were out at the time, and this was the first book in the series I read. I wanted to know more about the experiments Terry Ives was put through which would eventually lead to her conceiving Eleven, as well as what methods Dr. Brenner used to create human beings with extraordinary powers. To the book's credit, it (somewhat) answers those questions, but also leaves others vague or ambiguous. I couldn't tell if that's because Netflix and Random House Books planned for there to be more sequels to Suspicious Minds. If that was the case, it's probably a moot point now considering the direction the Duffer Brothers went in season 4.

The question I'm sure people are going to ask is whether or not this book is canon, and the honest answer is I don't know. The book was written by Gwenda Bond, and in her acknowledgements, she gives credit to "creative consultant" Paul Dichter for notes and advice. Paul Dichter is a writer who's been on the show since season 1, so there was someone from the writing team who oversaw this novel as it developed. The problem though is 1.) There is a continuity snarl in the book that contradicts information stated on the show, and 2.) The direction the Duffer Brothers took in season 4 begs the question of whether Gwenda Bond or even Paul Dichter had all the information about the show's mythology (such as Henry/One/Vecna and his relationship with Brenner, or Colonel Sullivan and the factions in the U.S. government opposed to the MKULTRA Project).

Because of these factors, I'm looking at this book more as an analysis of what it can tell us about the thought process behind the writers when it came to crafting the show's mythology and certain characters.

Part 1: The Upside Down's connection to the test subjects of Hawkins Lab.

Back in my review of Stranger Things Six, I proposed a theory that the abilities special kids like El, Kali, and Henry/One/Vecna had were connected to the Upside Down. Whether or not some force from the Upside Down gives them their powers remains to be seen, but both supplementary materials and even the show have implied there's a link between the two. Out of all the places Vecna could have been banished to by El, it comes off as too much of a coincidence that she sent him to the Upside Down once she fully tapped into her powers. It's even doubtful El knew what she was doing in that moment when she dissolved him like that. She wanted Henry/One/Vecna gone, but nothing indicates she had any foreknowledge of the Upside Down, or that she consciously sent him to that dimension.

That's not even getting into how she made contact with the Demogorgon in season 1 despite never seeing it before and not knowing what it was, or how her powers went haywire once she did and ripped open a gate between the two worlds.

In Suspicious Minds, Terry befriends another test subject named Alice Johnson, a mechanic who has a love for fixing machines as well as taking them apart and rebuilding them. When she's given psychedelics and administered electroshocks as part of the experiment, she begins having visions of the Upside Down and the Demogorgon:

Eventually, these visions show Alice parts of the future, such as Eleven being under Dr. Brenner's control and Terry Ives's eventual fate of being caught and administered repeated electroshocks by Brenner until she was reduced to the current state she's in on the show.

A lot of this is similar to what Francine/Six went through in her comic debut: She repeatedly had visions of the Demogorgon in the Upside Down, and even saw glimpses of future events as they played out:

The major difference between Francine/Six and Alice is that Six was shown to be psychic way before Dr. Brenner met her, whereas Alice only began to develop psychic abilities when she started taking acid and was given electroshocks.

This conundrum between characters who were born with special gifts and characters who had their gifts unlocked later in life is something that plays out on the show: Henry/One/Vecna was established as different from other kids growing up, but it wasn't until he moved into the Creel House at the age of 12 that he discovered his abilities. Whether or not something in the house caused his powers to activate or if he just discovered them naturally remains to be seen. Terry wasn't able to remote-view into the void until she began taking LSD during the experiments, and would use that to communicate with Kali in the book and El in season 2 when she came to visit her mother for the first time. El was born with her abilities as a result of the experiments and acid trips Terry went through while she was pregnant.

The idea suggested on the show and by supplementary materials is that psychedelics like LSD and Acid unlock something in the brain, allowing certain individuals to access psychokinetic abilities. However, it's unclear if the implication is supposed to be that the majority of humans have psychological inhibitors that prevent them from having those abilities, or if it all depends on the individual having those abilities at all.

In the book, there are two other test subjects, Gloria and Ken, who undergo similar experiments at the lab, and they don't have the same visions of the Upside Down Alice has, nor are they able to remote view like Terry can. While Ken claims to be psychic, it has more to do with certain feelings he gets about individuals, and when something happens to them. Case in point: He knows about Andrew's death before he's ever informed about it:

However, he doesn't have visions of the future or the Upside Down the same way Alice does. And as Brenner notes later on, the results of the experiments with Ken were lackluster by his standards:

That's not even getting into the other participants at the beginning of the novel (prisoners, insane patients, potheads, and draft dodgers) who were given the same experimental treatments and never showed the results Alice and Terry did. Based on that, the development of psychokinetic abilities likely has a lot to do with the person in question rather than the psychedelics themselves. Brenner even proposes a theory that a mind starting out as a blank slate and not corrupted by outside influences plays a major role in an individual developing certain abilities. It's a big reason why he allows Terry to continue coming back to the lab for experiments despite knowing she's pregnant at the time, and despite the trouble she causes him:

It's also why he keeps Kali/Eight separate from other people besides him:

That's all well and good, but that doesn't do much to explain Henry/One/Vecna's situation, and why his powers were dormant for 12 years before they suddenly weren't. They haven't established him taking psychedelics as a kid to unlock his abilities, and his angry, nihilistic rant to El at the lab conveys he was well exposed to the world around him and wasn't "a blank slate" in the same way El or even Kali were.

This is why I lean heavily on the theory of the Upside Down being connected to the abilities certain individuals have. Some kind of force or presence in that dimension acting as an influence on people without them realizing it, which could explain how they get those powers. I would even argue the LSD/acid acts as a tunnel between the Upside Down and the human mind via telekinetic energy. It's something the comic Stranger Things Kamchatka also touches upon when Dr. Orlov created a device that harnesses telekinetic energy to bridge this world with "someplace else:"

On a semi-related note, it's interesting that every time Vecna established a psychic connection with his victims before killing them, he would do it while held up in the air by vines attached to his back:

The implication I drew from this is that said vines in Vecna's back acted as a way for him to draw power from the Upside Down. In other words, the nature of the Upside Down amplifies his abilities. For now, I'm leaning on the theory that the Upside Down is the original source of his power, and that some force from it reached Henry as a kid all those years ago at the Creel House, which activated those abilities.

Part 2: The Characters

Getting back to the book, the synopsis speaks for itself: It's a prequel centered around Terry Ives (El's mother) during her time at the Lab with Dr. Brenner, and the experiments she was subjected to that led to the creation of Eleven. While there, she befriends several other test subjects: Alice Johnson, a mechanic who (as I described before) begins having visions of the Upside Down and the future once she's given LSD and electroshocks during the experiments. Gloria Flowers, a black college student with a love for the X-Men comics who's forced to join the project to get credits for her classes. And Ken, a self-proclaimed psychic who's later revealed to be gay. All four of them form a fellowship similar to the one in The Lord of the Rings (which is something referenced in-universe by the characters themselves) as they begin to question the nature and ethics of the experiments they're undergoing.

From the way the group is written here, it's clear they're meant to invoke the Party from the show. Ken for instance has a lot of similarities to Will in his sexual orientation and having some elements of being psychic and getting certain feelings at different moments (though in Will's case, it's usually when Vecna/The Mind Flayer is active). Lucas has many similarities to Gloria in being the pragmatic member of the group and having to deal with racism directed at them because of who they are. Alice is similar to Dustin in their natural curiosity about how things work. And finally, Terry has similarities to Mike in their desire to protect the people they love and being the ones to lead the group forward in pursuit of a goal.

The book also introduces Terry's boyfriend, Andrew Rich, who's revealed to be El's true biological father. Andrew is a product of the counterculture movement of the 1960s, both in his opposition to the war in Vietnam, his (valid) distrust of the government, and his willingness to participate in events such as Woodstock and protests about social issues. The book describes him as being rich enough to afford his apartment, and Terry at one point notes he's a little spoiled because of his parents money and his expectation that it will bail him out of any trouble he gets into. Despite this, he isn't entitled or mean-spirited. He's 100% supportive of Terry, and he's shown to genuinely believe in the causes he protests for. All of which makes his fate heartbreaking later on.

If you thought Brenner was a monster for what he did to Terry Ives years later, this book makes his actions even worse. Not only did he steal El as a baby and had Terry's brain fried when she tried (and failed) to get her back, but he's also responsible for the death of Andrew. After Andrew gets in trouble at the University for protesting against the Vietnam War, Brenner specifically pulls strings in the government to get Andrew's lottery number drawn so that he's sent to the front lines in Vietnam to be killed. All of which is done to get Terry back under Brenner's control. And sadly, it works.

On top of that, Brenner's behavior in this book is straight-up psychopathic with traces of narcissism. I don't mean this the way internet users like to throw those words around to describe people they don't like, but in the actual diagnostic sense: He has no empathy for anyone, not even Kali/Eight whom he views as a lab rat and not as a five year old girl with wants and needs. He has zero issues firing people just for questioning him, or because they react in a way that irritates him. He has no moment of consciousness about pushing the boundaries of his experiments, and his reaction to possibly getting someone killed is to note the loss of potential rather than feel any guilt over his actions. He lacks remorse, he's ruthless in his pursuit of his goals, he makes impulsive decisions based on the results it will get him and doesn't give a damn about the collateral damage he causes, he's definitely power-hungry, expects nothing but respect and unquestioning loyalty from others regardless of whether or not he deserves it, and from what little we do see of his personal life, he appears to have no close relationships. Everyone is a pawn to him.

And to the people out there who keep insisting that Brenner loved the kids under his care............he didn't. His interactions with Kali/Eight in this book are proof of that. Not only is he abusive towards her (including depriving her of sleep when he finds out she's been keeping secrets from him), but his internal thoughts about her make it very clear that he does not empathize with Kali, and only indulges her on occasion to keep her under his thumb.

On a related note, this is why I take issue with Brenner apologists in the fandom who buy into the excuses he makes to El in season 4 when she confronts him about his past sins. For all the posturing he makes about caring for the special kids in his care, the truth is it was ALWAYS about him and what he wanted. He saw a potential weapon when he met Henry/One/Vecna, used him to replicate other kids with similar abilities, and was not above abusing and gaslighting them to get results. Vecna was right on the money when he said that it was all about control for Brenner. Even in the book, he displays this attitude, which rightfully disgusts Terry:

This is why I also don't agree with people who insist Brenner was redeemed in season 4. He wasn't. He never takes any responsibility for the damage he causes, and keeps insisting everything he did was justified when it wasn't. Even his dying breath is used trying to guilt-trip El into absolving him for his behavior by begging her to "understand." That is NOT redemption. And based on how El refuses to absolve Brenner as he's dying, she feels the same way. There are some things you can't be forgiven for.

Kali/Eight is also present here. She's 5 years old when this story takes place, and Brenner has kept her isolated from the other kids (and test subjects) because he wants her powers to develop more. One day, during her experiments at the lab, Terry accidentally finds Kali while roaming the halls, and after befriending her, Kali becomes a main factor in why Terry and her friends keep returning to the Lab despite knowing that Brenner is bad news: They think Kali's being held against her will by Brenner and are trying to find a way to help her escape.

If you've seen the first 2 seasons, you know EXACTLY how that's going to go.

The tragedy with Kali's character is, because of how young she is, she doesn't fully comprehend the situation around her. On some level, she's aware that Brenner is dishonest, and a big source of contention between them for most of the book is her being upset with Brenner because he keeps promising to give her a friend to play with and doesn't deliver (he only fulfills that promise at the end once he's kidnapped El, and it's not out of the pure goodness of his heart). Unfortunately, because Brenner is the parent figure she knows at that time, she still refers to him as "Papa," and goes along with what he wants because she doesn't know any better. She also isn't able to keep her visits with Terry a secret, which Brenner is quick to find out about from Kali and use to manipulate both her and Terry going forward.

This all adds new context to the scene in "The Lost Sister" when Kali is persuading El to kill Ray Carroll, the orderly responsible for torturing Kali when she was a child and frying Terry's brain with electroshocks on Brenner's orders. She isn't just pressuring El out of a desire for revenge, but also because she holds herself responsible for El and Terry's current predicament. She isn't at fault for what happened (the blame is 100% on Brenner), but she still feels like she is.

I said this before in my review of Into the Fire, but I sincerely hope the Duffer Brothers bring Kali back for season 5 and give her story a proper conclusion. There was a lot left in the air the night El left Kali behind to return to Hawkins, and it would be cathartic if both of them got closure, and if Kali was able to let go of her anger towards those who wronged her and maybe find companionship and familial love from El. My biggest worry is that, because of how badly she's hurting and because she's still lashing out from the wrongs done to her, she might be susceptible to Vecna's manipulations, especially if he tries to recruit her and use her against El. I have hope she won't descend into the same darkness Vecna has, and that she can find a way to heal, but we'll have to wait and see.

Part 3: The Ending

The last 50 pages of this book were rough to get through. It's not that they were badly written, but when you've seen the show, you know exactly what's going to happen: Kali isn't going to be rescued from the lab, Terry is going to give birth to El and have her stolen by Brenner, and Terry will spent the next several years fruitlessly trying to get El back before Brenner subjects her to a fate worse than death. The only victory Terry manages to achieve at all is faking Alice's death and helping her escape to Canada so Brenner can't use her in further experiments. It's like the writers realized it would be too much of a Downer Ending unless Terry got some way of sticking it to Brenner, so they gave her that moment as compensation. Unfortunately, it still doesn't make the ending any less depressing.

On top of that, one of the aspects that bothers me is, for all the camaraderie shown between Terry and her friends............we never see them again. There's no mention on the show about Gloria or Ken or Alice and if they're still fighting against Brenner or if they know about what happened to Terry. Did Brenner have them hunted down and silenced? Are they still alive? We're never given an answer, and it's likely we might not get one unless they write a sequel to this book. I remember a while back I had a conversation with @pusheen1802 and @lavandulaphoenix about the possibility of a spin-off focusing on Terry's friends, but that remains to be seen, and the spin-offs they have announced don't seem to be centered on that.

And this brings me to how Suspicious Minds ties in with the show....

Part 4: Canon and Continuity on Stranger Things

I said at the beginning of this review that there was a continuity snarl that I couldn't ignore, and that has to do with the year El was born.

The main plot takes place between July 1969 and June 1970 (with an epilogue on November 1970). According to the book, Terry got pregnant in November 1969, and she later gave birth to El in June 1970 after Brenner unknowingly gives Terry a special dose to cause her to give birth earlier than usual. Based on this, it would mean El would have been 13 by the time the first season of Stranger Things starts.

However, on the show, it's specifically stated that El was 12 years old when Becky is telling Hopper and Joyce about the circumstances behind Terry's supposed miscarriage.

From Season 1, Episode 6 "The Monster:"

Becky: I don't think you guys understand. Terry miscarried in the third trimester. She keeps all of this up. Been doing it for 12 years. [sigh] Terry, uh, pretends like Jane is real--like she's gonna come home someday.

If El was 12 years old, that would mean she would have to have been born in 1971. Even if we're being generous and rounding the numbers, she still would have to be 13 if she was born in 1970.

Some people might call this a small nitpick, but it's one that bothers me. I've come to accept that the Duffer Brother and the writing team for Stranger Things may not be so great with numbers and dates (*cough* Will's Birthday *cough*), but oversights like this make me question whether this book can count as canon because of that.

Then there's everything to do with Henry/One/Vecna. It's pretty clear based on how the book was written that Gwenda Bond (and likely Paul Dichter) were kept in the dark by the Duffer Brothers about One's importance to Brenner and Hawkins Lab. There is no instance in the book where Brenner ever thinks or talks about One despite him being the reason the MKULTRA program took off like it did. His inner dialogue is focused on how Kali/Eight has been the only test subject who has shown powerful abilities, and how all the other kids at the lab were "ordinary so far." Based on what's revealed in season 4, we know this isn't true. Henry/One/Vecna had powers by the time he fell into Brenner's care, and had already used them to murder his mother and sister. Brenner also knew that Henry/One/Vecna was dangerous enough that he had to be controlled, which is why he placed the soteria chip in Vecna to keep his abilities suppressed.

And I get for the purposes of the twist in season 4 why the Duffer Brothers withheld information about Henry/One/Vecna, but it unfortunately creates a plot-hole in the book when Brenner is acting like Kali/Eight is the only child who's demonstrated powers thus far.

Final Thoughts:

Usually, I give a recommendation about whether or not someone should check out a Stranger Things Tie-In, but in this case, I'm not sure how to proceed.

The book itself is well-written, and it gives interesting insight into the thought process behind the mythology of the show. It also fleshes out Terry and Brenner's characters while allowing the audience to see the circumstances behind the experiments at Hawkins Lab. However, for the reasons I've just described, I can't 100% claim this book is canon.

I hope this review has given a general overview about the book, and I hope it helps people to decide whether they want to read it or not. For what it's worth, I'm glad I did.

Coming Soon: Stranger Things Runaway Max

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insertpoetryhere · 6 months

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Dadbastian Week: Setting Sun

"Poetry you're a week late" I know, I had midterms this week and i was cooked alive. But I'm better now and I have this thing to make up for the fact that I skipped an entire day. My official (a week overdue) sendoff to Dadbastain Week 2023!

A huge thank you to @dadbastianweek2023 for organizing such a cool event and for all the participants who might be some of the most talented creators I've ever seen! Also thank you to everyone who helped my indecisive ass pick a name for the dog.

My Baby, My Baby

Escape had been impossible.

Sebastian did not often make a habit of avoiding his young master, but he had to do what had to be done to maintain some semblance of peace. Then again, one of his (former) favorite things had always been his stubborn determination.

And all it took was cornering him in the foyer and ordering him to sit down to render him completely helpless. Now it was just him, Ciel, and the 14 page hand-written essay entitled “why we should get a dog”.

The essay was, as the title implied, an itemized list of every reason he could think for why the manor needed a dog.

Number one: A dog would offer an added layer of protection.

Number four: Dogs were very good for hunting.

Number fifteen: Ciel could not leave his dirty dishes in his study anymore since chocolate would make the dog sick.

Number twenty-eight: A dog would gladly eat anything that fell on the floor.

Number fifty-one: Ciel would allegedly never ever ever ask Sebastian for his assistance on a major purchase ever again.

Sebastian had scoffed at that one, realizing how serious Ciel must be to acknowledge his own lack of control over his pocket money so openly. Usually Sebastian’s status as the keeper of Ciel’s check book was something that the two of them did not discuss. After all, his young master was not a fan of acknowledging his own age and there was a little bit more dignity in pretending that Sebastian was put in charge of the Phantomhive finances by choice.

Regardless of pride, Ciel was still a child. And as a child, he needed Sebastian to sign off any and all money.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your… dedication.” Sebastian had to cut Ciel off once they reached the part that the young earl had written entirely in broken German as a way to prove that his dedication to his studies would remain unchanged. “But could you not just order me to sign off on this?”

The idea of having a dog in the house made him want to gag, but Ciel’s German was simply where he had to draw the line.

Ciel looked up from his paper, eyeing Sebastian as if he had said something unequivocally stupid. “Of course not, you would just buy the dog and then get rid of it immediately afterwards. Or you would make sure the dog is of poor health so that it wouldn’t last long anyways.” His gaze was steely and serious, a stark juxtaposition to the very childish conversation at hand. “I need you completely and fully on board.”

Sebastian sighed, cursing his consistency and communication skills for making his movements so predictable. “Then may we continue this discussion as I do the housework? I fear I can’t stay seated through- how many more are there?”

“Ninety-four.” Ciel didn’t even look back down at his paper. Which was somewhat terrifying.

“... Walk and talk.” He stood up from the chair(he did not understand why humans felt the need to sit for so long).

Ciel perked up (“Like a dog” is how Sebastian’s brain finished that sentence, which made him frown) and followed behind him as he carried on with his day.

Number sixty-six: Ciel would never complain again.

Laughable.

Number seventy-five: Ciel would never bother Sebastian again.

Again, hilarious.

Number eighty-three: A portion written and performed entirely in broken latin to further show his commitment, which was somehow worse than the German portion had been.

That one was… long.

Number ninety: Please.

Ok, now this was getting to Sebastian.

Number ninety-

“Okay, stop!” Sebastian couldn’t take it. He couldn’t handle the… pleading and the voice and the any of it. Especially not now as he juggled pots and pans in the kitchen, trying to make sense of the mess Mey Rin had left behind in the wake of “preparing lunch” while Ciel ate said lunch in the kitchen with him, speaking even louder so that he might be heard over the sound of metal clinking together.

Ciel looked up, hopeful. As if he had been planning to induce a headache the entire time. “So you are in agreement?”

Sebastian bit his lip. This was psychological warfare and he was losing, goddamnit. His eyes settled on the box of eggs, still left out on the counter despite the fact that lunch had not needed eggs for its preparation at all. He smiled coyly before picking one up and handing it to the young master.

Ciel took it, confused. “What’s this for?”

“That,” Sebastian said pointedly. “Is to show me you understand the responsibility of looking after something too stupid to look after itself.”

It was meant to be a jab at him, but Ciel didn’t react. Instead, he held the egg gentler, staring at it as if it was made of gold. “How long do I have?”

“Until sundown.” Sebastian turned his attention back to the chores, relishing in how much quieter the kitchen had gotten.

“And if I give this egg back to you unharmed, you will approve the purchase of a dog without complaint?” He raised an eyebrow, like he was trying to unpack the ways in which this could blow up in his face.

“Mhm.” Sebastian was only half listening as he put the rest of the eggs away and began scrubbing the dishes.

Ciel stared at the egg suspiciously now. “And this isn’t a trick? I have your word that you-”

“Would you like me to change my mind?” Sebastian interrupted, the seriousness in his voice enough to make the boy shake his head and run off to provide a life for his practice pet. Sebastian sighed, eyeing a clock on the wall. He had bought himself at least six hours, plenty of time for Ciel to either break the egg or lose interest in the activity entirely.

While the idea of either cleaning the remnants of a broken egg or tracking down a rotten one weeks later did not appeal to him in the slightest, anything was better than having to deal with a dog.

In short, he had won.

---

He had expected Ciel to get bored after an hour or so. Either that or break the egg and give up on the whole ordeal. So naturally when the bell in the basement tripped, alerting Sebastian that he was needed in the study, he had thought peace was on the horizon.

What he did not expect was to see the young master seated at his desk, the egg sitting on a plush velveteen pillow.

The egg had its own space on the desk, not too close to the edge and not too far from Ciel in case of an emergency. Ciel himself stared Sebastian down, his list of what appeared to be dog names completely abandoned the moment the door opened.

“Do you need something, my lord?” Sebastian asked after an abnormally long bout of silence.

“No.” He said shortly, still staring at Sebastian intently.

The demon blinked. “... You rang?”

“I did not ring.” Ciel said, still staring. “You must be hearing things.”

“... I see.” Sebastian wondered if behavior like this would warrant regular appointments with a shrink. His boy was staring at him and had an egg on a pillow. Even he found this disturbing and pondered on exactly what kind of monster he had created.

Ciel cleared his throat as the silence persisted. “The egg is well.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he understood what this was; An official declaration of war. “I see that.”

Ciel continued to stare. “It has a pillow.”

“I am aware.” Sebastian’s cold glare turned to the egg as he pondered ways to turn the tides in his favor. Clearly he had underestimated Ciel’s resolve. Maybe during tea, he could-

“I order you not to touch the egg in any capacity.” He had to be able to read minds. He had to somehow be in Sebastian’s head.

That little bastard.

Sebastian pursed his lips together in a tight, displeased line. “As you wish, my lord.”

Ciel nodded, his gaze a perfect mirror image of the cruel glare Sebastian had become so well known for. “You are dismissed.”

---

It had been Sebastian’s idea for Bard to offer to take Ciel hunting. Partially incentivized by an advance on the cook’s Christmas bonus.

“I’ll take ’im out without the bribe,” Bard laughed, a cigarette tucked between his teeth. “Jus’ not sure why you don’t want to come along.”

Because that was part of the appeal. A hunting trip with Bard (the significantly more fun chaperone) where Ciel was allowed to use the good guns that they kept in the cellar (which he was normally not allowed access to). A level of reckless, irresponsible fun that no teenage boy could refuse.

Evident by the way that he nearly jumped out of his seat, banding his knee against his desk (it did not knock the egg from its perch, sadly) before regaining his composure.

“I suppose, if it will pass the time.” He said passively, trying to rub his injured knee without anyone noticing.

It wasn’t until he looked back down at his desk that the boy seemed to realize why the offer had been made in the first place; The egg could not be left unattended.

He looked up at Sebastian in malice, who only smiled sweetly back. His master was not stupid. Surely he would see this hunting trip as a once in a lifetime offer and wisely abandon this silly egg game for more entertaining pursuits. Triumph at last.

All three men in the room stood in a triangle, each staring at the egg as it sat innocently on its pillow; Ciel in contemplation, Sebastian in cruel victory, and Bard in… confusion. Which made sense, seeing as no one had let him in on the egg deal.

A light bulb may as well have popped up above Ciel’s head as he grabbed the egg off of its pillow. “I shall return shortly.”

The boy bolted out of the room, leaving Sebastian standing there with a displeased glare.

“... Was that an egg?” Bard asked, but received no response from Sebastian as the demon butler glared at the door, waiting for his master’s return. “Why does he have an egg?”

Ciel returned only a few minutes later, a small bag used for carrying dice tied onto one of his belt loops with a secureness that only could have been achieved by Finny. So the boys were in cahoots… lovely.

“Ready when you are.” He announced with a triumphant grin.

Sebastian grumbled. Foiled once more.

---

“Dogs cannot sit at the table` At this point in the day, Sebastian was getting petty. But the hunting trip had not even broken the damned thing, and the only other option he could think of was having Mey Rin shoot the god forsaken thing off of its pillow (something she was disturbingly excited to try). So yes, he was taking some of those frustrations out on Ciel and the egg.

Ciel looked up from his dinner, which he had not yet gotten the chance to take a bite out of. “That wasn’t part of the deal!” He argued.

Sebastian shrugged. “It would prove your dedication.”

He was either going to put the egg on the ground and accidentally step on it, forget it, or finally give up. He had to. Sebastian had no other ideas for how to get rid of this thing (unless he took Mey Rin up on her offer, that is). His migraine worsened as he imagined the sound of barking joining in with the other annoyances of his day to day life.

He needed Ciel to either fuck up or give up.

Ciel glared, taking the egg (still on that stupid pillow) in his hand. Sebastian swore he heard angels singing as Ciel did so, assuming that his plan had worked. But then Ciel picked up his plate as well, and Sebastian watched in annoyance as he took both items over to the wall and sat down.

His stubbornness knew no bounds.

“I will not fetch anything from the table for you if you are going to behave this way.” Sebastian said, standing firmly by the table as Ciel settled himself comfortably on the floor.

Ciel placed the egg on the ground and his plate in his lap, taking a bite. “I don’t require anything anyways.”

Sebastian eyed the full glass of water still sitting on the table. “Hm.”

Ciel took a big, defiant bite of gravy-less chicken.

---

It was official.

This had possibly been the biggest mistake of his career.

The sun had just dipped down the horizon when he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps running down the stairs. Fitting for Ciel to catch him in the kitchen once again, like the boy was returning to the scene of the crime where he had brutally murdered Sebastian’s pride only hours before.

And in he came, like a bat out of hell, holding his intact egg up in triumph. He had won the war.

His face was bright as the sun, something that Sebastian found no pleasure in as he grappled with his fate.

“... I feel that this test needs another day.” He tried in vain.

Ciel shook his head. “You gave your word. No going back now.”

Sebastian groaned, hiding his face behind his hand as he sunk down into one of the kitchen chairs. He sighed, gesturing across the little table to the chair right across from him. He listened as Ciel shuffled over, taking a seat and setting the egg down on the table with a soft plunk. The kitchen table of negotiation.

“... I have conditions.” Sebastian said plainly, taking his face out of hiding now that he was sure he didn’t look on the verge of tears.

Ciel nodded eagerly and receptively, a much more enthusiastic audience than he usually is.

“The dog will not share the same name as me.” He said sternly, despite it being a ridiculous request.

“The name is already picked out, so there will be no trouble there.” Ciel said, leaning forward excitedly.

Sebastian sighed, still in disbelief that he was agreeing to this at all. “You said you wanted a hunting dog, so you will get a hunting dog. We will go to a proper breeder and collect one that is already housebroken. No puppies, am I understood?”

Ciel did not look disappointed in the slightest. He nodded just as eagerly as before. “Anything else?”

God this receptiveness was disturbing.

“It will not go on any furniture that you would accept guests.” Sebastian said sternly. “I will not have people leaving the manor covered in dog hair.”

“Understood.” Ciel agreed, watching him intently. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what else Ciel wanted.

“... Those are my only demands.”

But he still stared at him, almost like he was losing confidence. It took Sebastian a while to realize that he was waiting for the explicit confirmation, something to set this plan in stone. He sighed. “We will leave in the morning.”

That smile was back, just as bright as the sun.

---

They left first thing in the morning, with Ciel already up and laying out clothing on his own by the time Sebastian opened the door. So he was capable of such behavior. What a miracle.

Sebastian had taken some comfort when they arrived at the breeder’s, who trotted out his most well behaved dogs that he had deemed “fit for an earl” (Sebastian was happy to have an ally in this situation. God knows Bard hadn’t been any help).

But of course, the one that caught Ciel’s eye was a wild-tempered greyhound who nearly topped him over trying to lick his face.The boy had laughed, only half-way trying to push the dog off of him while the other scratched behind the beast’s ear encouragingly.

The breeder, who had initially apologized profusely for the dog’s behavior, laughed at the sight and said “I suppose the Earl is just a boy.”

A traitorous leech if Sebastian had ever met one-

So of course the wretched creature came home with them.

On top of being nearly uncontrollable, the cursed little thing was ugly as could be. Long in every sense of the word and fairly pathetic looking. The only silver lining that could be found in this was that the beast had the decency to ignore Sebastian entirely, lavishing all his ghastly affection on Ciel instead.

This affection did seem to delight Ciel though, who Sebastian had never seen smile as much as he did that day.

So maybe the dog wasn’t so bad.

“He cannot be on the bed!” Sebastian protested, attempting to wave the creature off of the comforter and pulling his hand away when the damned thing snapped its jaws at his sleeve as if Sebastian’s arm was the rope toy that Ciel had wasted his whole afternoon throwing across the garden.

Ciel’s head popped through the top of his nightdress and his attention went right back to the dog (as if it hadn’t been there all day). “I don’t take guests in my bedroom, so he can be on the bed.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, watching in disgust as the thing dragged its ham bone from dinner on the bed right next to it. Ciel climbed in, petting the dog behind his left ear and delighting in the way it threw its head back affectionately, trying to reach the boy’s face in order to lick it. “Good boy, Detective!”

“Call him by his proper name,” Sebastian scolded, lifting the boy up by the armpits and tossing him onto the sheets so he could pull the comforter up to his chin. The dog bounded up after him, letting out a bark that made Sebastian flinch back in disgust with his hands up. “He will never respond to it if you keep calling him ‘Detective’.”

The dog also didn’t deserve such a title. The lights were not all on upstairs.

“Alright then,” Ciel scratched the top of the damned creature’s head as he settled down on top of the comforter, as close to the boy as he could manage. “Good boy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock Holmes was the dog’s full, legal name. Which made Sebastian roll his eyes. “Don’t praise him for such behavior, he wished to take my hand as a souvenir.”

“He would never harm a fly,” Ciel cooed unbecomingly, snuggling closer to the animal. “Would you, boy?”

The dog groaned, both his and his little master’s energy seeming to have left their bodies like a lightning flash leaves a stormcloud. Sebastian moved about the room, picking up the clothing that had gotten scattered around the floor by Sherlock himself, who seemed to think everything but eating and sleeping was a game. In a sense, he supposed that meant he fit his master perfectly.

He could feel Ciel doze off, falling into a deep sleep at an alarming speed. His soft snores filled the room, making Sebastain smile fondly.

“You pulled the wool over my eyes once again, Young Lord.” He whispered, depositing the clothes into a small hamper for washing while the rest of the house slept. “Equal parts clever and cruel.”

Even he couldn’t shake the pride, watching the boy smile in his sleep after his victory. In a way, cruelty was their way of being kind. Not the excessive kind, but the kind that forced their days into a chess game of sorts. And when Ciel was able to pull the rug from underneath Sebastian, it made him feel… significant.

Which was a ridiculous thought to have. He was already plenty significant.

But seeing himself reflected back, growing sharper and harsher, and somehow better than him by the day… It was almost a purpose on its own.

That pride melted away to annoyance when the boy turned in his sleep, his eyepatch still on. Honestly, it was like Sebastian had to do everything.

He set the laundry down, walking over to the bed and reaching his hand towards Ciel’s sleeping form.

That was when a set of sharp teeth snapped down on his hand, forcing him to jump back. He propped his hand away, blood undoubtedly dripping onto the carpet as Sherlock let go of him with a vicious snarl. Sebastian immediately removed his glove, attempting to use it to reduce the mess as he swore under his breath.

He looked back up at the dog, who stood over his boy protectively as he growled lowly at Sebastian. His teeth were bared, still showing evidence of the attack he had given as a warning.

Sebastian went to scold the damned beast when his eyes fell on the contract seal, painted red and exposed now that the glove was removed. It made his voice drop into his stomach with a heavy kind of thud. He supposed in a way, he had been very wrong about Sherlock. He was just smart enough to protect his little master.

And he knew a threat when he saw one.

“Good boy, Detective.” Sebastian said sadly as the dog laid across Ciel’s torso, not once taking his eyes off of Sebastian. “Good boy.”

#dadbastianweek2023 #dadbastainsettingsun #dadbastianweek

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jessybarnes · 1 year

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Don't Test Me

Title: Don't Test Me

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only! Minors DNI!

Word Count: 644

Tags: SMUT, slight angst, possessive Steve, bratty reader, flirting, pet names, spanking, fingering (female receiving), implied sex, choking, explicit sexual content, and explicit language.

Written For: @kinktober2022

Square(s) Filled: Spanking

Beta(s): None

Steve leans against the bar his knuckles white around his glass of whiskey. Tony's throwing one of his lavish parties again, and although he enjoys them, he doesn't like seeing you giggling like a school girl at whatever Clint's saying.

You're sipping on something fruity. He isn't sure what, but it's garnished wjth a orange slice and a little umbrella so it has to be sweet. Barton's smiling down at you and your eyes sparkle with delight. Steve knows Clint wouldn't cheat on his wife, but it doesn't mean he has to like it when you intentionally push his limits.

You know his rules. He knows you know what you're doing and seeing you blatantly throw yourself at his friend in that tight red dress of yours makes his hand twitch against his thigh.

Clint reaches down and touches your shoulder, his thumb rubbing up and down your bare arm and that's his breaking point. Steve slams the glass down on the bar and pushes through the sea of people until he's standing right next to you.

"Oh, hi, baby!" You sing-song and he glares at you. "Clint and I were just talking about our favorite holiday movies!"

Steve takes your glass and sets it on a nearby table before picking you up over his shoulder and storming towards the elevators. "Yeah, I'm sure that's what you were talking about," he seethes.

"Steve! Put. Me. Down!"

He doesn't until the metal doors close and almost immediately, your pinned to the wall.

"Do you think you were being funny, Y/N? Do you like seeing how far you can push me?"

"What are you talking abo-"

"Don't test me, princess. You're already getting ten. Do you wanna add ten more?"

You pout as the door's open and he pulls you in the direction of your shared bedroom. He doesn't even bother shutting it, his gloved hand pointing to your floor length gown.

"Off. Now."

"But Steve!"

He growls and grabs your chin, not enough to hurt you, but enough to get his point across.

"So help me, Y/N, I'll rip it off your body if you don't do as I say."

You huff and unzip it, letting gravity take it to the floor. Steve hikes you over his shoulder again and sits on the end of the bed. He moves you over his knee and immediately yanks your panties down your legs.

His cock is hard beneath you, pressing against your stomach, and it makes you whimper.

"You better fucking count these if you want me to make you cum, sweetheart."

"Fine, but I don't see what I did wro- AH!"

Steve brings his hand down, the leather from the glove adding an extra bite to your bare skin.

"O-One!"

"You think you're being cute when you do that, hm? Making 'fuck me' eyes at my friends?" He smacks the other side two times just as hard.

"...Two!…Three!"

He grabs the swell of your ass and spreads you wide, groaning when he sees the glisten of your arousal.

"Bet you did it on purpose, didn't you?" Such a bad girl, baby. Teasing me like that."

Another two hard smacks land and you can feel your cunt throb.

"Four! … F-Five"

Steve drags his fingertips through your folds, the contact making you whine desperately. He pulls them away before you can push back into them and smacks the back of your thighs four times, two on each side.

"Fuck! Oh, my god…six! S-Seven!....please! Eight!...n-nine!"

His other hand reaches for your throat and pushes your torso up so his mouth is right next to your ear. The last smack connects and you let out a choked sob.

"Ten!"

He tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, his voice thick with arousal.

"I'm really gonna enjoy fucking that brattiness right out of you, princess."

#j snow writes #kinktober2022 #kinktober 2022 #nomad steve #nomad steve rogers #nomad steve x reader #nomad steve x f!reader #nomad steve x you #nomad steve x y/n #nomad steve rogers x reader #nomad steve rogers x f!reader #nomad steve rogers x you #nomad steve rogers x y/n #nomad steve smut #nomad steve fic

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whisperinggbreeze · 4 months

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Eight hundred years ago, a powerful martial god— the god of wealth, luck and gambling— ascended.

After he was mortally wounded because of a selfless act in an intense battle to save his people, he ascended and his healing was personally seen to by the Heavenly Emperor himself.

This god, Hua Cheng, is as mysterious as he is powerful. Nobody knows where he came from, or what battle he was in that caused him to ascend.

Only a couple of centuries after he first ascended, Hua Cheng destroyed the lair of one of the four Heavenly Calamities, causing it to rain blood. He earned the title Crimson Rain Sought Flower when he used an umbrella to shield a lone flower from the bloodbath.

Now, he is as feared as he is revered. In some locations, he is respected and prayed to as an all powerful being. In others, he is a story to keep children in line. No matter where you fall on the spectrum, one thing is for certain:

You don't want to make Crimson Rain Sought Flower angry.

---

HC's part of the prologue is here! it's a lot shorter than XL's, but that's because there's meant to be a lot more mystery surrounding him and his origins

also a clarifying note for if I do post the first few chapters of this fic in full: XL's calamity story is very well known, but I very deliberately didn't put his actual name in his story (and mentioned that it had been forgotten over time). this is why HC is confused and thought he hadn't heard of XL before (this is implied in the chapter 1 excerpt I posted)

#hua cheng is here!#i was always planning to make hc the god of gambling but was never sure what to do with the concept of ghost city #i dont think ghost city itself is going to exist in this world #actually maybe it will it just wont be run by hc or xl. im not sure who itll be run by if anyone #maybe jun wu that would be funny LMAO #anyways im wondering if i should keep the gambling den... if i do ill just stick it in some made up city that worships hc #(if that town comes into existence itll most likely be an allusion to ghost city)#obv hc cant really go there and announce himself because you know. hes a god. but maybe he has a mortal persona he runs it with #n he just goes there to hang out and laugh at the gamblers sometimes #just a completely normal pastime!#mxtx #mxtx fanfic #mxtx tgcf #tgcf #tgcf au #tgcf fanfic #tgcf fanfiction #tian guan ci fu #god hua cheng #heaven official's blessing #heaven officials blessing #OOPS JUST REALIZED I DID NOT MENTION THE EYEPATCH #sorry guys this is a first draft ill add that in to the finished thing lmao #but i probably wont post it here (i am definitely seriously considering officially posting this fic on ao3 now so if i do itll be cleaner)

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thecagedbard · 5 days

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Oh Look, another Tav story! This is currently posted over on AO3 in its entirety but I thought I’d post it to tumblr as well. If you’d like to sneak a peak at some of the chapter names, if you don’t want to read the whole thing yet, have a listen to the title playlist: here. There is also just the ‘Here’s what I was listening to while writing' playlist, and my Faetrala Uncaged playlist which serves as inspiration for Vesper’s siblings. A lot of the songs tend to overlap but who knows, you might find one you enjoy.

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Astarion/Tav (Vesper), Astarion/Halsin, Astarion/Halsin/Tav(Vesper); Mentions of Karlach/Shadowheart/Wyll; Mentions of Gale/AFAB OC

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Canon Divergence, Child Death

Word count: 12,986/300,000+

Summary: Vesper needed someone to protect her from an abusive husband should he appear after she was abducted by mind flayers. Astarion needed someone to fall for him so he had protection from Cazador. He's got two hundred years of manipulation and she has the soft heart of a lamb being led to slaughter. While subconsciously healing each other they both realize they also need to heal the druid of all damned people.

Chapter Eight

They stayed on the surface a day longer than necessary. After finding a safe area where they could make camp for the night, they snacked on dry rations and tried to keep warm as the moon rose. Astarion had excused himself to go hunting on his own and while the spawn was gone the other companions had a visitor. The cub from the camp came looking for food. Karlach quickly roused Vesper from her sleep and had the bard talk to the little creature.

Vesper was kneeling before the cub, a hand extended to pet through its feathers when the spawn returned. His appearance alone startled the creature, making it stutter and cry out no before running away. “Aw,” tsked the high elf as he filled the space between the bard and barbarian, “you scared off the little snack.”

“Yeah, it was us…wasn’t it Ves?” Karlach pursed her lips, her arms crossing over her chest. Astarion turned to look at her, a smile ghosting his features, “What?” The tiefling only shook her head before returning to where she’d been trying to sleep.

During her second trial of meditation, a nightmare was projected from the bard to a few of the others, their dreams morphing to view that which haunted the party’s drow. They wouldn’t mention the instance to her directly, though she did catch Shadowheart and Wyll with their heads together as they walked through Ethel’s bog, Gale wouldn’t meet her eyes until after the fight was over, and Karlach kept admonishing Astarion when he would be his normal, bastardly self.

The poison from Ethel’s liar had weakened many of the party, Shadowheart having focused her protection from Poison on Astarion so he could try and disable the vents on the way done–unfortunately, the clouds were so thick in places he just couldn’t find them without kicking the explosive flowers and harming himself, so Vesper asked if they wanted to stay topside one more night before venturing back into the Underdark. No one had declined.

They were a bit braver the second night, Lae’zel joining the bard and Astarion to hunt small animals to cook on the fire. Their makeshift camp wasn’t as quiet or as careful now that they had removed the Hag threat and no one had seen or heard a goblin since demolishing their camp. While the three were gone the other four talked.

“No, no, I saw him as well,” Gale poked at the fire with a stick trying to push the logs closer, “but what did he mean by ‘She’s gone because of you?’ You don’t–” he turned and peered in the direction the others had left in before bending forward, “you don’t suppose she killed someone before all of this?” Karlach’s face blanched, and her eyes rounded, “Vesper? No! No way!”

Shadowheart’s head also shook negatively, “No, you didn’t see her on the nautiloid. There were mindflayer thralls in these chairs in front of my pod. She actually protested when Lae’zel gave them a mercy killing. To even imagine she could kill someone is…” the cleric paused and removed her circlet to trace her fingers along its metal, “no. Her first kills were on that ship. You’d agree, right Wyll, that the first time you take a life it changes you?”

Wyll had been quiet for the most part but when the cleric called to him, he lifted his head and nodded, “For most. I’ve seen changes in her, for certain. Trying to talk her way out of things rather than follow along…I thought she might actually be able to free that woman for a moment.” He scratched at the base of his horns grimacing as his fingers touched the still-new appendages, “I don’t think she’s killed before this adventure. On the battlefield she is still unsure of where to go, looking to whoever is closest to her and sticking by them even if she gets in more danger. I don’t believe for a second she killed whoever this Mariwen is.”

“Mariwen? You heard the name?”

“Wait, you’re certain you heard ‘Mariwen?’”

Wyll looked first at Gale before turning his attention to Shadowheart, “Yes and yes…I–it’s possible I experienced an earlier portion of the dream but she said the name. Sobbing over,” the warlock swallowed hard as the memory of the nightmare flashed over his eyes, “a wrapped babe, she kept saying ‘Please Eilistaree, not Mariwen.’”

Karlach turned to Shadowheart expectantly, “Who’s Mariwen?”

The cleric didn’t get the opportunity to answer the question as thudding footsteps pulled them from their hushed conversation around the fire. Lae’zel and Astarion were the first to enter, the githyanki carried the majority of the weight of the boar they had hunted while Vesper brought up the rear and held up three rabbits, “They wanted me to leave them but I’m kind of hoping that the cub shows up again.”

Gale only gave a nod and pointed to an area for the recent kills to be laid.

Again, Vesper’s rest was interrupted, this time by Astarion alerting her to the cub’s appearance. With Shadowheart’s assistance, they healed the cub's foot and fed him again. When yet another nightmare plagued the sleeping drow it wasn’t broadcasted to the other companions, it instead roused the meditative high elf nearest her. When his eyes jerked open his hands flexed above him, swiping through the empty air. As the bard’s whimper reached his ears yet again he rolled from his back to his stomach and looked around, expecting to see someone hovering over her or even the owlbear bearing down on her. But the only thing that he saw was how her head jerked to the side while her body was rigid.

Silently the rogue slid across the ground and moved the bag he’d been using as a pillow to rest next to hers. He chanced a look at the other companions who snored or muttered in their sleep, no one else took notice. Looking over the bard again he wrinkled his nose as he lifted a hand to push the sweat from her brow, freezing when she leaned toward him. Again he looked to see if any of the others were awake, nothing. Laying down next to the bard, Astarion pushed one of his arms under her head and pulled her close to him, tucking her into his side. When she pushed against him, he began to shush her, “Calm darling,” he whispered, his head bending to reach her ear, “you’re fine. I’ve–” his face scrunched as he tried to recall things he had heard one of his spawn siblings say, “I’ve got you.”

His hand ran the length of her spine until she stilled and her breathing eased. If he was tempted to roll her back to her ‘pillow’ she wouldn’t know, because when the sun rose over their little clearing she awoke with her head still resting against the spawn’s chest.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Halsin was relieved to see them once the party returned, a little surprised by the addition of the owlbear cub, but relieved all the same. “Two days without contact and I was beginning to wonder if I needed to bring everything to the mountain pass,” he motioned to the chest they packed most of their stuff into, “I was just about to start reorganizing to make room for everything. You’re all okay?”

After reassurances from everyone that they were all healthy, Vesper excused herself to set up the alchemy tools and attempt to make a potion that would make them resistant to being poisoned. From where she was she could listen as Karlach told the druid about the dagger they had forged and how Ethel was no longer among the living. “Aha,” Halsin’s uneasy laugh made the bard look up, “Unfortunately you may be surprised to learn that Hags have a failsafe if they ever get injured enough for their forms to die. It’s likely that Ethel has just returned to whatever hell she was born in and after healing she will begin her scheming again.” Karlach’s head fell back as she groaned, “Why can’t evil just stay dead?!”

Vesper turned back from the group to laugh softly. She began picking up the herbs she had, having to keep them from being pulverized since she couldn’t label them. It would be a labor to try to figure this out on her own, a lot of trial and error that they didn’t have the time or resources for. She began muttering the properties of each herb she could remember before hanging her head and sighing in frustration, “Is there something I could, perhaps, help you with?” Halsin’s voice was deep but soft as he crouched next to the drow. She lifted her head and heaved another sigh, “I know there are potions that can make a person pass through poison gases easier, or even keep them from being poisoned at all, but I can’t…I don’t know how to make them.”

The druid smiled and Vesper tilted her head as she gazed at him, “Then it’s a very good thing I brought those books I told you about. Just a moment and I’ll be glad to help you.” Once he returned he took a seat next to the bard and set the book in front of her, “I might be overstepping, but if you would like I could also teach you how to read this yourself. “ Vesper looked at the book, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar words, “I don’t know. I feel like doing this is taking a lot of your time already…”

“Well,” the druid began, his cheeks flushing just a hair, “I fear if I were to leave the camp I would be rushing you to Moonrise. I have something of a goal-oriented mind, and reaching Moonrise Tower is part of my goal at this current time. But I understand that exploration may be a part of your process, so, with that in mind I had intended to stay here and guard your camp. Keep Scratch and now the little cub company I suppose…though I will admit the newest addition does bring a bit of unease.” Vesper lifted a brow as she began setting her supplies to the side, “The cub? We’ll name him soon, I’m–”

“Not the cub…the skeletal man…”

“Who?”

Her head turned as she regarded Halsin before turning to look in the direction the druid now pointed. Bending down she could just make out a figure near Wyll and Gale’s tents, “What do you—”

“I will meet thee again shortly.”

The voice had been so eerie she thought perhaps it was a dream after being resurrected, but as she got to her feet and rounded the corner to look up the hill to the warlock and wizard’s tents there he stood. A skeletal man stood in dark gray robes, a golden cage over the stretched skin on his skull, his arms and legs were wrapped but she could see how the bandaging was falling in places.

He lifted his head from the scroll he held, “Ah, so we meet again.”

She could feel the presence of the others as they walked to stand at her back. She could hear the whispers, but unlike the rest of them, while they felt panic and unease, Vesper felt…comforted. It was an odd feeling, considering how she felt about necromancy, to begin with, but the creature before her simply looked back down at his scroll and continued to count.

“Vesper? Vesper,” she heard Gale calling to her, felt his hand holding her elbow as he gave it a little shake. She turned. “Who is your new friend and why is he making himself comfortable so near mine and Wyll’s tents?” The wizard was tensely smiling, his lips tightly pressed together, “There’s an undead creature near my things, Vesper…”

“We can take him,” she heard Shadowheart and whipped her head in the cleric’s direction, “No!”

The others all looked from the skeletal man to the bard, she saw the hint of amusement on Astarion’s face. “He was there…when I died,” she said as her eyes shifted back to Gale, “he said it wasn’t my time and I think he sent me back.” Gale coughed as he inhaled sharply and nodded, “Right then…I suppose he may remain…I’m claiming one of the bedrolls by the fire just to be…certain.” He turned his head to look at the others and Wyll was nodding, “As am I. No offense to our new…ally,” his voice lilted in question, “but I’d feel more comfortable near the flames tonight as well.”

The undead took no notice of them after his first sentence to Vesper. He did not look up from his list, he did not speak to them, or even motion in their direction. One by one they all walked away. The bard was the last one, staring at the creature for a moment longer before returning to Halsin’s side so he could teach her something new.

With the druid’s help, which she thanked him for multiple times as he would read from the book to correct her on ingredients, she was able to start brewing a resistance potion. “Tomorrow, while you all continue to look for the Nightsong, I will see if I can gather more herbs. I’m almost certain some of the ingredients we’re missing can be found here,” he said as he closed the book and set it aside. “Shadowheart mentioned you were taking first watch?” his questioning tone had the bard turning and her head bobbing in the affirmative, “Then I will offer to take over for a second shift. It will give me time to prepare for the gathering and to make a meal that should sustain you all. And if you’d like you can take my tent, I’ve noticed you are something of a light sleeper at times.”

Vesper groaned for a minute and her head cocked away from him, “Sometimes. I didn’t have an easy time before being abducted, sometimes—” she trailed off as a haunted look took over her face before she shook her head trying to shake the memories away. “But I don’t want to impose…speaking of,” she cleared her throat and leaned to the druid, “I know I was extremely drunk during the celebration a while ago, I wanted to talk about it that next day but…” she gestured to the book.

The druid watched her passively waiting for her to continue. “Uhm, what I mean is,” she had a fleeting memory that had come back to her during a meditation; sitting next to the druid and leaning into him asking him borderline inappropriate questions. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with anything I may have said, or done,” she knew she had laid her head against his shoulder at one point and even commented on how warm he had been. Remembering her actions the drow’s cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat again.

Halsin chuckled, the deep and warm sound chasing the awkward silence that she had left. “In no circumstances would your questions have made me uncomfortable,” he said as he leaned closer, she watched his eyes as they moved down her and she felt a chill sweep through her, “if things had been different or it had been another night I perhaps would have—” he stopped himself as he met her eyes again and realized there was a shift in her. “But that is perhaps a conversation for another time,” he cleared his throat and leaned away, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Vesper.” As her own comfort was called into question her face split into a large smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and she shook her head, “I’m not uncomfortable!”

His mouth turned downward as he nodded to her and tentatively hovered his hand over her shoulder before gently laying it over the fabric of her armor that she had yet to remove. “All the same,” Halsin bowed his head, “tomorrow, if you are willing, I’d like to start your reading lessons.”

“Reading Lessons?”

Vesper swore softly as she jumped at the new voice that had crept up behind them. She had set the alchemy tools away from the campfire, worried that the smell from the potions would bother those trying to rest or to eat; she hadn’t expected anyone to actively choose to come over to her, and yet here was Astarion. Again, heat flooded her face and she felt it travel down her neck.

Turning to look at the vampire she slowly nodded as she tilted her face downward and stared at his shoes. “I can’t read,” she admitted out loud, the second time in a month she had said that sentence. Illiteracy wasn’t something to be ashamed of in the Isles, tutors were expensive and hard to come by back home. But it seemed in Faerun everyone could at least read the common thorass alphabet, something that had been drilled into her by Issac and his ‘friends.’

Astarion was quiet for a moment before she heard the rustle of cloth and his knees came to share her view of his feet, “Why not ask me to teach you?” His fingers found her chin and tugged it upward. She inhaled deeply and looked at Halsin before looking back at him, “I didn’t want to seem like a bigger burden than I am already. I’m not good at fighting and apparently am easily killable,” Astarion’s mouth twitched as she continued, “I hardly seem worth keeping around if I can’t even read.”

Halsin’s head shook, “Don’t say that. You saved a grove full of innocents…you tricked a drow into being in a vulnerable place.” Astarion nodded in agreement, adding, “The druid is right…but,” his gaze shifted away from her, a thought taking his attention into the distance, “do you know your letters? How to sign your name?” The bard’s head shifted from side to side, “I know my letters…but reading and writing weren’t high on the list of priorities for my parents. Rarely anything required me to sign something so I’d just make a mark if I was told to.”

The corner of the vampire’s mouth twisted upward, “Did Issac have you sign anything? Ever?” He dropped the hand holding her chin up as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. “Did your brother, the one who lost the bet, did he write?” there was another moment of thought and Halsin looked between the two.

“If this is a more private conversation I can–”

“Halsin, shh!”

“Octavius learned from a girl in the village. He used to make up poetry and she wanted it written down so she taught him, then he’d sell those same poems…” Vesper said after she thought back to seeing her brother selling sheets of parchment to husbands in the village.

One of Astarion’s knees rested on the ground now and he chuckled, “I may not remember much of my life before Cazador tortured me, but I do recall how the magistrates handled things. Marriages, at least in Baldur’s Gate, had to be registered with a magistrate and both parties had to sign in front of the clerk or a judge. I’m not sure where you and this ‘husband’ of yours lived but—”

“Rivington, just outside of Baldur’s Gate.”

The rogue’s smile lifted more, “And you never signed anything with him?”

She shook her head, “No.” There was a glint in his eye that Vesper didn’t recognize as he clapped his hands together, “That settles it! If there is no record in the courts of Baldur’s Gate you were no more than a slave. That record will have to be dealt with but I’m sure we can find your paper–”

“Papers?”

“Well, yes, generally when someone is sold as a slave there’s an exchange of the bill of sale, or in your case, it would be the exchange for the loan…”

“What if there wasn’t an exchange?”

Halsin seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable, his brow furrowing as he listened. When Astarion called the redhead a slave he let out a puff of air and the two turned to look at him, “Forgive me. I’ll leave you two to your conversation. Remember, Vesper, I’ll take the second watch and you can stay in my tent if you’d like some peace.”

Astarion watched the druid stand and walk away before looking back at the bard with a raised brow, “I might have ruined his night…” Vesper shook her head dismissively, preferring to return to the previous conversation, “I don’t think there was an exchange of anything paper. I never saw one and Issac made sure I was too…” She swallowed hard, “he made certain I wouldn’t run away even if I was left alone, let’s just say.”

The vampire reached out and palmed her cheek, “I can understand exactly what you mean. But if there’s no paperwork anywhere, no bill saying that you belong to him or a writ of your marriage to him…you are a freer woman than you ever thought.” Vesper studied Astarion’s face, he was giving her a smile she didn’t think she’d seen before, the lines around his mouth were deep, and his eyes were even crinkled, it was… infectious. “So…even if I went back he couldn’t make me go with him?” she asked and Astarion shook his head, “I mean I wouldn’t allow it anyway, it’s why we’re like this aren’t we?” Vesper flinched and pulled back from his touch, Astarion’s face fell, “I’m sorry, my sweet, maybe that joke was a touch too soon to tell after all. All the same, no. He cannot force you to go back to him. At the very least one of us will be free when this is all over.”

The bard lifted her eyes again, “We’ll kill Cazador.”

He chuckled and leaned back from her, “Were it only that easy. He is strong, Vesper. When this is done I will run as far as I can, hopefully, his influence is dependent on distance.” Vesper shifted until she was on her knees and she was leaning into his space, “We’re getting stronger. We’ll kill him. I mean, if we can kill a stupid cult leader trying to play as a god what makes you think we can’t handle Cazador?” His head tilted as he gave her a more familiar smile, “You’re sweet. Naive but…sweet.”

A voice called out to them from the fire and Astarion straightened, “Right. I was supposed to come and get you for dinner. Gale cooked again so take your time with…whatever this is.” She turned back and looked at the simmering potion, “Poison resistance…” Astarion made a noise of approval and stood, “Useful.”

After dinner, the others began preparing for bed. Vesper returned to her potion careful to muffle any noises that could wake the others. In total, she had enough ingredients to make a single potent resistance potion for each member of the party, including Halsin. The rest of the night she sat near the animals, petting and soothing them as they slept. Pieces of her conversation with Astarion slipped back into her mind and she felt something she hadn’t recognized in years bloom within her chest. She wasn’t married to Issac. If there was no slave paper she didn’t have to go anywhere with him. She took a deep breath and felt herself fill with that old emotion that had been dashed by the man she’d been forced to be with for ten years.

Hope.

Sometime during the night, she had found a book with empty pages past a certain point. Whatever this was, she’d found the book buried deep within the trunk, it looked handwritten. With a piece of charcoal from the fire she began to sketch on the empty page. It wasn’t a portrait of anyone, she was never skilled at drawing people, but she did sketch the camp.

Vesper didn’t know how long she had been up for when she began to yawn. Rubbing her face she could smell the campfire and sighed as she used her other hand to try and wipe the coal marks off her face, she heard a hushed chuckle and looked up at Halsin who nodded to her, “Well met.” He stepped closer, bending to use his cleaner hand, and wiped the smudge from her cheek, “Get some rest.”

Her cheeks flushed again and she nodded setting the book down beside her, “Goodnight, Halsin.” The druid was looking at the sketch she had made before he nodded to her. Vesper stood and walked to the last empty bedroll by the fire, Karlach had come to sleep with Gale and Wyll since they were ‘absolutely not frightened by the skeletal man they hadn’t spoken to yet.’ She was just about to lay down when she looked up at movement just above her, Astarion had stuck his head out of his tent and was waving to her.

She looked at Halsin who was now reading the front of the journal she had commandeered for her art before getting up to approach Astarion. “Yes?” she asked as she crouched at the opening of his tent. “Stay with me tonight…you’ve had nightmares the past couple of nights. While I think it would be hilarious for another one to frighten Gale, I’d also rather not wake up to all of our belongings being burned in a fireball,” he said as he held the flap open, when she hesitated he lifted a brow. “My behavior has been better than my best since the other night, I won’t attack you just because the others can’t see,” his insinuation that she didn’t trust him had her looking to the ground, he sighed, “Come on, little bard, I’m tired and would like to get at least a meditation in before we’re made to keep moving.”

He reached through to the outside and secured the flaps of the tent open before he laid down on the far side of the bedroll. She hesitated only a moment more, sparing a glance at the empty place by the fire before crawling in with him. Lying down on her back she stared at the ceiling of his tent, her body going rigid as his hand pushed a piece of her hair from her face, “Relax,” he suggested, “I…I wanted to ask a favor.” Silently she turned her head to look at him, “I need you to trust me, I swear I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with…or well, you’ll likely be uncomfortable—” he cleared his throat, “I won’t make this sexual.”

Her bottom lip was again being worried between her teeth before she nodded, “I trust you.” A small grin formed on his face before it slipped away and he scooted down, lifting her arm just enough that he could lay between it and her torso he placed his head against her breast. Her heartbeat began to race and she waited for a remark, a jeer, or even an unwanted touch between her legs, but the only other movement he gave was to place his arm across her midsection. “Is–is this the favor?” she asked and he hummed in acknowledgement.

“I just wanted to hear it…your heart,” he said softly and adjusted his head until his ear was flush against her armor. “Wait,” she said as she nudged him. They both sat up and she worked on the belt that held the armor closed, when she laid back down she was only in the leather top she’d been wearing for over a tenday, “Okay.” He looked down at her and his eyes followed the exposed skin between her breasts and down her torso, “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

Astarion laid back down, the sound of her beating heart clearer and the warmth of her skin spread over his cheek. He made no attempts to expose more of her skin, his hand was still as it rested over her hip, his fingers curled around it but not gripping. Vesper felt her heart slowing down. It was okay to trust him to do this. She’d woken up on his chest that morning and was safe, now she’d let him rest on hers and be safe. Her left arm which had been awkwardly extended to the side moved to wrap against his back and she carded her fingers into his hair.

She knew she wasn’t the only one with nightmares and never had Astarion welcomed her into his tent. The bard had no evidence to back up her suspicion that he may have had another nightmare, but just as she had done for Carwyn when he was little and had nightmares, Vesper began to hum as her blunted nails scraped against Astarion’s scalp. Her other hand reached for the arm on her midsection and she just held it, her thumb mindlessly rubbing circles. She felt his body stop breathing, no movement came from the vampire beside her and she had to remind herself that he made a conscious effort to breathe while he was awake. It wasn’t the most uncomfortable rest she’d gotten during this adventure, but the dead weight on her chest did make it a bit more difficult to breathe once she’d drifted to sleep.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

“I’m about this close,” Astarion held his gloved fingers practically closed, “to stopping you from agreeing to nice things.” Vesper giggled as she climbed down the stacked mushrooms, “I mean it,” he continued, “We just killed those duergar to exact revenge for these spore people–”

“Myconids.”

“Shut up you walking encyclopedia!”

“Be nice, Astarion!” Karlach called out.

“I am–regardless! We just got revenge on those underdwarves and now he’s demanding we behead a drow,” Astarion landed beside the bard as he continued to rant. “Don’t you feel a little bad, hunting an elf of your own kind? Or has that mind flayer’s potion scrambled your tadpole too much?”

Vesper looked through the myconid village, looking for the area that Sovereign had supposedly opened up for them. When Wyll jumped off the large fungi and landed beside her, “Well if we go by the history known of the duergar, and by that I mean their sometimes relations with mind flayers, it's possible this has something to do with the Absolute.” The warlock paused and turned to the bard, “How do you feel after that potion?”

The drow still had an amused grin on her face before she too paused and took stock of herself, “I feel fine? But also…odd?” Lae’zel stepped around the others to face the bard, grabbing her chin and lifting her face upward to study it. The githyanki didn’t pause as Vesper’s entire body went rigid, nor did she seem to take notice when the others called out to her, “I warned against trusting that ghaik, now you’ve made it stronger. The sooner we get to the crèche and are purified the better.” Just as roughly as she had grabbed the bard, Lae’zel dropped her hold quickly, “We should do this before dealing with this Nere.”

“You don’t get to make decisions like that, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart approached from behind Karlach who was lifting her hands. “She’s right, Lae, we’ll get to your people…but this dream visitor we’ve been having says there’s no safe way to remove it,” Karlach waved her hands as she spoke, while trying to keep them from everyone.

“Tsk’va! More lies fed to you by the parasite. Purification is the entire purpose of the zaith’isk, once we find the ghustil and you see the power of the zaith’isk you will understand. Without these tadpoles we will be all the stronger to destroy these cultists,” Lae’zel shifted her attention away from the group, signaling an end to her contribution to the conversation. Wyll looked from the gith to the drow before reaching out to the bard, “I saw movement this way.”

Vesper stood at the opening of the area while the others began to go through what was in the once-sealed cave. Gale stepped away from the body in the center, turning a book he’d found in the drow’s possession over in his hands. Standing beside the bard he held it up to her, “The Mating Rituals of Flumphs. Can you make anything out of it?” The bard looked at him oddly before taking the book and turning a few pages, “Is this a flumph?” she asked pointing to an illustration. Gale peered over her shoulder and nodded, “It is. Though I’ve never been certain if it was a fey creature or one from the underdark. I’ve never encountered one myself.”

Vesper continued thumbing through the pages, she paused long enough, she hoped at least, to give the impression she was skimming through the text before handing it back. “Seems alright to me, why?” Gale frowned and opened the book again, “Call it intuition, but something just feels…off.” The wizard quieted again before his attention was grabbed by the dwarves who were packing up their things near the cave’s entrance, leaning toward the bard Gale whispered, “Why did you lie about the noblestalk?”

The bard lifted her gaze and leaned back when she realized how close Gale actually was. “Well,” she whispered before leaning close, “it can bring back memories.” Gale frowned as he turned to look at her before following her eyes as she turned to look at the cleric. “Oh…oh!” he said as he realized the bard’s plan. “Do you think she would do it?

“I don’t know, but I think she should be allowed her memories…she called it an act of faith, but I don’t know how she can stand so many secrets from herself,” the bard said. Gale’s brow furrowed, “Hmm?” he looked down at the bard before shaking his head, “How are you? Lae’zel was a tad rough when she grabbed you. I thought Astarion and Shadowheart were about to jump to your defense.” Vesper lifted a hand and rubbed her chin, “I’m fine. She may have surprised me, and I can understand how it could have seemed rough, but she didn’t hold that tight. I could have pulled away if I wanted.” When Gale’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted Vesper rolled her eyes, “Seriously. She…” the bard sighed, “she’s not like those that we fought before. She waited for me to save Shadowheart. Even put herself in the way of hellish creatures so I could make it to the transponder.”

Gale looked away from the bard and instead focused on the others as they finished clearing the room, “I’ll have to take your word for it, and I do. It doesn’t, however, stop me from worrying how things will end up if she’s the first one purified. Her people may decide that with her pure we’re nothing more than fodder for them.” Vesper nodded, a frown forming on her face as if she hadn’t considered that, “That’s…that’s fair I guess.”

Karlach hefted her axe on her shoulders, “We still haven’t seen those minotaurs you found before. Should…should we go looking?”

The others seemed a little weary but Lae’zel was in agreement with the barbarian and eventually, the others came around. Vesper approached the hobgoblin again to ask for directions to the Selunite outpost from the village and they set out. Of course, the one thing standing in their way was a field of torchstalks and timmask plants. The bard hadn’t descended any further once she saw the orange glows, yet she felt the weight of hands on both her shoulders ready to pull her back if she tried to go any further.

The others took out the exploding stalks while she waited on the fungal steps leading out of the village. Omeluum’s ‘bypass’ had nearly consumed her mind when she tested it, even now she couldn’t remember why she had agreed to the kindly mind flayer’s test. All she knew, as the hands at her shoulder pressed her forward, was that the tadpole in her mind had gotten stronger from the mixture of timmask spores and tongue of madness.

The bard was about to voice that she thought it was the timmask spores in the potion that were befuddling her when she felt a new hand lay on her and her mind cleared. Inhaling deeply, Vesper looked around and turned to see Shadowheart’s hand still extended with an amused grin on her face, “Better? You looked nearly asleep.” Vesper nodded, “Yes, thank you. I don’t think I’ll be trying something like that again.”

She had thought the hands on her shoulders had belonged to Astarion, but now with her mind cleared she could see him ahead of her with Karlach and Lae’zel. Glancing behind she found Wyll squinting ahead, “Can you not see?” Wyll looked at the bard and let loose an embarrassed chuckle, “I had hoped you would be alright being my eyes. Despite my devilish appearance I still lack the ability to see in such a clouded dark.” Vesper looked at Gale, the human wizard walking alongside her, “If it wasn’t for the fact I had to concentrate on the spell I’d gladly extend the ability that the weave lends me to see. Unfortunately, I am not powerful enough to separately concentrate on two incantations,” he gave a tight-lipped smile to Wyll who shook his head. “That’s alright Gale, if it bothers Vesper I can stop,” he tilted his head, but the bard had no complaints.

Finding the minotaurs wasn’t the hard part, even killing the first one wasn’t difficult. But when the second one leaped from where Karlach and Lae’zel had it cornered onto the path with Gale and Vesper…well, things got just a little dicey. Hearing Gale swear was jarring enough that the bard paused just a moment too long, missing the opportunity to leap away from the half-bull’s hammer swing. It scraped along her back as it crashed into the ground. Crying out she turned towards it and her magic swelled, “You know Gale, I choose to believe in female minotaurs.”

The wizard, recovering from throwing himself onto the ground, rolled over, “Now isn’t the time for a joke, Vesper.”

“C’mon, I have a lass-half-bull mindset!” her voice boomed with the punch line and the minotaur stopped and stumbled backward before its inhuman laugh began spilling out of its maw. “Okay, now we run!” she spun on her toes and began shooing the wizard. Shadowheart stood just ahead of them her mouth agape, shouting, “That was intentional?” Wyll grabbed hold of the wizard with his free hand, “Tasha’s Hideous Laughter, I’ve heard of the spell but never seen its effects.”

As the spell caster rushed away from the large creature, Lae’zel and Karlach were running towards it. The minotaur, still laughing heartily, fell to the ground, its weapon teetering on the edge of the Underdark’s broken floors. “Good going, Vesper!” the tiefling yelled out as she leaped forward and brought down her axe on the beast. Lae’zel followed behind her, the githyanki’s greatsword coming down on the bull’s neck and then again before the spell’s effect could end. With a sickening crunch, the gith severed the head’s connection with the spine.

Vesper bent at the waist as she heavily exhaled, “Right…well…they’re dead. Now what?” She directed her question to Karlach whose smile shined through the blood covering her face. “Uh…I didn’t think that far, but I just…” she poked the dead minotaur with her axe, “It gave you problems and I wanted to solve them.” Shadowheart and Wyll released exasperated laughs as she looked back up at them with a wide smile.

“Vesper!”

Turning around the bard started looking around, “Yes?” She answered Astarion’s voice though she couldn’t see him, then he peeked over the edge of a natural bridge, “Up here. You’ve mentioned Eilistaree right?” The drow’s eyes narrowed in confusion but she nudged Gale’s arm, “Come on.” The wizard took her elbow and followed beside her, the others not far behind.

A sword was standing still in a stone.

“Something about this, aren’t these offerings to your little dancing goddess?” Astarion looked up from the rock and seemed to pause his gaze on the hold Gale had on the bard’s arm. Neither spoke of the look he gave them as Vesper approached and looked over things. Shadowheart walked up behind her, “Are you a devotee of Eilistaree?”

Vesper looked back and shook her head, “Not really. My grandparents on both sides devoted themselves to her when they came to the surface. My parents' offerings were mostly so we were talented, or that’s my understanding.” She turned to Astarion and reached for one of the daggers on his hip, “What are you doing?” He quickly gripped her wrist. “Oh,” she said as she looked up at him, “it requires an offering…so I was going to give it one.”

Astarion hesitated before releasing his hold and watching her. The bard turned back around and cut into the palm of her hand before placing her hand against the blade letting her blood run down it until it touched the stone. “Don’t look so sad, Astarion, I’m sure she has enough to spare for you,” teased Wyll from the side. The bard giggled softly before gasping as the blade began to slide through her hand, lifting from its stone sheath.

Handing the dagger back to the rogue the bard took the hilt into her hand and released a puff of air.

Feeling a presence behind her, she rested the sword’s blade against her still-bleeding palm, “It says something here but…” she looked up at Astarion who was looking over her shoulder. “Undercommon,” he said, “Gale don’t you have something that can read anything?” The wizard stepped forward and held his hands out, “It’ll take about ten minutes to complete the ritual but I should know.”

While Gale set up an area to conduct his ritual to cast ‘Tongues’ Vesper remembered what Wyll had teased about and turned to offer her hand to Astarion, “Hmm?” A playful smile danced across her face and the rogue looked at her palm before cutting his eyes back up to her, “Tempting…but no. Heal it you silly elf.” He pushed her hand away gently and climbed down the bridge to look around.

After ten minutes Gale held the long sword up by the hilt, “Phalar Aluve or in less elven terms, ‘Though I have to leave you,’” he turned and passed the sword back to the bard, “‘I will dance forever in Eilistraee's light.’ All yours, dear Vesper, unless you wanted to pass it on to someone else.” The bard took it into her hands again and looked at each of them, “Anyone for it? I wouldn’t mind using it but it's much larger than this rapier…and well,” she motioned to her shoulders.

“When will you get rid of your weakness?” asked Lae’zel as she stepped forward. The gith took the sword from Vesper’s hands and spun it in her grip. Frowning she offered it back, “Any perceived weakness could prove lethal once you are in the zaith’isk. It would be wise to get rid of it.” Vesper’s eyes grew round, “I thought it was supposed to purify us?” Lae’zel nodded, her face still devoid of emotion, “And it will. However, istik, your diminutive build will already prove to be a problem for the githyanki technology. It may decide that you, yourself, need to be removed and purified.” Shadowheart bristled, “Are you calling her weak? You’re no larger than she is, Lae’zel! How is she considered weak and you aren’t?” Lae’zel lifted a brow and her head tilted, “I am made of Vlaakith’s strength and power. I have honed my body to endure. We have already seen Vesper fall once.”

“Because Gale threw her into a torchstalk!”

Karlach raised her hands, “Alright, alright, ladies…” The tiefling stepped between them, “It’s not up to us when or if she removes the collar. It’s her choice.”

The bard was staring at the gith’s back, the fighter having turned to face Shadowheart. Muttering to herself she healed her hand and turned to follow after Astarion. “Hey,” she called to him as he was bent over a skeleton, picking something from the pile of bones, “Think we’re ready to go kill that drow?”

He lifted his head and shrugged, “Are you ready to kill your own kind? It’ll just be us this time, no tieflings to help like with Minthara.” Vesper rubbed the side of her neck, “I’m not thrilled about the idea of killing at all, but they’ve got those gnomes,” she ignored the look of disgust on the high elf’s face, “and they’re destroying the Sovereign’s people. Besides, if they’re with the Absolute…it might get us closer to a path for Moonrise.”

Astarion shifted and looked behind her before picking up a skull, “Think Shadowheart would like a Selunite skull?” The bard lifted a questioning brow before the rogue shrugged, “Probably not,” and tossed it behind him. He reached over and picked up a rusted dagger before pocketing it and standing, “Well,” he motioned to the others as they approached, “seems like it's time to cross that dark lake. Anyone sitting out?”

Shadowheart looked at the others, “Perhaps we camp one more night before crossing. There’s only one boat and we need to be prepared in case we can’t come back straight away.” Vesper nodded in agreement, “And,” Astarion added, “we need to check the last of these notes on this forge we keep finding. Decide if we’re going to search for it or not.” Gale nodded, “I can agree with that plan. Though I haven’t exhausted my use of the weave today, it would be most useful for us to be as prepared as possible. Ruins surrounded by duergar won’t likely be the safest place for the likes of us. Vesper notwithstanding.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” questioned the bard rather quickly.

“I mean no offense, it's just…well, I suppose they don’t exactly have the best relations with the drow, but if they’re absolute followers it seems like she’s been placing dark elves in positions of leadership. We may need your voice to get past all of this quickly,” Gale explained as quickly as he could. He hadn’t meant to cause harm with his words, but the bard’s face had fallen just a bit. “I know you aren’t Llothsworn, we all do, but they won’t know that…not if you adopt that facade you put on before and perhaps that face you had before?” he offered.

“My sister’s face,” the bard adjusted her hold on the long sword. Gale’s head tilted, “Your sister doesn’t have your complexion?” Vesper shook her head, “No…Octavius and Yasmine look like dark elves like we’ve met. Paler, but still they have ashier skin than I do…well you saw her.” Karlach cleared her throat, “Let’s talk about it at camp.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

It was late when they finally got to the talk. Gale retired to his tent, he’d had a conversation with Withers that morning and was now comfortable being near the new member of the camp, to sort through his spell book to decide what was best for him to prepare in the morning. Not to mention a few scrolls he had purchased from Blurg.

Wyll and Karlach left with Halsin to get any gatherable herbs. Karlach went mostly for the protection aspect, and she liked talking to Halsin. Shadowheart had joined Vesper in her little alchemy corner, at least she had been there until the third time the bard asked her to reread the directions to the potion, “You have two eyes, Vesper, you can read it yourself.” After that she’d gotten up and left, leaving the bard embarrassed and flushed in front of the small steaming cauldron she’d been kneeling in front of her.

While the cleric was still muttering about forgetful bards, Astarion stepped from his tent and looked from the Sharran’s tent to where the bard sat with her hands in her lap. He moved closer and sat down, “What happened?”

“Timmask spores…not as strong as being hit with their full force but I inhaled just a little while pulverizing them…I–” she looked down at her lap, “I keep forgetting what she said.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, “And I can’t read it so I don’t know what the next step is and now she’s upset and I–” her eyes closed tightly as she held her breath trying to calm herself. Astarion reached forward and picked up the book, “Get your tools. I’ll read it to you.” She looked up at him and caught his eye, her lip quivering before she bit down on it, “Thank you.”

They worked quietly, she’d purchased herbs from the dwarven woman in the myconid village. It was purely out of guilt for lying about the noblestalk. Vesper knew the value of the rare fungi and when the woman had lamented how they would be down there even longer she knew she needed to do something to make up for it. When she was finished with the greater healing potion she sat back on her heels and sighed, looking over at the elf beside her, he was flipping through the pages of Halsin’s book. She wasn’t sure if it was the spores still in her system that gave her the courage or if she just didn’t expect him to react harshly; the bard leaned close and quickly pressed her lips to his cheek. Sitting up again she cleared her throat, “Thank you, again, Astarion.”

The rogue had pause, his eyes wide and his fingers holding one of the books pages aloft as he’d been the process of flipping it. “You’re more than welcome, my darling,” he grinned, “was that my payment for helping or were you just feeling generous?” His smile grew as he watched her cheeks flush. “Don’t tease me,” she practically begged as she lifted her stirrer to attend the potion again. Astarion placed the book down and let his hands rest behind him, holding him up, “And why not? It’s practically the most fun I can have in this camp…you haven’t wanted sex so I have to get my pleasure somewhere.”

Her head jerked sideways as she stared at him before turning to look away, “How do you even know…”

“Hmm?”

She swallowed hard and leaned over some of her other ingredients gathering them together for another potion, “How,” she lowered her voice, “how do you know when you want to have sex?”

Astarion frowned. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, “Are you saying you don’t feel desire for me?” Vesper inhaled deeply and set everything in her hands down, “Not so loud, please.” He chuckled.

“There are things I want to do…but I don’t know,” she frowned, “I feel ridiculous trying to explain. Never mind. Forget I said anything, please.”

The rogue looked away and took a breath, “I know how you feel…in a sense.” He glanced back at the rest of the camp, Shadowheart was messing with the prism again and Lae’zel was once against sharpening her long sword. “I didn’t always want to bed Cazador’s victims, but they weren’t all terrible,” he admitted and looked back to Vesper who was twisting a rag in her hands. “Did you never enjoy sex? None of that bastard’s friends give you a good time?” he asked cautiously. She shook her head, “He had one. A man started coming around with him and he was kind to me.” Vesper lifted her head as her eyes unfocused, “He paid me compliments, would help me take laundry off the line if I was outside and he came to see Issac. Even told Carwyn not to speak to me so harshly a few times…”

She looked down at her rag again, “He would come by when Issac wasn’t there…tell me things he thought I deserved and said some of the kindest things. But then he tried to kiss me…” her hand reached up to the corner of her mouth, “he didn’t like that I didn’t want him to touch me. None of them kissed me…none of his friends anyway.” Astarion leaned close, “Except the one you imagined.” Vesper nodded.

Astarion exhaled heavily and sat back again, “Hmm. That does throw a wrench into things doesn’t it…” The bard turned, and her knees pressed against one of his, “There are times when I do want to kiss you. I may not have had sex when Issac took me but I had kissed someone…I know when I want to do that, but I don’t want to push myself on you.” The rogue chuckled, “My dear, push yourself all you like.” His laugh ran through her as she dropped her head again, “What I mean is I know when I want to do that, but not…anything else. Not yet.”

She knew she was being watched by the vampire’s spawn. When her gaze drifted just behind her lashes she could watch him he leaned forward and rested his hands on his fist, “Can we work on that? Despite some of the horrible bedmates I’ve had…I do enjoy some of the carnal acts of desire. And as I told you before, I want to know what you really sound like instead of those shouts and screeches you were making in the woods.”

“Uhm,” she felt his fingers under her chin and nearly fought against him before letting him pull her head up. He was so much closer than she’d realized, his nose grazing against hers, “I can only imagine just how sweet your blood is in the throes of passion.” His lips grazed hers and her heart began to pound in her ears, her breath catching and the heat that she normally felt in her face raced through her extremities. “My little bard, I cannot wait to drink you up,” he smirked, and their eyes met as he opened his, “and I don’t just mean your blood.”

She felt his tongue ghost against the seam of her lips and gasped in a silent breath. Noises from the camp's entrance had him backing away for just a second before he turned her chin and pressed a kiss to the scar on her lips, “Soon?” Dumbly she nodded and closed her mouth tightly, when Astarion turned and got up she pressed her hand to her chest and turned back to the table nearly yelping when his voice was a whisper in her ear, “That, love, that is desire.” He tugged a strand of her hair before walking away.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

During dinner, Karlach pulled out of her pocket a grouping of vines. “Right, so we need Vesper to go on the boat just because she’s a drow right?” she asked and looked at Gale who nodded as he spooned a mouthful of ‘sad soup,’ Astarion had taken to calling their underdark meals as such, “Right. I should probably also go, I nominate myself only because I don’t believe our resident bard can cast a teleportation circle.” Vesper shook her head as she ate and looked at Karlach, “What are those for?”

The tiefling glanced at Halsin before clearing her throat and holding them out, “We were talking about it on our little gathering trip. Since we probably all want to go if only to make sure the rest of you are safe, Halsin suggested drawing straws to see who goes. So, there are two short straws for those that will be going.” Lae’zel tutted and rolled her eyes before reaching over and quickly plucking one out of Karlach’s fingers, it was a very short vine. “Right then, one more short one…Lae’zel…” Karlach made a face at the gith before looking at the others, “Unless someone can make a compelling argument as to why they should go.”

Vesper looked around the campfire before the others reached out to grab for the vines. Shadowheart held up her short straw and the others threw theirs into the fire. Astarion stared at them and then turned to Vesper, “Finish eating, we need to work on your lock picking.” He sat his bowl of soup in front of Scratch before getting up and returning to his tent.

The bard frowned for a moment and turned her bowl up to her lips, “He didn’t mean right now, did he? You can take your time to eat at least,” Shadowheart said as she watched the redheaded drow. Halsin chuckled, “He’s in his right to be worried. I’ve not seen them apart since I joined your camp.” Vesper choked on the last bit of broth and brought her bowl down to look at the druid who was smiling. Wonderful, she thought, someone else to tease me.

She felt the tadpole wriggle and Karlach and Wyll began laughing, Wyll tilted his head, “Well it’s only because he’s saying what we’ve all seen. You and Astarion are close…it’s nice to see he cares about someone other than himself.” He turned his attention to Halsin, “You’re right though, this will be the first time he’s been left behind in camp…hell, it’ll be the first time for several of us, actually.” He looked at Lae’zel and Shadowheart, “Will you two be alright without Karlach as a buffer.” “T’chz.”

“I hardly need a babysitter, Wyll. As long as Lae’zel stays on her best behavior I’ll have no reason to knock her into the Ebonlake.”

Vesper shot the cleric a pleading look and Shadowheart sighed, “Fine. Yes, I’ll behave…as long as she does.” Lae’zel made another noise of difference, “We are allies as long as we have these tadpoles, though if your usefulness runs out I may have to dispose of you.”

Karlach looked between them, “I’m rethinking the vines.”

Vesper shook her head, “Don’t. They’ll be fine. Right? Because without either one of you, things could go poorly for Gale and me…” She gave each of them a pleading look and Lae’zel lifted her chin, “I will remain nonhostile to Shadowheart if you agree to remove the collar.”

“I’m leaving,” the bard muttered as she stood quickly and walked away toward Astarion’s tent, the high elf now standing just outside his tent with a pair of gloves, a set of thieves tools, and an ordinary chest lock in his hands.

Halsin looked around the campfire and frowned, “What is the matter with the collar she wears?” Wyll shook his head when Shadowheart opened her mouth, “She was upset when she found out you told me.” The cleric sighed and shook her head, “Halsin is a member of this team now, isn’t he? He needs to know about her shortcomings…” Turning to the druid she began to explain what she knew about the bard. The druid’s jaw set in a hard line as he listened, and his eyes glanced over to the two elves.

“If it’s simply sealed together, surely it is something that can be removed easily,” he said as he watched the bard, “and I would hardly call an accessory like that a shortcoming.”

“It hides her broken collarbone. Or rather, her poorly healed collarbone.”

Even at this distance, he could see the bard’s shoulders straighten, and her ear turned towards the fire, her chin down as far as it could go.

“A poorly healed injury is also not a shortcoming,” he said to the cleric. Halsin turned to look at Shadowheart, “I have seen you flinch when that mark on your hand flares. Do you consider it a shortcoming?” Shadowheart looked down at her hand and blanched, “No.” The druid bowed his head, “Then why would you consider her injury to be a shortcoming?”

Shadowheart had no answer.

Lae’zel sighed, “It needs to come off, no matter how anyone thinks of it. Her shoulder needs to be healed if it can, lest something happen to her in the zaithisk.”

Karlach smiled, “It’s almost like you like her Lae.” The githyanki tsked and lifted her chin again, “She has impressed me since reuniting after the nautiloid. Though I prefer battle to be won through bloodletting I can respect her magic.”

Gale, who had been quiet up until now, chuckled, “Agreed…though she could use some better jokes.” Wyll hummed from his spot by the fire, “I dunno…lass-half-bull was pretty funny.” The tiefling laughed and nodded, “And her mockery is getting better. Probably saved my ass today with those dwarves.”

Across the camp Vesper listened, she could feel Astarion’s hand on her knee, her own hand was over his. When she turned back she was chewing on the inside of her cheek, “Don’t listen to them. The druid’s right.” She glanced up at Astarion and spared him a tense smile before she focused on the lock again, “Is he though? I’ve got a perfectly useful sword today…can’t use it because I can’t even lift it properly.” The lock finally clicked and Astarion pulled it back to reengage the lock and held it out once again, “Again. Taking off the collar is your choice. Everything is your choice now,” he told her as she bent over his hand and began working on the tumblers inside the lock.

“Should I agree to what Lae’zel said?” she asked as she stuck the tip of her tongue out from between her lips. “It’s your choice…I won’t deny I’d like you to remove the collar only because I worry about your fragile little wrist.” When the lock popped open again he took it away and reached behind him for another one, “Again.”

“How many of these do you have?”

“When it took you longer to just pick a lock than it did for me to disarm a trap and open the lock…I began collecting. Less talking more picking,” he pushed her head down and grinned when he heard her snickering.

“But, if you weren’t so beholden to keeping your promises…” he tilted his head before reaching to adjust one of her hands, “you could agree to it and then just never do it.” She looked up at him for a second before looking back down as one of the tools in her hands became tight, “I can’t do that. All I have is my word…literally, I own nothing.”

Astarion glanced over her head and saw the others were tossing looks in their direction, “Perhaps. Maybe I’m looking to corrupt you just a little bit, after all, in all my years visiting taverns of Baldur’s Gate, you must be the most squeaky clean bard I’ve ever met.” he sighed and shook his head from side to side, “Fine, besides the pickpocketing and the lock picking….it took you too long,” he said as the lock finally popped, “try again.”

He glanced up again and raised a brow, “Gith coming.” Vesper lifted her head to look at him before turning, Lae’zel had her arms crossed over her chest, “Karlach is threatening to go against her own set rule if I do not agree to ‘behave.’ I still pose that I will act as you expect of me if you remove it.” Vesper took a deep breath and looked at Astarion who cast his eyes away from her, she looked back to Lae’zel and nodded. “Fine, but after we deal with the drow,” Lae’zel nodded once and left the two to their devices, returning not to the fire but to her tent.

Vesper sighed again and looked at Astarion, “Why do you want it gone anyway?” The rogue lifted his brow and looked towards her neck, “I wasn’t lying, I worry about your wrist.” He lifted her hand and tugged the glove off, she could see healing puncture marks. “I will admit your thigh was much more enjoyable, and perhaps it’s the spawn in me…” he leaned closed and whispered, “I like necks.” The bard pursed her lips as he leaned back before she began to shake with laughter, “Really?” He nodded, “Your neck is a mystery to me…it could end the whole thing if it's not enjoyable.” He looked away from her but allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk upward, “Then who will I enjoy? Halsin has a nice throat I suppose…think he’d let me have a taste?” He turned to the bard who was now covering her mouth to keep from making noise.

Vesper let Astarion drink from her that night, ignoring his teasing about how she tasted. She also ignored his advances about ‘pleasing’ her but did give in when he told her to deny him a kiss. Part of her had expected it to go beyond what she was comfortable with, but the high elf had sweetly pressed his lips against hers before pulling away. “Go prepare for your watch before I don’t allow you to leave,” he goaded her as he pushed her away. The bard laughed softly as she left him for the evening.

After bottling her potion, the drow walked quietly around the campsite careful not to disturb those around the fire. After her round was finished, Vesper did her best to sneak out of the camp proper, shushing Scratch and the owlbear cub as she left. She didn’t go far from the protected entrance, Shadowheart’s warding glyph pulsating as her feet scuffed across the arcane ward.

Perching on the naturally formed bridge that led to their cave Vesper pulled her knees to her chest and let her fingers dance across the bottom of her collar. Words from Issac and his family rang between her ears as she touched it. Memories of the way her neighbors looked at her flashed behind her eyes. She was so lost in thought she nearly leaped forward when a blanket was dropped over her shoulders, “Whoa! Don’t–” Halsin’s sleep-deep voice nearly echoed in the chamber they were in, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Scratch was worried about you being alone,” he said as he crouched down beside her before fully sitting, his legs hanging over the edge.

“I didn’t mean to worry him…or you, or wake you up at all,” said the bard as she tugged the blanket over her leather-wrapped shoulder. “I wasn’t resting yet, attempting yes, but I had not yet reached reverie,” he told her before he glanced in her direction, “Vesper…may I ask an uncomfortable question?”

She could already hazard a guess as to what he wanted to ask. Glancing at the large druid she inhaled deeply and nodded, “Of course, you’ve helped me a lot recently. How could I say no to a question?” Halsin’s frown deepened but he pressed on, “Your companions seemed to have concerns about the collar around your neck. An injury, no matter how grave, shouldn’t be hidden in shame. It’s a mark of your survival…”

It was exactly as she’d been expecting. Nervously she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and listened. Halsin reiterated himself several times, that she shouldn’t wear the collar just because she’s ashamed of the scar her collarbone left. Finally, she held up a hand, “Halsin… it's not because of the injury…” The druid stopped talking and waited, when she didn’t continue he pressed, “If not the injury…why? Even Astarion told you the other night you are not beholden to this man you called a husband…” The word ‘man’ was hesitantly said, as if Halsin were trying to come up with a word befitting his thoughts on the image he’d created of Issac from the little information he’d been given.

“I may not be ‘beholden’ to him as you say,” she reached through the blanket and touched the collar’s edge, “and yet he does have a hold. But…” she let one leg fall off the edge of the bridge and the other adjusted as she turned to the druid. It was time the others knew the truth, might as well start with the one who was talking to her now. “When the collar was sewn together the woman who did the work sewed deeply, running the threads through my shoulders. When I complained…well,” she could hear Issac’s mother’s laughter, “she didn’t care. So removing it isn’t exactly a simple task…and I’m a bit of a baby when it comes to pain.”

Vesper watched the druid’s face as it shifted from curious understanding, to rage, and finally softened into a sympathetic smile for the bard. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand as it raised and carefully rested against her shoulder, his weight held so as to not put pressure on the blanket or leather, “I am deeply sorry for your pain. I can only imagine…” he paused and removed his hand as his chin fell, “this was not the first cruelty you experienced?” When she shook her head he sighed, “Nor was it the last,” she said in a hushed whisper. “But, believe me, Halsin…when I say it was far from the worst cruelty I experienced before this tadpole…besides Astarion, I may be the only one thrilled with the turn of events…not that I want to be a mind flayer, of course.”

From where she sat, Vesper could have sworn that Halsin was having an internal crisis. She lifted her head to look at the druid fully and reached out placing her hand against his bicep, “Don’t feel sorry for me, Halsin.” The druid shook his head, “I just…I cannot help but wonder what else he put you through.” Her eyes widened as she thought about it all and she had to shake her head to release herself from her thoughts, “Oh, you know…daily physical harm just because I slept wrong or allowed our son to be a child and make noise when he wanted silence.” “You had children?”

The bard’s head nodded, “Yes. Three little babies all at once…” She looked away with a melancholic smile, “Of course, I only have the one now.”

“Childhood can be very hard–”

“Childhood didn’t kill them…” she quickly corrected him before biting down on the inside of her cheek. “Mariwen was the weaker of the three—” “Triplets?” asked Halsin as he leaned closer, the bard’s voice was softer as she recalled her children. “Yes…not unheard of in my family,” she glanced at him before looking away, she could feel the burn in her eyes, “Mariwen was the weaker one but she was still so strong, my sisters always told me that the more babies cried the stronger they were…so when she got sick and just kept crying I didn’t mind. The other two got over their illness, but not Mariwen. I thought it was fine, that her crying would come to an end but Issac…” she blinked rapidly and swiped her hand over her eyes, “Issac threw us both into a room and barred the door so we couldn’t get out.”

Vesper refused to look in Halsin’s direction as he scooted closer to her, when his hand warmed her back through the blanket she bowed her back to keep it off of her, “I didn’t hear the buzzing until her cries were screams.” She took in a shuddering breath, “Hornets had somehow built a nest beneath the floorboards…which I still find so interesting considering the room we were in was mine and I had just cleaned it the day before…no buzzing. No hornets. But somehow it was my fault for not keeping his home free of pests.”

Halsin said nothing. When she bowed her back to get away from his touch he pulled his hands back, “What happened to your other daughter?”

The bard gave him a pained smile and laughed humorlessly, “Isn’t that a question I would love to know.” She turned her eyes to the druid and tilted her head, “After burying Mariwen I didn’t want the other two to get very far from me. So I’d have them sleep in my bed rather than their crib. For Issac, I learned how to sleep like a human, he has always hated the idea of meditation and reverie, so I didn’t hear the men when they came in. I didn’t know they were there until the one nearly stabbed through my neck and he ripped Ffion from my arms.” The druid sucked in air and she reached out to pat his arm again, her hand was quickly covered by his, “I wanted to go after them. But they said they’d take Carwyn too or kill me and leave him to die…Issac was going to be gone for weeks. The only person that would come by would have been his brother…Evard didn’t care about the children.”

She licked her dried lips and shame colored her face, “I chose to save my son…to save myself and I let them take Ffion away from me.”

Her hand was slid down Halsin’s arm until he held it in both of his hands, “You were given an impossible choice. To go after your daughter it would have put more lives in danger. There was no right decision to be made.” He heard another scoff from her and she turned to look at him, “If only it had been you instead of Issac…he believed I should have found a way. Should have thrown myself at those men, given myself to them in hopes that they would have been satisfied with the drow whore of Rivington.” A rebellious tear streaked down her face and her hand rushed to catch it.

“After that of course, I never did anything that would put Carwyn in danger. I gave Issac whatever he wanted the moment he mentioned it…no matter how much I hated it…or it made me hate myself,” when Halsin opened his mouth she guessed his question and shook her head, “It didn’t stop the abuse. This collar happened after my girls were gone…after Carwyn turned four he was taught to hate me. They taught him to not listen to my instructions and then he would get angry because I couldn’t control my child.” She looked at the druid and stretched a smile across her face, “But I have to be happy. Because I’m alive…my son is still alive. Now I’m free from him and of them.”

Halsin’s hands warmed the one of hers he still held. His thumb massaged the lower portion of her palm and he had cast his eyes downward. “Yet you still cling to that which was to shame you,” his words weren’t meant to be accusatory but she flinched all the same. The druid released her hand and patted the top, “You’ve made an agreement to remove the collar, but if I may…I don’t think that you are ready for its removal.”

She didn’t answer.

Silence fell between the elves before Halsin made to stand, “Come. I can keep watch tonight and rest while the rest are in camp tomorrow. We don’t know how long it will take for your boat to cross the Ebonlake. You need all the rest you can get.” Vesper wanted to deny him, but old habits are so hard to kick. Even with Astarion’s help she still had difficulty turning men down. Standing she dusted off her backside, “I’m sorry if I ruined your evening…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Halsin turned to face her, he’d nearly made it back to their camp’s entrance. “Knowing what someone has gone through can help when that person is struggling. For instance, now when Astarion’s barbs get a little more… ambitious I know that I should probably stop him before he truly hurts you.” He held an arm out to the bard and his fingers curled, “I won’t leave you out here alone, but it’s much safer within the wards.”

She tucked the blanket around herself tighter and followed the druid, he paused at his tent before he shook his head and guided her to Astarion’s, “The others think you have fewer nightmares when you’re beside him.” Vesper frowned, “How would they know I’m having nightmares?” Halsin lifted a brow and then tapped his finger softly against her head, “Apparently your parasite likes to share that information with the others.”

The already pale drow blanched further, but she nodded, “Thank you. Here,” she passed his blanket back to him before crawling into the rouge’s tent. Even though her staying with him that night hadn’t been discussed, Astarion had kept the second bedroll beside his, the cushion she used to pillow her head lay next to his, and the threadbare blanket was folded exactly where she had left it that morning. She tied the opening closed and sat back on her heels until she felt Astarion’s nails trail up her arm, “Lie down…get some rest.”

“How much of that did you hear?” she asked as she followed his orders, her knees curling upward as she threw the blanket over herself.

“Enough to know these next few days will be awkward until you address the others,” he said sleepily. His head turned and he opened his eyes to glance at her, “Come here. You’re going to worry about it for too long and be exhausted come morning…Lae’zel will blame me.” Astarion allowed her to curl against him, only reaching down to bring one of her knees up to rest on his thigh, “Comfortable?” he asked before laying his head back down. The laid there in silence before he sighed, “Close your eyes or I’ll kill you and have Halsin revive you come morning.” When her head shot up he looked at her, “It would be peaceful…bad timing?” She nodded and he wrinkled his nose, “I won’t harm you. Just close your eyes and count your sheep…”

Getting to sleep wasn’t easy for the bard. Guilt over subjecting the party to her dreams ate at her, but Astarion’s nails scraped against her scalp just as she had done for him previously. He found a rhythm that finally lulled the bard to sleep. Glancing at her once her breathing evened out, Astarion frowned and looked at his hands. Comfort from his hands.

“How odd…”

#the caged bard #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 #tcb: vesper #astarion/tav #astarion/halsin/tav coming later #halsin/tav later #astarion/halsin later #tav's story

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lemony-snickers · 2 years

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hi. here is the beginning of the long-winded historical au clusterfuck. i was planning to have it beta’d, but honestly, i feel like that would be too cruel a thing to ask of anyone.

the mix & match stipulations were kakashi hatake / historical romance au / passion / fem!reader

this stands at eight chapters for now, but will be longer; not sure how long yet. the plan is to update once a week, but we’ll see how that goes, since the fic itself is still being written.

it’s long as fuck already & sorry in advance if you choose to read it.

Title: Helping Hands (part 1 of ?) (AO3 Link Here) Summary: In the wake of a tragedy, Lord Kakashi Hatake departs his home country to start a new life and moves into the Estate his ex-pat father left him when he died. There, he meets the House’s appointed Caretaker, a charming woman with secrets of her own. (Passion: The emotions as distinguished from reason.) Chapter Word Count: 5,300 Chapter Warnings: rated M for implied sexual content, references to war/death/injury; fem!MC, alcohol consumption .

The house that would become known as Hatake Manor was actually quite small by conventional standards. Situated atop a steep hill that made direct approach by carriage all but impossible, the drive was long and winding, cut into the side of the hill to ease the gradient and spare the horses. As such, the house itself had been left mostly abandoned for some years by the time Sakumo Hatake took over the property, purchasing it at a low price from the disinterested heir of its original owner who preferred city living to that of the country.

When he moved in, Lord Hatake and his newly acquired staff strapped his meager belongings to trolleys in order to push and pull them up the hill to the house more directly rather than spend additional hours traversing the winding drive by carriage. The endeavor was certainly an intriguing introduction to their new employer, watching the Lord of the House straining beneath the weight of his own bedposts was not a thing any of the new hands had expected.

In the end, though it quite exhausted the entire crew, it also served to bond the small staff and Lord Hatake together because he was just as sweaty and spent as they were by the end, offering them drinks of his personal reserve in thanks, which they took not ungratefully.

It then became clear that Lord Hatake was by no means a standard Lord, that his unconventional approach to the house would extend far beyond rigging a pulley system to move his furniture. He was intelligent and adaptable—quick on his feet as well as with a smile. But there was also a deep and obvious sadness which lingered beneath the lines of mirth around his mouth and eyes. After all, one did not flee their home country to live in a strange manor with only a handful of staff and no family if there was not a reason.

It turned out the small house and the steep hill suited Lord Hatake just fine. He had no need of especially large quarters, given that it was only him and the bare-bones staff intending to live there. The stable had room for four or six horses, which outnumbered the three he’d brought with him. And for a man who had crossed the breadth of an ocean to outrun his many mysterious demons, the difficult hill and the winding approach it necessitated gave him plenty of time to size up any visitors long before they knocked upon his door.

Not that visitors were something he had to trouble himself with, as it turned out.

In the decade that Sakumo Hatake spent in the House, he never received a single caller other than those necessitated by a life so far beyond the village limits. Groceries were delivered, clothes and oil, too, when required. But every person who stepped foot within Hatake Manor during his tenure there did so only on official business.

Lord Hatake’s servants, all as well-attached as was appropriate to the man thanks to his generous heart and easy-going nature, wondered at his solitude. Their kind-hearted Lord seemed the sort of person destined to have friends around him always, listening to his stories and laughing with him as his eyes crinkled pleasantly closed. And though he treated his staff as much as friends as he could—dining with them and sharing in many of the duties of the House—a necessary distance still remained. Sakumo, after all, was Lord Hatake, and no amount of joviality or kindness could make true comrades of them all.

So when he died, eventually, in that house, it was alone. And everyone who had shared those rooms with him thought it a cruelly isolated end to what ought to have been a full and happy life. And when no one called upon the house to command the body back to his native country, it was mutually decided by all who remained that he should be interned in a small cemetery on the property. It was a pretty place, set amongst a grove of apple trees, long disused. Lord Hatake’s headstone shone too-white and obviously out of place amidst the dismal grey stones, worn by time and weather.

The only people who attended his funeral were his small staff of six, the boy Iruka Umino who delivered his groceries—as well as Mr. and Mrs. Umino, who came only in acquiescence to the young man’s request—and a bedraggled-looking lawyer hired from the village to assess the Estate and review the contents of Lord Hatake’s Last Will and Testament to ensure it was executed appropriately. The man, with a long nose and squinty eyes, never even bothered to introduce himself. In fact, aside from the reading of the actual document, he remained perfectly silent for the duration of his stay on the property, and seemed content not to make an introduction or exchange pleasantries of any kind.

There were six members of the Hatake Manor staff, four men and two women. Most were Lord Hatake’s age or even older. It was the prevailing belief that Hatake Manor would likely be shuttered and sold in the wake of its proprietor's passing. Though Lord Hatake had spoken often of a son he had left behind in his home country, no one had ever heard from the younger man directly, even by letter. Some doubted he even existed while others thoughts perhaps their Lord’s heir had died and the elder Hatake had fled his grief as a result, telling stories of the boy as though he were still breathing simply to ease the ache in his heart because the loss of a child would certainly be too great a burden to bear.

Of course, the truth of the circumstances surrounding Lord Hatake and his son were far more complex, however equally heart-breaking. No one knew this; not yet, anyway, and so they prepared the Manor as if no such man existed. Even if they had known for certain that Kakashi Hatake did in fact live only just across the breadth of an ocean, no one should have expected him to come and take possession of the House, regardless, given the distinct lack of interest shown on his part for such a responsibility up to and beyond the passing of his father.

The deceased Lord Hatake, however, appeared to hold onto one last thread of hope that his estranged son might one day seek his legacy. As such, the House was left to him, with the sale of the property forbidden in no uncertain terms until such time as Lord Kakashi appeared to claim it into his rightful custody.

Though this development was a bit of a shock to the remaining staff of Hatake Manor—many of whom fretted over how, exactly, the House was to be maintained—they ought not to have doubted Lord Hatake’s preparations for his death. Though certainly not an old man, even by the standards of the day, he had known for many years he would not be long for this world. And much as he had undertaken the engineering of a pulley system to move himself and his possessions into the house, so too did he devise an appropriate method by which the House might be cared for in his absence until Lord Kakashi found his way to the grounds and claimed it for his own.

Upon the reading of the Will in its entirety, a few things became clear. First, that Sakumo Hatake was as generous in death as in life, providing ample pensions for five of his six staff members so they might retire with their families without the need to continue working. Second, that the veil between the living and the dead could not dissuade his many other kindnesses, nor his cleverness. For in addition to providing generous monetary compensation for those members of his household who were ready to enjoy their twilight with their families and loved ones—a thing which he both envied and admired to his dying breath—he also made certain the youngest member of his staff was provided with ample opportunity to pursue and exert her own desires.

The woman—a sturdy and intelligent creature of twenty-five years whose name was and remains of little to no importance—had come to the Hatake Estate at the invitation of Lord Hatake’s Housekeeper—a sturdy and intelligent of some many more years than twenty-five—who had required the help of a younger, sprier hand to manage many of the Manor’s daily duties. The Housekeeper, having known the young woman’s family for many years in another capacity entirely, knew her to have vast need of a well-paid position that would provide for her family while keeping her away from home as indefinitely as was possible.

And so it was that the Manor’s solitary Housemaid—a hardworking young woman with little to return to but scouring help needed ads and scrubbing filthy kitchens on her hands and knees—was left solely in charge of Hatake Manor until such time as it should be rightfully claimed or sold by Lord Kakashi at some indeterminate time in the future. Thus, her title was altered from Housemaid to Caretaker, and the money set aside to pay her salary reflected the adjustment.

The Caretaker found herself immediately gracious and overwhelmed. That Lord Hatake had seen fit to ensure she had a place to live and work, compensation for such, and the means by which to furnish her mother’s comfort in her old age, brought tears to her eyes.

“Are you certain that’s what it says?” she asked, leaning forward so that she might glean some further information from the official-looking document laid out on Sakumo’s writing desk before the lawyer reading out his wishes.

“Quite,” was all he said, before he continued on.

She felt the Housekeeper’s hand on her shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Well-deserved, my dear.”

The Hatake Manor’s newly-appointed Caretaker did not know if she agreed, but she nodded, anyway, too afraid if she tried to speak, her voice would break apart like shards of glass and betray her exulting gratitude.

The following morning, while the rest of the house staff prepared to depart from Hatake Manor for their own houses, its new Caretaker made her way solemnly through the tall grasses, letting the dew collect against her skirts until she stood before Sakumo Hatake’s headstone in the small and overgrown Estate cemetery.

She laid a bouquet of wildflowers picked during her journey upon the stone and tearily gave her thanks.

“I promise I will treat your house with as much love and care as if it were my own so that when your son arrives one day to claim it—as I’m sure he will, for no son of yours could ever be so unfeeling as to ignore it entirely—there will not be a cobweb that needs clearing nor a lantern that needs tending. It will be, as long as I am yet living, a House made home for you and all those dear to you.”

When she bade farewell to the rest of the staff—though she would call them friends long before co-workers—Hatake Manor’s new Caretaker smiled broadly. She watched the hired carriages and horses disappear down the long, winding trail toward the village until they were out of sight.

Then, she rolled up her sleeves and returned to her work.

It was no secret that Hatake Manor, though small by most standards, was still a manor. And therefore, even its most routine care required significant time and energy. With a staff of six—and Lord Hatake always lending helping hands despite their many and severe protests—it was nearly a full-time job to keep the House running properly.

Of course, with only one occupant instead of seven, and only one horse instead of three—two of them having been bequeathed as gifts to the Butler and Housekeeper in deference to their years of loyal service upon Lord Hatake’s death—much of the work was diminished. But there was no implication that such exertion as was undertaken was insignificant by any means, even when considering the diminished number of living souls within the building itself.

Hatake Manor’s new Caretaker quickly realized she would need to prioritize her duties in order to successfully complete any necessary tasks efficiently. Her first order of business was to clean the bedrooms that had been in use and seal them up as though the House were being winterized. In this way, she could at least protect the furniture and mattresses from the worst of the dust, making her routine cleaning of such spaces much easier.

Once that was completed, she dedicated herself each morning to one of the main rooms, scrubbing and tidying in every corner, polishing and dusting from floor to ceiling. Some days that was the kitchen or the formal dining room, the parlor or the drawing-room; occasionally she dedicated a day to freshening the empty bedrooms, and could usually attend to two of them in a single day. She found the library—stacked as it was with countless shelves of books in a myriad of languages which were always in need of a thorough dusting—often required two days, though she didn’t mind. When her arms needed a rest, she would simply curl up in one of the comfortable chairs and read whichever book was closest at hand. In this way, she managed to read nearly every tome in the library over the course of two years, as she steadily built the foundation of her solitary life within the Manor.

Of course, though she was grateful for her position, for the funds easily deposited into her mother’s accounts each month and the residual money she used to purchase groceries and supplies and clothes for herself and the House, living at Hatake Manor was still… well, lonely.

Though perhaps this should have been expected, it still took some adjustment on the behalf of the Caretaker, used as she was to the comradery of the Housekeeper, Butler, and even Lord Hatake himself. She took to humming and singing while she worked, simply to fill the silent void around her. She often struck up long conversations with anyone tasked with delivering supplies to the house. None more so than Iruka Umino, the handsome grocer who brought her rations to the house each week by horseback.

Iruka was a few years younger than she was; a shy, tanned man with a long scar across his nose which she never asked about—it was, indeed, a matter of vast and terrible experience that meant the Caretaker knew better than to ask about the provenance of scars. He wore his thick brown hair pulled back in a wild ponytail that seemed always whipped to a frenzy from his ride, stray pieces falling about his face endearingly as he smiled, cheeks pink from the wind.

He was gracious, polite, and quick to laugh. A few months following Lord Hatake’s passing, Iruka made time to walk the grounds with the house’s sole remaining occupant by altering his schedule to ensure she was his last delivery of the day. The Caretaker was more than grateful for the company, finding him an amiable and sweet companion. Iruka often helped her with tasks that required four hands instead of two—moving heavy furniture or beating the rugs from the parlor upon occasion. He even showed her how to re-shoe the horse in the stable when one broke and the local Farrier was ill and unable to attend to the problem with any sense of urgency.

Though Iruka found the Caretaker’s way of living rather alien to his own attitudes, he thought her personality rather charming and, having always by nature enjoyed being quite helpful, he liked that his presence appeared to ease some of her burdens. Iruka imagined, and was quite correct in thinking, that living in the Manor alone was a lonely experience. He found its sole inhabitant kind and quick-witted, gentle and pleasant to pass his afternoons with; that they became friends seemed to him almost a fact of disposition rather than a consequence of proximity.

Still, she should have known it was a poor idea to reach out one day and lay her hand upon his cheek. He’d turned red as a ripe tomato and tripped over his own feet, landing unceremoniously in a pile of horse manure near the stables.

Stuttering, he’d made countless apologies, but she shook her head and coaxed him carefully into the house to clean up after assuring him it was no imposition at all for her to clean his clothes for him.

Even bolder than brushing her fingers over his cheek, she should have known that helping him undress would turn to folly. But Iruka’s back and arms were muscular, toned from his work carrying produce and salted meats into people’s houses in large crates. He was strong and lithe, attractive in every way that mattered.

When she kissed his shoulder, the man all but doubled over in ecstasy, breath stuttering out between his clenched teeth. His response when her hand brushed over the coarse hairs trailing over his abdomen from beneath the waistband of his riding pants was even more fervent and she took advantage of his obvious desire, plying his weakness with soft whispers and gentle touches.

She wasn’t sure if he’d ever been with a woman before her, but it mattered little. She’d been so long untouched—so long remanded to the idea that she would remain so for the rest of her days—that Iruka’s fumbling hands would have unraveled her even if they hadn’t been attached to such a kind and handsome man.

Afterward, she left him to doze wrapped in her bedsheets while she cleaned his clothes and hung them near the fire to dry.

He blushed as he bid her farewell early in the evening, promising to return the following week with her usual order, and thinking feverishly of how to explain his late return to his parents without arousing any suspicions as to his conduct.

Much to his surprise, Iruka found the lie of a spontaneous afternoon ride fell easily from his mouth. And he did, as promised, return the following week to Hatake Manor with the usual delivery. It was Iruka this time, emboldened by their prior activities, who leaned in and kissed the Caretaker on the corner of her mouth as soon as the crate in his grasp touched the countertop.

It was not an unwelcome change in routine; rather, Iruka’s weekly visits to the hill became a bright spot, something to be looked forward to by both parties for the entire day—and sometimes two—beforehand.

He grew more confident as they learned one another’s bodies, more vocal about his likes and dislikes, the things he wanted to try. And his partner was all too eager to have someone else do the work of making her eyes squeeze closed in ecstasy. It had been so long since any hands but her own had trailed over her body, so long since she’d heard someone’s voice call her name in pleasure.

It was a thrilling change, a much-needed distraction from the pervasive loneliness of the Manor. Now twenty-seven, the Caretaker found herself in need of release, of desire. Iruka filled a necessary vacancy in her daily existence.

But when he left each Wednesday, her hands flew instinctively to the chain around her neck, the locket it held.

It was a simple thing—sturdy and silver, the locket a plain oval with slight filigree around its circumference. The Caretaker’s fingers had long since worn away the initials once etched into the front of it—her own, no longer necessary to the understanding of what laid beyond the clasp.

During the long, cold evenings in the Manor, the locket was her sole other companion—the faces it held a sour reminder of all she had once held between her hands and then lost; and so she kept it closed, content to worry the cool metal between her fingers as she fell asleep. So it was that no matter how much she enjoyed herself while Iruka was with her, the Caretaker always cried when she lost sight of his horse over the hill, despite her best efforts to staunch the gnawing sadness in her abdomen.

Because it didn’t matter how fervently he touched her or how much she meant it when she pulled him close and wrung every bit of pleasure from him that she could, she crawled into an unwarmed bed each evening. Listened to the creaking settling of a yawning, empty house as she drifted to sleep; dreamed of all those now lost to her, who could not save her from her solitary fate any more than she had been able to save them from their own.

Still, Iruka offered a well-received respite from such concerns and he, in turn, was eager to please and be pleased. Every Wednesday, he would complete his morning deliveries a little faster, his eagerness to make it to his final stop at Hatake Manor all but consuming him.

Some days, the pair of lovers wasted no time in retiring to her bedroom, ripping one another’s clothes off with only enough delicacy not to compromise the stitching. But his favorite afternoons were the ones they spent slowly, walking the grounds together or sharing a simple meal in the kitchen, laughing over slices of apples and cheese on bread.

But Iruka knew he would have her any way he could, so when she pulled him to her by the back of the neck and ferociously slammed her lips into his as soon as he opened the door some days, he followed her to her bed with neither preamble nor protest.

“Why do you stay in this room?” Iruka asked once, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. To distract from the somewhat intrusive question, he glided his fingers over her arm, her naked shoulder, before pressing his lips tenderly to her flushed skin in their wake.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, ducking his head a little bashfully, “This isn’t part of the servants’ quarters, is it? I just assumed…”

The Caretaker grinned, propping her head up with one hand and smirking when Iruka blushed as the sheet fell away, revealing her breasts to him, the silver locket catching the light where it dangled between.

“When I took over the care of the Manor, it just made sense to move to the main hallway. I have so much work to do every day that adding a flight of narrow stairs to all my other tasks seemed a little silly.”

“What if the new Lord Hatake comes to claim his birthright?”

She smiled, leaning up to kiss him on the mouth, giggling when one of his roughened hands grasped a ticklish part of her waist.

“When Lord Kakashi sends word that he is coming, I will relocate to the servant’s room I once occupied and be plenty happy for it.”

Iruka smiled at her and she thought again of how beautiful he was, especially now that she mostly saw him with his hair loose around his shoulders, framing his face as he leaned over to kiss her again. She didn’t understand why he wore the ponytail at all; he was far too lovely with his hair down and tousled.

It was as they came together again that she thought she heard it, a soft whisper against her throat as Iruka trailed kisses down her body toward his intended destination. Her stomach sank, but she swallowed any protest, unsure of her own ears—trying to convince herself she had misheard him.

There was no way Iruka had said the words, “I love you.”

At least, she hoped not because if he had, then this might be the last time she brought him to her bed.

Iruka gave no further indication, however, as he set about his desired task, licking and suckling at her entrance until she spilled herself onto his tongue, and he lapped at her greedily. He knew better than to voice his feelings in such a moment; had seen the way she often clutched at the locket balanced over her collarbone, though he knew not whose picture he might find within.

No. For now, Iruka decided, he would keep such things secreted to himself—even if he occasionally allowed the thoughts to whisper past his lips while her body was too preoccupied by other pleasures to hear him.

“Until next week,” he said as he re-mounted his horse in the early evening.

“Until then,” she said, smiling up at him, fingers already feeling for the locket beneath her rumpled clothes.

Iruka turned his horse away before she could see the flash of disappointment in his eyes. He knew it was too selfish a thing to hope for more than she’d already given him, but he could not fully stem the desires of his heart to make her his in more than only the physical sense.

Even with this new interruption to her afternoon schedule one day a week, and much as Lord Hatake had suspected when he made the arrangements in his Will, his young Housemaid took exemplary care of Hatake Manor in the years following his death. While many people, in all likelihood, would have squandered their duties with no one looking over their shoulder, she was as diligent as she was proud. The Caretaker—a title and position which much better suited her than her original one—took extreme pride in the work she did, knowing that one day another Lord—with or without the last name Hatake—would claim the house and her attention and care would ensure it was a beautiful space for such a person to live with their family.

With the not insignificant fortune left over from Lord Hatake’s distinguished military career abroad, he was able to leave a generous fund to provide for the care of the house beyond what she was capable of herself. The shutters never hung loose for long, the carriage drive was well-tended, despite no visitors ever using it except Iruka or other men on horses delivering feed and oil (or shutters).

Occasionally, the Caretaker would herself ride into town to purchase clothes, shoes, books, bathing supplies and other small luxuries, but she mostly kept to herself on the hill, working the horse by taking brief trots across the grounds to visit the cemetery and pay her respects to Lord Hatake and the other nameless dead who laid beside him.

Of course, she had little time for the frivolity if riding, as she took her position quite seriously and was diligent in all aspects of caring for the estate. Baseboards were scrubbed, gardens weeded, and hedges trimmed (usually by Iruka, who she thanked with tea and dessert amongst other pleasures, because she was unable to reach the tops of them herself).

It was grueling, tiresome work—always something to be scrubbed or fixed. And the girl who had come to Hatake Manor in her early twenties grew from a rather unsure domestic thing to a woman of great confidence in her command of the house. She taught herself how to repair small inconveniences and out of necessity became a much more adept rider because she would sometimes have occasion to go to the village for supplies or services of one type or another, despite her disagreements toward such a thing.

All-in-all, it was a very fine arrangement.

And each night, after a long day of work, the Manor’s industrious Caretaker would change into her dressing gown and curl into a chair in the parlor with a finger of gin and a book, so she might read and relax before retiring for the evening to begin the process over again the following day.

In this way, she was able to build a sort of life for herself. Though she realized it was unconventional, she felt safe and secure within it; wrapped it around her shoulders like a shroud.

She had purpose, independence. A beautiful place to call House, even if it could never be her home.

There were few material wants she ever had to go without if she truly desired them. Though most of her stipend was sent to her mother for her own care and comfort, there was still plenty remaining, that she never had to go without. It was a grueling job, taking care of Hatake Manor on her own, but a worthwhile one that provided everything she could need.

She still dreamed, of course, of those she’d lost. The ones she’d let go and those she had been unable to pull back from the brink. Often in the evenings, she would stand in the grass, gazing out over the grounds, eyes trailing down the darkness of the hill until they found the minutely twinkling lights of the village beyond. Other times, they would look up into the vastness of the sky and count the stars streaming across the heavens.

It is an unfortunate and universal truth that times of war leave very few unscathed, and though women may be found only rarely on the battlefield, they bear scars of their own in time.

The Caretaker was not unburdened by the misfortunes of conflict, nor by the weight of her own remorses and memories.

Once trained as a nurse, the Caretaker had tended injured soldiers and wounded civilians; amputated destroyed limbs, administered medications and held young men as they died crying for their mothers. As a sister, she had watched her brother march off to a war he would never return from. As a daughter, she’d borne witness to the ways in which losing a son had taken the light from her father’s eyes, and eventually drowned him in both drink and sorrow.

And then there was the man she had loved before he’d been taken away, drifting out to sea as a petty officer on a naval ship that found its way to the bottom of the ocean after taking damage during an inconsequential skirmish on the cruel waves.

Perhaps women did not stand at the front lines, did not bear arms against their opposition. But, there were other ways to break both a body and a heart. Other sorrows by which a soul might find itself too weary for companionship; hardened to the justifications of such turmoil.

When she had been offered the post of Housemaid at Hatake Manor, she had taken it at once. The old Housekeeper was a one-time friend of her mother’s, and knew she had a good work ethic—and also of her tragic family circumstances, no man left alive to provide for the two heartbroken women who remained swathed in black cloth and debt.

That Sakumo Hatake—a man of not insignificant wealth and good reputation, as far as she could tell, from an allied force across the sea—had been willing to give the post to a woman without any experience in caring for a house; that he had seen fit to leave its care to her alone after his passing was a testament to his sturdy character and limitless empathy.

She clutched the locket around her throat as she read, occasionally taking a sip of the chilled gin in a glass she kept at hand.

It was a simple life; one filled with long hours of work, but rewarded with the easy companionship of a good man and the means by which she could care for her mother until she died without concern for her own well-being.

It was predictable, stable. Enough and plenty more than that.

And then everything changed.

#🍋 mix and match #lemony scribbles #long-winded historical au clusterfuck #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #fem!reader #fem!MC #tw alcohol #i'd tag this kakashi fanfiction but kakashi actually doesn't even make an appearance in this chapter oops

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