#i need like. a custom cinder lock

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Four

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none, but almost main character death lol

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

I

Tom stayed away for a few days. He stalked around some other rare book stores but found none of what Caractacus Burke was searching for. Still, it gave ample enough time for her to forget about him. He needed to be out of her mind before he carried out his plan.

He sat at a café outside her store one evening, waiting to see her go home again. Not able to stand another cup of coffee, hot and bitter, he decided to try something he’d seen so many other locals eating. It was called ‘gelato’. A frozen treat, it looked like clotted cream and was eaten with a little spoon. Tom regretted ordering it the moment it arrived, but with each bite, he became a little fonder of it. It was cold and vaguely sweet with a drizzling of cherry jam on top. He reached the bottom of the cup before he even realised, and licked the spoon clean afterwards.

She stepped out later this time, at around six o’clock. Tom got up not long after but he didn’t follow her. His gaze trailed after her from behind a pair of aviator shades — her white shirt fluttering with each step, hair soft upon her shoulders — and let himself enjoy the view until she disappeared beyond the curve of a building that bent like a wave. Then he turned the other way, the way she came from.

The lamp lights were just coming on, bathing the marble a sulphuric yellow. He took his sunglasses off and tucked them in his shirt as he slid through the narrow street the shop was on. There was nobody around, but he could hear the echoes of other people through the walls of the nearby buildings. The area was a mix of domestic and commercial, small old flats and little shops which made it quite unpredictable. It was a very intimate setting, and dangerous for that very reason — few escape routes should anyone appear.

He peered through the glass first at the organised chaos inside, the clutter and piles of precious old things that lifetimes would not suffice to explore. Between them, Tom saw his reflection staring back. He aimed his wand at each lock and muttered an Alohomora. The spell let him in like butter.

The shop was just faintly lit from beyond the large display windows, rendering every book and smooth wood surface into a little sunburst. The air was light with dust, and dry, and cold in the way libraries often were. The pillars that held the ceiling high were cinder-black, and carved so finely that the wood seemed lace and pillow soft. A sweet scent lingered in the cavernous construction. It really was a marvellous atmosphere… Tom wouldn’t have minded staying if circumstances were different. His grandfather’s ring trilled around his finger.

Regardless of how old the building was, the interior was certainly built to order. It had a hint of the Victorian with a Renaissance flair. Tom had been in enough rich people’s houses to tell. It amused him how much they were all alike in taste, as if they were part of the same secret breed.

He stepped further in. The floorboards creaked and, looking down, a small amount of dust flew up. Curious. Perhaps it really didn’t get that many customers so often. The other shops he had visited this week all seemed to have at least another two clients while he was there… Strange, as this shop was bursting with books, and in an accessible location too. Tom could only guess that either they were prohibitively selective with their clientele, or the place had a bad reputation.

He found her ledgers tucked underneath the desk. They were split into three themes: Letteratura, Religione, and Esoterismo. He opened the latter.

It was detailed, thick, and finely indexed with the most minuscule writing. Instead of listing their catalogue, it listed all the authors they seemed to have an interest in, whether or not they held any of their books. Prices were next to certain volumes, along with purchasing dates. Others were annotated with the shop or collector that held them. From Agrippa to Cheiro to Crowley, from Novalis to Paracelsus, Roerich, and Sepharial, they had their eye on everyone. He turned toward the end, pale finger brushing through the T’s.

They had nothing by Tamisso, another author on his list, although they did have a copy of The Lost Word by Trevisan — a more recent edition than the 1870 one that Mr. Burke wanted, but still serviceable. But what he was really looking for was Torchia.

And he found him. A whole half-page was dedicated to him, even if the books were few and three-quarters of the space was empty. They must’ve expected to find more of his works in the future.

But as he was reading, the ring started feeling heavier, like its black stone wanted to pull loose. Oftentimes, the splinter of his soul that was trapped inside was a bit of a canary in a coal mine, more sensitive to changes in Tom’s surroundings than he was… He gazed suspiciously toward the ring and put the ledger down.

Tom looked up at the ceiling. It was tall and too dark to see, absorbing the most highly placed volumes like a black hole, like a void. Looking down, between the floorboards, the same infinite darkness. It occurred to him that perhaps the place was cursed. An unlikely idea given that it was a building belonging to muggles, but he’d seen stranger things. And after all, he still didn’t know who the owner was.

He looked at the catalogue again.

Torchia, A.

Key to Captive Thoughts, 1653 — four three copies

A Curious Explanation of Mysteries and Hieroglyphs, 1655 — one copy sold to H. Àristos, 1949

The Three Books of the Art, 1658 — one copy, private ownership → Luce

He scanned further down the line, and there it was: Delomelanicon.

It wasn’t written up like the others. It had no number, no mention of its year of publication, nor even where it was. All it had was a strange symbol next to it, like a plus sign with a downward arrow. Tom couldn’t guess what it meant.

But they had it, they must have. He closed the book with satisfaction and an overflow of greed, and carefully put it back in its place.

II

With the bookshop all to himself, Tom explored at his leisure. He stepped lightly, almost reverently, through its misty dusty rooms veiled by growing darkness. He cast Lumos when entering the second room, which had no windows to the outside world. A thick red carpet muffled his steps.

His first stop was at the section where she had searched for Helena Blavatsky, assuming the shelves followed the logic of the ledgers and were organised thematically as well as alphabetically. He pulled the ladder over and started to climb, holding the wand between the tips of his fingers.

Names spread before him, ancient and powerful. Some of them were only mentioned in the most proscribed of texts, others he hadn’t even heard of. It was one thing to see them listed so economically, and another to see their naked spines, crack them open, part them, and touch their wavy pages.

He had to pause once he came across a 17th-century copy of the Cyranides. How many men died for merely reading this book… What horror, what beauty. He turned to the page on the use of bezoars and smiled. The illustration braided around the page was of a watersnake, unmoving, done with an almost childish hand. It was from a more innocent time when such magical knowledge was a thing of fear and wonder, exclusive and yet renown, whispered about, admired. Not hidden away.

Holding the wand between his teeth, Tom pulled the ladder and himself a bit further to the right. Its wheels were loud enough to make him wince.

He found a wealth of books in this place that made him feel things he had not felt in a while: greed, desire, admiration… He hadn’t seen so many wonderful tomes since Hogwarts. For long moments in large swaths, he forgot his mission. Eagerly, his hands picked up any volumes he could reach without the ladder tipping over, and he sipped in eager drops the ancient wisdom, a few pages at a time, admiring the crude but honest illustrations before, with a heavy heart, putting them back on the shelf.

Finally, he reached Torchia. A few of his works were there, the same ones mentioned in the ledger, but not the Delomelanicon. Tom brushed his finger on the shelf, and it came up with a fluff of dust. Hadn’t been touched for a long time…

It occurred to him as he climbed down the ladder that they could have had hidden compartments, as such bookstores sometimes did. Borgin and Burkes did too, although theirs was hidden by magic. Muggles would have had some contraption hidden behind a painting or shelf. He cast another glance around him before moving forward again, step by heavy step. Between those dormant shelves, he saw another surreptitious doorway toward another room.

III

The place grew labyrinthian. Tom felt as though he was disturbing a tomb, and without even needing to his steps grew gentler. The ring around his finger ached again, but he ignored it.

He was exploring a glass case with a pyramid of skulls in the corner of a room three doorways from the entrance, further in the building and blissfully chill on the exposed skin of his arms and neck, when suddenly he noticed something about the creaking of the floorboards: he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Tom looked down, his shoes soft on the carpet, and shifted his weight. No sound, but there was a bit of a tilt beneath him as the wood moved. He moved to the side and toed the carpet away. At first glance, he noticed nothing strange, but when he cast Revelio, a piece of metal shone and the edges of a trapdoor revealed themselves before him.

“I’ve got you now,” he grinned.

He stepped away, grabbed the edges of the carpet, and folded it further back. It was a trapdoor alright, large enough for two people to fit through. The area was clean, as if it saw regular use. Could it be a secret way into and out of the shop? Well, he’d seen her always use the front door, so it was most likely a storage area.

He dug into his trouser pocket for something, anything that he could use, and found the Swiss army knife he’d gotten from Clement. The thought occurred to him that it was a misuse of a gift to rob a bookshop with it, but that thought died quickly in Tom’s heated mind. He had a job to do.

He slid its blade between the folds of wood and pressed the handle down. Marvolo’s ring squeezed and pulled at his finger, and Tom cursed at it to be quiet. The trapdoor undulated at the strain as he moved the blade around, but the thing was as good as nailed down on all sides.

“Come on, you piece of muggle trash, open,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

He pushed, edging the wood upwards, and the bit of leverage made it flap as far as its hinges would allow. Holding the wand between his teeth for light, he moved it slightly, checking in every direction for a keyhole. The only thing he found was a burn mark that shone in the faint light, small and round and crested. It was probably a hidden button or a kind of keyhole, the kind of which he’d seen before in a couple of places both at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Tom grinned, moved the blade there, and pressed harder right beneath it.

“Aaaah!” he groaned, nearly dropping the wand from his teeth.

The ring was shooting pain all the way up his arm now, and his muscles strained. He clenched his teeth and pressed the blade in further, deeper, but the longer he tried to get it open, the more useless the attempt seemed, and he was overcome with a feeling of wrongness — as if he actually cared that he was trespassing.

He got up, sighed, and wiped the sweat off his brow. The feeling of guilt that had been bubbling in his stomach crested and crawled up his bones until he felt the sickness in his throat. He was overcome with the desire to leave and put this place behind him. A traitorous thought…

No, he wasn’t feeling sick. That nasty little door was enchanted. There was probably a curse on it, not too dissimilar to those placed on Egyptian tombs, meant to ward prospective thieves away. The emotions that swirled in his breast, the guilt, the shame, none of it came from him. It was something he was forced to feel by whatever enchantment guarded the place. What an insidious little spell… He frowned and pointed his wand down at the trapdoor again.

“Finite incantatem.”

Nothing happened.

“Finite incantatem!” he said again, more clearly and imperious.

The trapdoor mocked him with its silence. Tom looked down at his wand as if it were impotent.

“Of all the damned… Revelio,” he cast again, but nothing new appeared. “Alohomora!”

And that was when it struck him.

The spell worked, but just for an instant before it was undone and something fired back at him. A shard of death crawled up his spine and pooled inside his heart, pushing him backwards into the sharp edge of a table. The lamps on it rattled from the impact.

He felt dizzy for a moment, his body numb and cold, then nauseous when his senses came back to him at once. Pain billowed at his lower back so hard it filled his throat with bile. He clung to the edge of the table and kept himself just barely standing, managing the breath to groan.

“By Salazar’s f-fucking… Ow!”

Among all the sudden pain, he noticed that his arm was numb. The ring had stopped hurting him. It got its point across… The door was cursed, and so severely that, if not for his Horcrux, he surely would have died.

Tom clenched his teeth and hissed at the bothersome little entrance, cursing it in parseltongue. He kicked the carpet back over it and rubbed his aching hip where he already felt a bruise forming. There was nothing else he could do there, at least not tonight. He’d have to go back to his hotel, hopefully not limping all the way, and plan his next steps.

“I’ll get you yet,” he muttered with a parting glare. “And whatever mongrel of a mage made you.”

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

[ddarker-dreams]

Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications.  Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ” 

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche x reader #tartaglia #scaramouche genshin impact #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #my stuff

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Saint and Sinner  |  Arvin Russell x Male!Reader

Summary: This continues where the movie ends. You pick up Arvin as you are on your way to Cincinnati. But he’s awfully quiet, haunted by his past. Not the ideal companion for a long journey, but you make most of it. 

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut

Words: 7814

-----

The orange glow of his cigarette illuminated the features underneath the cap for a brief moment. The cindering bud scattered across the tarmac as it parted with an almost spent cigarette. A puff of smoke blew from his lips. Carried away by the wind, into the forest beside him. Another car drove past him. A visible sigh racked his frame as he dragged his feet back into action. You spot the man from miles away. His appearance became more apparent the closer you got.

His intentions didn't change; you see his hand signal coming into view again. With his cigarette almost burned up, you leave your foot off the gas, and you let the car roll to a standstill a few yards after him. His jeans were dirty, torn, and worn long last past its intended lifetime. Just like the loose shirt hanging around his frame, the collar broad and wide. Blown by the wind. Spots of grime, sweat, and soil soaked in. A few locks of brown hair protruded from beneath his cap. Worn and colors fading. His expression was tired, and features that were gaunt like. Roadworkers were common in the area. And he sure looked the part.

"Hey there, where you be headin'?" You ask as he walks up to your window.

"I… haven't figured that out yet." He said in a beaten-down tone. "I was thinking somewhere north."

"I'm heading towards Cincinnati. You can travel along that way."

You could see him pondering, looking back down the road the way you came. If something was keeping him here. Reminding him of something. Before looking back at you. "I've been meaning to get up there."

"Well, hop on in." Leaning over to unlock the door. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Thank you...." Taking the last pull of his cigarette before tossing the smoldering remains on the floor. Closing the door behind him. "I didn't think anybody was gonna pick me up." Cradling the knapsack in his lap. And sharing a glance at you, forcing a small smile. Tightening his arms around his bag. His voice is dark and heavy. Carrying a sense of grim. "I'm Arvin."

"Rough day?"

"Hmmhm." He confirmed, avoiding any further eye contact. "Yeah…" Mumbling under his voice. Locked in a cold stare, reserved and absent.

There wasn't much to talk about. He sat there beside you, staring into the distance. You put the car into gear and steer back onto the road—a two-way road dissecting the large looming forest. Tall pine trees scattered up and beyond the horizon. As far as the eye can see. In the distance, a single-car drove ahead of you. A loaded truck passed by, and that was it. And as you pick up speed, a cool breeze of air began circulating through the open rolled windows. Following into the bending road, you spot the lay of the land ahead of you. A long stretch of road, rolling over the hills and valleys of the countryside. The branched off dirt roads dotted here and there all connected to a long stretch of road—a single lane connecting the smaller settlements to the cities. The road was uneven like most of them. The journey was going to be long. With the nob on the radio, you turn the volume down, the local radio broadcasting nothing noteworthy other then news and music replayed over and over again. Trying your best to keep your eyes on the road, you can't help but notice the boy's head bobbing. He must be the same age as you. Maybe a bit younger. His features were young, yet his expression was grave. He'd been through something. The way his eye pierced through the windshield. Roughed up by the countryside.

"You can sleep if you want, I'll wake you up once we hit town."

He just shook his head, fighting to stay awake. Arvin didn't want to fall asleep beside a stranger. Things were keeping him awake. His head heavy with sleep, burdened by his thoughts and deeds, bobbing on his neck. Swaying to the bounces and rockings of the car. His mind occupied elsewhere. Taking him back to times that were.

You weren't entirely sure if he was awake or not. He breathed somewhat heavily, and his head jerked back once in a while. "You… joining me?" You ask, motioning to the diner opposite the car. You hear a few grumbles, the sleepyhead still fighting to stay awake. His eyes small and narrow. With your coat hanging on your lap, ready to go, you give him some more time. He had been dozing off for little moments during the ride. But something was keeping him away, he'd jerk back into life, awake again and again. As if his nightmares were pushing him from his sleep. You slip open the pack of cigarettes and offer him one before taking one yourself. Something he didn't decline.

"I'll wait." He grumbled, voice hoarse and dry. "I'm not hungry."

"Hmm…" You watch him with interest, slowly awakening himself from the small naps. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, you notice the long brown locks of hair as he readjusted his cap, racking his fingers through as he coughed a little. Both still seated in the car, you quietly offer him a light. He leans over to you, catching the flame with his cigarette. "Something troubling you?" The question got out before you knew it.

The small flame of the lighter gave his appearance a somber look. He looked at you briefly through his lashes before seating back up. "It's nothin', just a… busy day." Pulling a big one from his cigarette. You remain seated like that for a while. Smoking a cigarette in peace and quiet. The parking lot at the dinner was almost empty, two cars and a lorry. From the car, you both watch the few customers dine and the young server walking up and down the diner. The sun was setting on the horizon, darkness slowly creeping into the surrounding woods.

"Here." Tossing the pack of cigarettes his way. "Just make sure no one gets into the car." You say and step outside, putting on your coat as the cold breeze crept upon you. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Don't worry about me." Sinking back into the chair. Taking another cigarette between his lips as he watches you enter the diner. Drawing a long pull and releasing a plume of smoke together with a long sorrowful sigh. Arvin was all alone in this world. Sitting in a strangers car, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't help but feel pity for himself. More and more questions began flooding his mind. Where should he go? What should he do? Would they be looking for him? And most importantly, did he do right? He rolled up the windows more to block out the cold wind blowing in. Arvin was alone once again. He wanted to. It's what he choose. Trust was hard to come by. Especially after all that had happened. He couldn't trust anyone. He sank deeper into his seat. His gaze stuck in nothing but mindless thoughts.

"Shit!" Arvin cursed, jumping in his seat. His instinct kicked in, holding a charged fist at whoever tried to get to him. But as he looked better, he could see a familiar face beside the car.

"Sorry, didn't mean to." You apologize while opening his door. "But I was wondering if you brought your jacket? Didn't see it on you, and you know, since you won't join me, you better get dressed. Gets pretty cold outside."

"Have my denim jacket with me." He said. Looking a bit puzzled by your concerns. "I'll be fine."

"Here." Slipping off your coat and handing it to him. "That denim jacket won't keep you warm. You sure you're not coming with me?"

He shrugged it off without even looking at you. You also let if go, and continue inwards. Like a typical diner, seating benches row after row. There was space for no more than fifteen to twenty people. At the end of the path cutting across the diner sat a jukebox. A nifty apparatus that was popping up everywhere. Even in small places like this. Behind the small bar with stools in flashy red and white accents all over stood the young server. She gave you a kind smile. Through a small gap in the wall, you could see the kitchen. The smell of bacon and fries welcome you—a sure pleasant one since you were in need of a good meal after such a long drive. A few seating away from the door sat an older couple, behind them, the lorry driver—just a quiet evening in the diner. You take a seat further up, close to the window to keep an eye on your car. And most importantly, your passenger. At first, he sat in the car, smoking one after the other, before finally dressing himself in your coat. Cold must be creeping into the metal.

In your mind, you couldn't understand nor figure out why he'd stay outside. He stretched his legs outside the car several times but regretted it moments later. The weather is getting a grip on him soon enough. Surprisingly enough, sleep didn't bother him anymore. Dinner alone didn't take long. The meal was good, a nice piece of tender meat with fries and a coke—a real classic. When you dine alone, you tend to finish quickly. Some small talk with the server might drag it out. But not tonight.

During your meal, you browse through the local paper. Read in upon the local and national news. Check the adverts and job offers. Ponder about work, family, and other matters. But somehow, your thoughts keep getting pulled away—more than once. And when you look up from your meal, your eyes automatically divert to your car. Catching his eye. The distance wasn't that far. But the contact was there. And feel caught nonetheless. He wasn't staring at you. But you keep catching each other's gaze—more than once. Your meal was interesting, but outside was something more worth your attention.

The red neon lights illuminated the entranceway and part of the parking lot. You were flooded by it once you stepped outside. In the small cluster of buildings on this side of the road, this one stood out the most. A local watering hole further up was the only other noteworthy building. The rest was wrapped in darkness. Two lamp posts illuminated the main street. Furthermore, no light. Just quiet and darkness. All in all, the small place was a sad display; most buildings were dilapidated, poorly maintained, and without much charm. Life went one elsewhere, but here, somehow, time seemed to stand still. A chill ran up your spine to tell you it was time for another stretch on the road.

The windows were rolled up all the way, except the one on his side—a small opening near the top, big enough to rid excess ash from his cigarette. You take a seat behind the wheel again, placing the paper bag beside him. A look of surprise shoots across his face; the smell must have caught on. "It's for you." You say while starting the car. The headlights illuminate the parking, and it's silent metal habitants.

"You didn't have to." Coughing his smoker's breath away, peaking into the bag. "But 't smells good."

"Dig in, my friend." Pushing the bag further towards him. "Can't imagine you're not hungry." A thin, forced smile softened his otherwise tired and lackluster expression. "It'll do you good."

"Thank you." He says while looking up at you. You feel the words carry their message across. The way he looks at you, straight into your eyes. "That's... real kind of you." Taking the contents from the bag. He carefully begins to unfold the wrap from the steaming hot burger on his lap. A sip from the cold milkshake seems to make him whole again. So did the first bite into the burger, leaning back as he slowly lets the flavors overwhelm him. "That's real good." He nods. "Yeah..."

"Good to hear…" Giving him a smile as you bring the car into action. The road ahead was dark and still so many miles to make. "Still got plenty of miles to go."

With the headlights of your car being the only source of light in the vicinity, driving became a tiresome experience. Staring ahead of you. No proper focal point. Just the road, two beams of light, and a pitch-black horizon. The sound coming from the radio was nothing special, pretty much the same as the jukebox from earlier. Your back began to feel sore and worn, annoying you. Small talk had been minimal. Arvin wasn't much of a talker. Not a storyteller. He kept his answers short. Therefore the whole chatter didn't have any deep subjects. Just plain chit chat about work and life. The work he did. The news. Yet, not mentioning his family. He avoided it. For a reason, you guess.

"What's there for you in Cincinnati?" He asked. For once, you were taken aback by his interest. Managing to speak a whole sentence. You chuckle to yourself lightly. Arvin noticed but didn't react.

"Home." You said, giving him a smile as he looks at you. "Been on a family visit for a couple of days."

"Hmmm…" He shifts his gaze from you back to the road. "Parents?"

"Yeah, I... used to live there. Farm life wasn't for me." You said. "Have you figured out where you're going?"

"Not yet." He sighed, sinking back further down in his seat. "Thank you for the coat. Glad the heater is back on again." Warming his hands in front of the vent. "It's cold."

"The least I can do."

The drive from the diner to the motel was a mere four-hour drive. Again in full darkness, only with a few more cars here and there. You knew the route for a certain bit. Arvin didn't pay attention to the road numbers when you tried to recall the last one. Arvin just raised his shoulder questionably. He didn't know. And it wasn't his fault, but you were trying to involve him in the process nonetheless. At least try to make the best of your company. When you stopped, he did join you looking on the map. Decked out onto the hood of the car, finding your way across the spiderweb of roads. He did look. But didn't say much. Smoking a cigarette, nothing more. In the last miles fifty or so miles, you made a stop to refuel, bought another pack of cigarettes, some small snacks, and went on for the final stretch. Arvin was said very little. Like before.

"Alright... so." You said, waiting for Arvin to catch up. "I've booked a room for the night here, perh-"

"I better go." He nodded, with a notion of defeat in posture. Adjusting his cap over his long curls again. With his gaze to the floor, he throws the knapsack over his shoulder.

"That's not what I meant." You chuckle out laughter, scratching yourself behind your ear. His eyes widen as he looks up, you see the grip on the strap tighten. "It's not that late." You say. "How about a beer? I know a bar further up. On me."

His pursed lips and a downcast glance told you enough. One hand on the strap of his bag, he tucked the other away in his pocket. A sigh followed that was louder than even he expected. The shadow created underneath his cap by the lamppost was enough to be unable to read in expression. Or see his eyes.

From what you have seen from this man, this Arvin. The words he spoke were few. Very few. But the eyes didn't. Once you looked into those eyes, they didn't deceive. They tell you more than his words could make out. He removed the last cigarette from the package you gave him. "Got a light?" He asked with a heavy voice. From your pocket, you flip open your lighter. Before giving you one more look. "Thank you (Y/N)." And with that, he starts walking away from you.

"Arvin." His steps slowed down before glancing back in your direction. Not at you. "Take good care of yourself."

He simply nodded, blew the smoke from his lips, and walked away. You try to shake it off and continue to check-in. The small room was furnished like any other. A small room centered around the bed, a tiny bathroom in the back, a wardrobe to one side, a chair to the other. Colors were near the same throughout the rooms. This was simple, dark, and drab greens. An old model of a television stood on a wooden counter near the wall. You seat yourself into the chair and tune into the first channel of only six. There wasn't much time that went by as sleep began to creep in. Eyelids heavy with sleep. Thoughts turned to none. Gazing mindlessly at the black and white images dancing on the screen.

You veer up in your seat, completely awake—two knocks on your door, loud and powerful, resonated through the room. You didn't have a bad conscience, as some would suggest. But this was far from expected. With your eyes wide open, heart beating in your chest, you approach the little spyhole in the door. Focusing one eye on…

"Arvin?" You pull open the door with a more than a surprised look. "How' d-... W-...?"

He'd clearly been beaten up by the weather. His breath fanned out before him like a small cloud, the cold from outside, riding up against you. Bringing your senses back to life again. It must have been more than an hour since you last saw him. Outside was cold, like before, windy and above all dark as the night could be. He reeled from the cold. Shaking to his very core. "Can I come back on that offer?"

"Of course." Taking a step back and holding the door open to him. "C'mon in."

"Thank you." He said, rubbing his hands together feverishly. "Tis damn cold outside." Standing uncomfortably in the room. Rocking on his heels, trying to warm himself up.

"It is…" Closing the door behind him, you don't know what to expect. But a sense of relief did surface for a brief moment. Something about him made your heart flutter. "So... what happened?"

Arvin didn't look pleased with himself. Sighing deeply, forcing his gaze to the floor if he was about to confess something. "Nothin' happened. That's the problem. I..." He shook his head, as if conflicted by his train of thought. Embarrassed to admit something.

"I'm just curious, Arvin. No more."

"I... didn't know where else to go..." He confessed, shoulders sinking, head hanging low.

"It's ok." Feeling pity for the man. What you didn't know was that Arvin had been standing there, in the darkness, for a long time. He'd walked the streets alone. Trains weren't there. Money he didn't have. Nor any family. Lost in his thoughts. Alone and cold. Without anything but a knapsack filled with old belongings. What was he going to do? He was a lost cause either way.

What he needed was hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. So he returned, standing in the distance, shivering from the cold in some alleyway. Catching the last glimpse of you as you unloaded your suitcase. Arvin had wondered for how long he should stay there. Was ten minutes long enough? Half an hour, maybe? He troubled himself with all sorts of thoughts, as he observed the small window which a little bit of light shone through.

"You mind if I...?" Pointing at the glass and bottle of liquor beside the chair—another reason for you why sleep began to set in earlier than usual.

"No, not at all." He handed you the glass with your remaining bit, downing it in one go. "It helps me sleep from time to time." Releasing a small hiss as is burned down your throat. Watching Arvin putting his lips to the bottle. Downing a few good swigs. "Might help you as well."

"Hmmm... I sure could use it." He looked at you with dreary eyes. "Sure could use it..." Wiping the drool from his lips with the back of his hand. His whole body was still shaking and shuddering on his legs. The glass trembling in his hand. You could see the pale white skin of his fingers gripping the glass. They were whiter than his grime stained shirt.

"So, what's your plan?" You ask, taking a comfortable position leaning against the wall.

Arvin had thought about the question beforehand. If he was going to escape the former life, he needed to go far away. Somewhere where he couldn't be found easily. The city was a good start. "Could I… travel with you… to Cincinnati?" He asked with a slight hint of hesitation in his voice. "If you don't I…"

"No problem." You said, cutting him off. He might not have been the perfect companion from the start. But you have to start somewhere. Not everyone earns their trust as quickly. "If all goes well, we'll hit Cincinnati tomorrow around noon. You can figure out what to do next on our way down there."

"I appreciate that." He smiled thinly. "Thank you, mister."

"Alright, alright." You nod and head for your suitcase. "And it's (Y/N). No more mister." You warn him with a raised finger and a smile. "I think we might be of the same age."

"Twenty-two."

"See." Confirming your suspicions. From there, you sort some clothing out. A clean white shirt, pair of jeans, and a sweater. You walk over to the door and take your coat from the hanger. "Go take a bath, freshen up. And those are yours." Pointing to the fresh pair of clothes on the foot end of the bed. You slip on your coat and pull a cigarette from the pack in your pocket. "I know what you're thinking. I'll wait outside."

Arvin looked at you with suspicious eyes, as if you had a whole different intention. He stared at you while you unlocked the door and took the keys. "Are you gonna call the cops?" His entire body stiffened as he asked the question. Terrified of the answer.

"What?" You chuckle into laughter. "No. What makes you think that?"

"Then why are you doing this?!" He shot back. "Why do all of this?! Why give me clothes?"

"You came back for a reason, Arvin." You didn't need to think about it long. One of two things was possible. Either good or bad. And soon you would find out which. “I'm just trying to help. But feel free to leave..." Taking a step aside, holding the door open for him. Letting the cold wind wash in. "You may have trust issues. But I don't." Revealing your wallet from your back pocket. "I know exactly what's in here." Tossing it on the bedsheets. "If you change your mind, or have a suspicion..." Nudging towards the wallet. "Have a go, might survive a couple days on it. Figure things out."

"I won't." He said resolutely. Taking a stance.

"I know." You nodded. "But I'm trying to make a point here. I'm not bad, either. And I know you're a good lad."

He stared at you with troubled eyes. "You don't know that." Shaking his head, his jaw locked, and lips pursed thin. "I have done things." His voice was dark, and spoke with a sense of guilt. "I have sinned." He spoke it like some warning.

"We all have." You preached wisely. "And you don't need faith to do it."

"What did you just say?!"

"You have no faith, Arvin. At least, not anymore. You either lost it or… something happened." The tension was thick. The way he looked at you. A sight that made you shudder. If he might turn hostile at any moment. Yet the more you look into his eyes. The more lost you feel yourself. Something was amiss with him. "You don't thank the Lord for your food. Nor mention him in every third sentence like those folk down in the countryside." Arvin's nostrils flared as he listened and let the words sink in. "I've seen it without my own family. Everyone there puts their trust in faith. But it only gives false hope."

"You don't know." Averting his gaze. "I'm not like one of them."

"That's my point."

"What about all this?" Throwing hands at the clothes. "Won't they miss these at home?"

"My wallet would be worse." You shake your head while suppressing laughter. "There's also a lock on the door in the bathroom. If you don't trust me, that is." Taking the cigarette in between your lips. "Which is up to you." And step outside. The howling wind welcoming you as you struggle to catch the flame. Turning your back to the wind, facing Arvin again. "Also, I live alone. They… don't give a damn for giving away a pair of clothes." Shooting him a smile. "I'll be back in thirty." Closing the door behind you.

Forty minutes had passed when you returned. With caution, you unlocked the door, careful not to scare or walk into him. Not to your surprise, Arvin appeared in a better-suited attire than earlier. Standing beside the bed with his denim jacket on. His hair freshly combed, and the dirt and stains removed from his face and neck. In his hand, he held a cigarette, the other tucked into this pocket. He looked so much better. Cleaner, fresher and more man than before. You both locked eyes on each other. Still not sure whether the tension had cleared from earlier.

But the cold had done enough on you, your nose was running, and the wind had found every little inch of exposed skin. Freezing you to your very bone. "Good God…." Cursing something more while sniffing your nose. "I'm freezing." And close the door behind you. Warming your hands together while looking at Arvin. "You look much better." Reaching for the bottle for a swig. "Hope it did you good." Sneezing your nose after in your handkerchief.

An adorable smile cracked his features as he flipped away the half-smoked cigarette onto the street. Chuckling to himself as he closed the door, stepping into the room. His smile brightened the room. "It did." He said with a terribly precious smile. "Thank you (Y/N)."

"You're welcome." Planting yourself on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleepers from your eyes. The room had warmed up adequately since you turned up the radiators before you left for a cigarette outside. The warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Feeling your ears glow like never before.

"I was about to come look for ya."

"Oh..." Releasing a long stretched yawn. "Well, I'm here." You rub your face wrecked with sleep.

"This is yours." Handing back your wallet.

"Thank you. What'd you do with it?"

"Nothing. Like you said."

"I knew you would." Flashing him a smile. In that short moment of eye contact, you notice a small shimmer in his eyes. It was brief. Something had happened.

"Thank you (Y/N). And my apologies."

"I'm just glad you're still here."

"I owe you that beer." He said, nudging towards the door. "Should we?"

"We'll figure that out later. I'm feeling tired." You knew full well Arvin had changed for the occasion. You detected a hint of disappointment in his reaction—the snort of air through his nose. But sleep had set in. With the cold crept into your bones, you longed for the warm sheets of a bed. Not a cold, stale beer in some backwater bar. "I've been to the reception… and uh... there's another room available. But…-"

"I don't want you to go through that much trouble for me." He raised his voice.

"I only wanted to say, I just... don't have that kind of money to spare right now. And-"

"I don't expect you to. You've already done enough." He smiled thankfully, but unexpected. "It's my own fault. I'll sleep in the car, or on the flo-..."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." You cut him short. "Is that the alcohol talkin'?"

 "There's only one bed for the two of us." He said, his thin smile more of a joking kind than anything else. "It has the space, but…"

"As long as you don't elbow me. I'm fine with it." You yawn out loud, stretching your limbs. "I just need some rest. I'll take this side-" Patting the cushion beside you. "-you the other."

"Fine." He snorted and sat on the other side. "Fine…" With the switch on your side of the bed, you dim most of the lights. Turning up the heat slightly on the thermostat, you make sure neither one gets cold in case someone pulls the cover from one another. The sheets were big enough, but just in case. You thought about sleeping in the chair, or the car. But neither of those were good options. As far as you know, a cheaper motel was miles ahead. Not that you had the money to spend on another room. But…

"G'night." Arvin mumbled while pulling his socks off. You glance back as his comment pulled you from your thoughts. A shudder of some sort short up through your spine. Followed by a growing glow of warmth. Boiling your insides slowly. Churning your stomach. In that instance, that moment you glanced back, Arvin sat at the edge of the bed. Just like you, but without a shirt. His broad shoulder and masculine back did something to you, you couldn't describe. The air stocked in your throat. Your eyes meet, sudden and short, as he turned his head slightly, his gaze locking into yours momentarily as he glanced back over his shoulder. The brown locks of hair dangling in front of him.

"Goodnight." Stripping yourself of the remaining pieces of clothing. Feeling the motion of Arvin shifting on the mattress, slipping himself under the covers. You turn the lights off with the switch beside your bed. Letting your eyes adjust to the darkness, and slide under the covers on the opposite side. Arvin lay on his back, gaze to the ceiling. And join him in doing so. Leaving a small space in-between. Like a neutral zone. It was mutually agreed without exchanging a single word about it. One arm propped under your cushion, the other resting on your stomach. Yet your heart hammered in your chest. You were glowing, cheeks burning. Not from the alcohol. Not from the cold. You were far more awake than you ever have been that day. Eyes wide open. Swallowing the lump down your throat. You just keep your gaze to the ceiling, but you wanted to… to look beside you.

"At what time do you want to leave tomorrow morning?" He said quietly, feeling his gaze shift towards you. Every bit of movement on the mattress made your heart pump harder. Laying on your back, the bed wasn't small. You made yourself small, close to the edge, a bit of cover draped over you. Yet he felt so close by. The sound of him breathing alone made you…

"I… I... d-don't know… We'll see…" You clear your throat, keeping your eyes in afront. "We'll see." The everlasting silence returning again. The night turned dark and quiet. No cars driving past. No birds singing. No music from across the street. There was nothing, just silence. You don't know how long you've been laying there, staring at the ceiling. The tension building up. Listening to his breathing. You can't help it; you're too focused on it. Only the howling wind outside, the rustling of branches outside, brought a change of sound—every lick of lips, movement of his tongue in his mouth. You could hear it.

"(Y/N)?" He asked, rolling his head on the cushion, meeting your gaze for a second as you looked over. The cushions touched each other, that wasn't the problem. They were big enough, but the space between the two of you. That wasn't. The touch of arms was enough for you to jump a little.

"Yes… I'm awake." You sighed and continue to spit out a lie blatantly. "It's the weather. I always have trouble falling asleep when it's windy." You glance at him. "And you?"

"I don't know..." He said, bringing the conversation to a dead stop. You swing yourself onto the edge of the bed and lift yourself onto your legs. Making your way to the bathroom and lower yourself on the throne. Relieving yourself of the necessary. Before rounding the corner of the room, you halted for a moment. Standing there, several meters away from the bed. Even in the dark, you could see Arvin lying on his back. The outlines of his body, masculine shapes draped under the covers. You wish he didn't see you standing there. But you could feel his eyes shifting towards your direction. You shuffle back towards the bed and crawl back under. A sigh escaped you, trying to focus your mind on something else. The rustling leaves of the trees outside. The ticking radiator. The rumbling clouds. Time crept by slowly. Your eyelids felt heavy, yet sleep didn't seem to set in. "I can feel the sheets… shaking. You ok?"

"Oh, yeah...I' m-... I'm fine." You said with a sigh. Scratching the back of your head. "It's cold." Tugging the sheets in and around you. "That's all."

Everything beneath you moved and swayed. You expect he must have rolled onto his side, perhaps facing your way. The thought alone made you… warm. His breathing again remaining the only sound you could focus on. Added to that, the increasing warmth radiating from his side of the bed. You could still feel your toes being cold, hands numb, and ears glowing. Yet the heat was creeping into you. As if the radiator had crept under the covers. Was it Arvin…? Was he closer? The thought alone was tantalizing. Sending the hairs rising on your harm. You notice your breath becoming irregular, shuddering even.

"I should-...You tried to say, turning towards him by rolling onto your back. But you let out a small gasp in a semi terrified, panicking state. It all went so fast. You bumped up against him. Body against body. Warm and inviting. Yet in your reflex, you try to roll back on your side.

But his hand… His hand held in your place, resting on your hip. "You're freezing..." He breathed heavily, fanning along the skin of your neck. Shivers rushed across your spine as his hand lowered. Feeling your cold body with his hands. Shaking lightly as he touched upon your frame. Trailing up and down with his fingers. Your senses were in complete overdrive. Every point of contact was intensified by your mind. Slow and careful. You were numbed on the spot. Feeling your shoulder resting against his chest. Strong and masculine, like you glimpsed upon earlier.

"Y-Yes… Ar-... Arvin…" The words came out stuttering. You couldn't help it. Your hands shook, and your body was heating up quicker than ever before. "M-Maybe I… I should g-g-get a b...b-ath."

"You could have..." He said as his breath fanned against your neck. Sending shivers down your spine. The mattress moved again, Arvin began closing the distance between the two of you. If you had a chance to stop him now, it was right here. His hand moved from side to your stomach, his arm wrapping around your waist. Behind you, you feel the heat literally rising. His entire body came in contact with yours. Torso flat against your back, legs cupped by his. "But there's a reason you didn't..." He whispered into your ear. "It's the same why I came back." Before you had a chance to react, let alone sigh of relief. His lips followed, nose trailing along the back of your neck. You could feel the sloppy kiss burning on the skin of your neck. “Isn’t it, (Y/N)”? 

It made everything different. All this strange tension that had circulated for the past hours had manifested in this one kiss. It burned barriers, tore down walls, and fulfilled your wildest thoughts. You let out a groaning moan as your body stiffened as he moved closer onto you. Sliding his hand further across your stomach, pulling you in closer. Feeling the warmth and curves of his body, pressed against you. 

You try to regain your senses, not resisting his hold on you, but instead, turn towards him. And he let you, his hand that pulled you in, now slid along your frame, fingers roaming from your stomach to your back. Finally coming even with him. Even in the dark, this up close, you see the stunning outlines of his features. The dimples on his cheeks and freckles dotting his skin. Leaning into his lips, the kiss was everything you wanted. Soft and warm, but a particular ferocity to it. A gasp escaped your lips as you parted, cupping the back of his head with your hand. "Say it…(Y/N)" He said with a slightly shaking voice. The very mention of your name, in that harsh tone, made you shudder in excitement. "-tell me I'm right..." Pulling your lips back onto his. Arvin was the moving force in this; he could play you like anything else. And you would let him. "Say it… (Y/N)...You wanted this to happen..."

He still continued to advance on you. "I've been through enough…" His one hand touched on your inner thigh. Moving up every so slowly. "I've seen so much darkness." He said, pressing a kiss to your chest. Looking up at you as you groaned. "I don't want to anymore." Pushing himself further onto you. Shifting his weight towards you. And you let it happen, rolling onto your back. His lips take the skin of your shoulder for granted. Leaving behind hickeys. "I want it to change." He muttered in between the kisses, moving further along with the lines of your body, from the shoulder to your collarbone and chest. Forcing the wind from your lungs as his body followed along, resting on top of you.

"Shit, A...A-Arvin." You freeze on the spot, feeling his member pressed against you. Long rigid and firm, poking wantingly into you. The nerves in your system get the better of you. "I...I...I... can… help…and…a-and... I want to..." Every word took an effort to speak as he grinded against you slowly. Searching for friction, taking every ounce of concentration to utter a word. "But… B-But there a-are... other w-w-ways?!"

"No... The way you look at me." At the same time, his hand found its way to your pelvis. You had felt yourself growing in mere seconds. Blood racing your system. And now, those outlines, throbbing in your shorts, were traced by his fingers. "You make me feel like… like... I've never felt... in years." He groaned.

"Please A-Arvin... Don't mistake my kindness... f-for love. I… I-..." The touch of your cold hands on his warm, nurturing skin was everything you could ask for. His touch rocking your very being. The feeling of his naked body on yours. Your mind is almost blank. Captivated by his motions. Wanting more.

"Say it… (Y/N)..." He growled while kissing you hard. Your lips trembled upon his, shaking from pure ecstasy racing through your system. You can't help but kiss back. You wanted more. But you didn't have the courage. Thank God he did. “Tell me I’m right.” 

"Y-Yes…A-Arvin…" You confirmed wholeheartedly, with a full-fledged groan of excitement. “Yes!” But were silenced in the moment again by his lips. Cradling your cheeks in his hands. Your heart fluttered, leaving you absolutely breathless. A smile grew on your face. And you could feel his growing against your lips. "Arvin... P-P-Please..."

"You either stop me if you want me to...." Hooking his finger on the band of your shorts. Adding finger by finger, until his entire hand slid in. He looked at you with small eyes, a flicker of innocence shining through. “Or you help me...” He growled. "But… what I'm about to do... I do because I want to." A smile showed on his otherwise troubled face. A smile you had never seen before. So soft, so kind. So loving. It showed a side of Arvin, you didn't expect to see. "Not because I have to… I… want to." Smacking his lips on yours. His hand palming your boner. Your breath stoked in your throat, feeling unable to respond. His fingers sliding along the pulsating flesh of your cock. Initiating the first strokes as he forced away your shorts. The covers were no longer there, and your eyes had accustomed to the darkness. The little light that the moon shone into the room was more than enough. His body resting against yours, feeling the heaving of his chest and the moving of his body. Every heartbeat, every breath he took. You felt it.

He stroked rough, with an intensity you couldn't match as your shaking hand reached for his. Even in the darkness, it stood out. The stiffness poking into your side, reminding you. His groaned breaths said enough as you brought them together. More than a handful for him. It's thrilling and highly intoxicating, invigorating, flesh against flesh. There was nothing else but his member on yours. His cockhead rubbing against yours. His shaft rock hard and wet. The veins and ridges of his, pulsating and desperate. Craving for more. A sensation you wish would never end.

The position was awkward at first. Arvin laying half on top of you. Cocks brushing in the middle. But as the heat rises, the momentum picks up. It all fell in place. With his one hand, he stroked, long and hard. The other arm, wrapped around your neck. Holding onto you.

His moans were short but charismatic. Your eyes get drawn to his every growl. Massaging your erections together in a lustful vigor. Everything was intensified. The veins on his arm showed. The muscles rippled in motion. The pressure of his worked masculine chest forcing into you. His glances helped you work together to a common goal. A shuddering touch of your fingers along his frame forced out more sounds than you could bear. Droplets of wetness shimmer in the moonlight. Holding them together in perfect pairs.

The shaking intensified, for both of you. Groaning to each other's touches. Senses rising beyond the unthinkable. As Arvin came first. His motions became sloppy, irregular, and twitching. His grip faltered as he came. His body trembled on yours, groaning as he held onto you for dear life. It's quick and messy. As you take over his grip. Struggling with the wetness and hard sensations in your hand. But it's helping you reach your high even faster. The reality of your hand holding them both together is hypnotizing. Even more when you feel him reaching his climax. He held you, with his strong arms, tight against his body. Groaning your name as all looked up at you. Locks of brown hair, tangled and messy, hanging before his eyes. His eyes widened, big and full of emotion. Gasping for air as you stroked harder. You bring your lips onto his, closing his gasping mouth. He moaned and shook through and through. The fierce kiss interrupted by his climax, he parted with a shuddering gasp as you both glanced down in between you. These boys did look at explosions.

And it sure was mesmerizing. His pulsating and jolting climax spilled over the pair. From the slit, a string of cum streamed from his cock. The first shots went airborne, splattering your pelvis and stomach. Each stroke of your hand initiates another wave. It began to cover your hand and both lengths. It's slippery, wet, and extremely satisfying to force out of someone else then yourself. Especially when he took over once again. You didn't need much more. The firm grip of his hand returned once again. He was strong. And his grip was more than satisfying. Heavenly. Regaining his breath on your chest. Focused on one thing. You suck the air into your lungs, almost if you need that to force your load out. The pressure builds up fast enough. And Arvin went for it. Stroking every last drop from you. Turning everything in a panting mess of growled, exhilarated lovemaking and passion. You both heaved for air in silence. Arvin still on top of you. In turn, stealing kisses from each other.

"I… have…" You muttered through your heavy breathing. "so... many questions..." You caught a glimpse of a smile on Arvin's face as he moved off the bed. Returning moments later with a towel. Hunched on his knees beside you, he cleaned every drop from you. With a careful finger, he inspected your areas to see if there was any left. His touch is slow and somewhat sensual. Dragging his finger over your, now, glowing skin. "Arvin?"

"Hmmm." He hummed softly, pulling the covers towards himself and began to cuddle up to you. Arvin completely naked, slowly cradling onto you. You can still feel his member rubbing into your skin. "Your warm again." He said while looking at you. His eyes had more life to it. Slowly putting an arm around your neck. Cuddling himself up on your chest. Pulling the cover along with him. Resting his head on your chest. You can't resist the temptation to twirl your fingers through those brown curls. Long and beautiful.

"What happened to you?"

He sighed and sank deep into your embrace. Folding himself around you. Embracing you. "I have sinned… and lost my faith." He said peacefully. "You were right." Pressing a small kiss to your chest. "Parts of me have died… and more. But here… today... I found a piece of me… I didn't know I lost."

You didn't expect those kinds of words from him. For a man with as few as his, this had emotion. For once you didn't have to read his eyes, or his expression to know what he meant what he said. A slight snore shook you from your thoughts as you trailed your fingers through his hair, adjusting yourself into a comfortable position. Arvin didn't move. He snored softly in your embrace. He looked peaceful. At ease. Curled up to you like that. You didn't track time, but you had a feeling, deep down inside of him, something was healing. He was sleeping, without being awoken by his nightmares. At least not yet.

Only the name remained, muttered softly from his lips.

A girl?

#arvin russell x reader #arvin russell x male reader #arvin russell x male!reader #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russell tom holland #arvin russell #male reader #male!reader #male reader smut #smut #tom holland #tom holland x male reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x male!reader #mlm #one bed trope

[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Part 3

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral sex, between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

“Nothing to see here,” you muttered and scooted across the café as quickly as you could, heading for the sanctuary of your office.

Closing the door firmly behind you and heading straight to your fancy CEO swivel chair, you sat down and shakily placed your hands flat on the desk. You took some deep breaths. That stupid big idiot and his BDE! How dare he kiss you like that in front of everyone.

And even worse, leaving you all hot and flustered like some kid who’s never been kissed before! Let’s be honest, that’s what was really getting to you... he hadn’t actually bent you over the counter and fucked you, but by your reaction he might as well have.

How ridiculous, you told yourself sternly, get a grip! You put your forehead on the desk’s cool surface. They’d all been staring at you, and you could feel your face heating up again at the thought of them watching Billy kiss you really quite passionately. And you melting like a complete fool in the process.

After a couple of hours hiding out in your office, you knew you’d have to face the music sooner or later and made your way back down to the café. The regulars, you saw, had gone by now so that was something but by the mischievous looks on your co-workers’ faces, you knew you were in for some serious teasing.

You made your way over to one of the two monster Gaggia coffee machines in the café and started making yourself a cappuccino. “Anyone want one?” you asked over your shoulder. Jake said he’d have one too, but the other two passed. You could just feel their curiosity crackling through the air like electricity. They were of course fully aware of the Ex and that whole daytime soap plot, but were just about losing their shit as they didn’t know anything about this hot dude, who’d walked in to the café and kissed you like he knew you extremely well.

You handed Jake his coffee and helped yourself to a danish cinnamon pastry - yeah, eating the profits again - munching into it and then pointing at your staff members with it. “Okay, guys. Here it is. In its entirety. I went to little cousin’s cocktail party last night as you know, and met the guy who was in here earlier. We left the party, went for a couple of drinks elsewhere, he drove me home, I got out of his car and he drove away. Like, immediately I got out.”

You really didn’t feel the need to mention the kiss he’d stolen before you got out of his car.

Gabrielle’s mouth fell open, “You met him last night???” The implication being that A) how was that possible and B) where did that kiss come from if you hadn’t slept with him? You sighed, taking another bite of pastry. “Yes! And as I’ve just told you,” you looked around to make sure there weren’t any customers in earshot, “he did not stay the night, okay? He didn’t even get out of his car.”

“It’s just that it looked a bit ...” Steve trailed off nervously. “Well...umm... friendly... for someone you’ve only just met,” finished Jake. You nodded. “I’m aware of that. What you saw there was the Billy Russo Show, done purely to embarrass me. He’s a cocky big shit. And trying to get me to go out with him.” “Are you going to?” asked Gabrielle. “Oh, hell yes! Wouldn’t you?” Jake almost got whiplash, he nodded so emphatically, “Yes. Yes, I would.” You all had a good laugh at that.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

There were only 2 days to go until Friday, and you found yourself panicking. What to wear, what to wear? OK, after mentally reviewing your wardrobe you decided that a shopping trip was in order.

Hanging up your new purchase in the wardrobe, you felt pleased with your choice. Nothing too flashy - you weren’t sure of the venue, so went with smart/casual - a sleek navy number, wraparound style, mid-thigh length and showing only a hint of cleavage. Less is more right?

Teamed with a pair of metallic navy heels, it would be fine. You hoped. What if he was taking you somewhere really low-key? Oh well, you shrugged, if you ended up looking a bit like Cinders at the ball in some local pizzeria, so be it.

Jake and the others were still buzzing about your upcoming date, in fact you’d eventually asked them if they wanted to come along too. They’d at least had the decency to look guilty, but only a little. You were sure that if they found out where you two were headed, they’d follow you. You decided you’d better check for shadowy figures tailing you on Friday night.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

8pm on the dot, the buzzer sounded in your apartment, Billy’s voice announcing that he was downstairs. You were not quite ready, still had a couple of tweaks to make so buzzed him up. He strolled in as you opened the door, leaning in for a kiss to which you turned your head, so it landed on your cheek. “Lipstick!” you trilled, moving back towards the bathroom. “I won’t be long, have a seat. You’re looking good, Russo, by the way.” “Thanks,” you heard his voice from the other room, “and you’re looking absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You’d felt happier when you saw that he was also smart/casual.... what looked like a cashmere burgundy sweater over black jeans, with a leather jacket. He looked edible.

When you emerged back into the living room five minutes later - a veritable vision in navy, you mockingly smirked to yourself - Billy Russo was nowhere in sight. You stopped in your tracks, and then heard a drawer opening in your bedroom. You walked through to it, just in time to see Billy picking up a pair of your lacy silk panties out of your underwear drawer.

“Russo!” you yelled, “put those back, you perv!” He slid the smooth fabric between his long fingers, grinning devilishly at you. “Mmmmm, are you wearin’ something similar right now?” Before you could stop yourself, you bit back, “Who says I’m wearing any at all?” His eyes widened, a big grin appearing on his face. “Oh, really? Wanna prove it?” “No!” you replied, knowing your face was scarlet, “just forget I said that. I’m joking with you.” He shook his head, “Yeah, like I’m goin’ to get that image out of my head anytime soon.”

“Let’s go, Billy,” you said, walking to the front door and pulling on your own leather jacket. “Hey, we’re matching,” he laughed, pointing between your jacket and his, “ain’t that sweet!” “It’s creepy, actually. Matching clothes? Vomit-inducing.” He laughed, “You’re funny.” “No, I’m just not some soppy sappy woman who’s going to fall at your feet, Russo.” He took your hand as you closed and locked your front door, and the two of you headed for the stairs.

“Yeah, I’d kinda got that vibe already,” he grinned at you, “but it doesn’t matter, I know I’m gonna get you in the end.” “Just keep on telling yourself that,” you snarked back.

Looking at the back of his head as he walked down the stairs in front of you, you really wanted to run your fingers through that hair but managed to keep your hands to yourself.

Fastening your seat belt, back in the gleaming Wraith, you watched Billy’s fingers as he fastened his and then placed his hands on the steering wheel. You mentally shook yourself, you were beginning to fantasise about different parts of his body and you’d better snap out of it, you told yourself.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He took you to a really nice Italian restaurant, not too posh, just nice and relaxed with friendly staff and really good food. The conversation from the night in the bar was picked up where it left off, each of you adding more and varied information. You learned that Frank had sadly lost his wife and kids when they innocently got caught up in a savage gang war gun battle. Billy told you that his friend had gone off the rails for a while, but had recently met a lovely lady called Karen and they’d started dating. He was really pleased for him, as he’d been so worried about him for a while. You thought you’d quite like to meet Frank sometime.

You told him something more of your life, thankfully not involving assault and cheating ex-boyfriends this time. He’d been fascinated and truly appreciative of the struggle you’d had to get your business off the ground, saying that he’d been lucky in having a major investor lined up before he’d even left the Marines.

You saw a dark look flit over his face for a moment, but then it cleared and he went on to ask you more questions about your business. You’d both chatted easily together until it was almost midnight, and you’d become “that couple” who were the last ones in the restaurant. You realised that, when he dropped the ‘Billy Big Dick’ nonsense, you really enjoyed his company and felt that you two had clicked even more this evening.

He drove away from the restaurant, and it took you a few minutes to notice that he wasn’t driving the route to your apartment. “Billy,” you sighed, “are we heading to your place by any chance?” That damn smirk was back on his face. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ve seen yours, so now you can see mine.” ”Oh, ha bloody ha. I’m not sleeping with you, you know.” A grin appeared on his lips as you glanced across at his profile, illuminated by each passing streetlight. “Just keep on tellin’ yourself that, sweetheart,” he replied mockingly. You laughed out loud, “You cheeky big bastard.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

His apartment was everything you would’ve expected - open plan, with modern, sleek furnishings and decor in dark masculine colours. You settled yourself onto the large sofa, and he headed to the kitchen area; a moment later, you heard wine being poured then his tall figure reappeared, holding the two wine glasses. He handed one to you, and you took a sip - it was very good wine. “So, Billy... I’m guessing your li’l batchelor pad here sees quite a lot of action, and not the type you saw in the Marines, huh?”

That smirk. He sat down next to you, hand going to rest on your shoulder and playing with a strand of your hair. His expression became serious, “No. I don’t bring women back here.”

You scoffed, “Oh come on, Billy... you’re...” then you stopped, looking away from him. “I’m what?” You shook your head. “C’mon, what were you going to say?” “Never mind. Well, if you don’t bring them here, let me guess... you go to their place and disappear before the morning light?” He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, breaking eye contact with you. “Okay... that, I can’t deny. How did you guess? And what were you going to say before?”

Oh to hell with it, you thought.

“I was going to say... you’re hot, Billy. So obviously - unless you’ve got a problem down there and need some little blue pills...” his eyebrows rose, his mouth dropping open slightly before he started grinning, “...you won’t be a saint and you’re more than likely a player.”

He leaned in towards you, eyes staring deep into yours, “Firstly, I have no problems with my equipment in any way shape or form,” ....smirk... “it’s in perfect workin’ order. And I’d be more than happy to prove that to you.” His lips met yours in a kiss, quickly growing heated. He pulled away, making eye contact again, “And you’re right, I’m no saint. A player? Yeah, maybe. But I can be a saint for you, if you want me to be.”

“But that wouldn’t be the real Billy Russo, would it?” His eyes were still on you. You carried on, “Look, I’ll level with you. I like you - when you’re not wearing your BDE persona. It’s a total clichè, but I really don’t intend to be just another notch on your no-doubt designer bedframe.”

He smiled at you, “I get it, I really do.” He trailed a finger along your cheekbone, “I wouldn’t be tryin’ to be someone I’m not. I just meant that I like you too, and I feel comfortable dropping the persona with you.” You smiled back. “OK, but Billy?” “Yeah?” “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

Laughing, “Oh, yeah?” pulling you against his chest, a hand going to your cheek as he kissed you long and hard. Breaking away, hand on his chest, you whispered, “Yeah...”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy was poised above you, looking down at you as if you were something he wanted to devour. Your clothes had joined his on the bedroom floor a little while ago; you were both lying on his very large bed, and yes it was designer-made - you’d asked him.

He gently pushed aside a strand of your hair, before kissing your lips. His mouth then made its way slowly but surely down to your neck and collarbone, and you felt little nips on your skin before his tongue licked your skin slowly. He moved slightly lower and sucked your nipples while his hands were busy massaging your breasts. Your hands moved to his broad shoulders, pulling him down further so you could feel more of his skin against yours.

You heard a chuckle, “So yeah, I guess you really aren’t gonna sleep with me after all, huh?” You shifted out slightly from under his body, “Shut up Billy, and put this to good use,” letting your fingers trail down to his hard length. You slid your fingers around it and gave his tip a firm squeeze. His breath hissed between his lips, and those big hands pulled you back underneath him. “Don’t worry, I was gonna.” You smirked, “I confess I was impressed when I saw what you were packing,” another squeeze, another hiss, his mouth on your neck, “but actions speak louder than words.”

He laughed, “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.” Deciding to head for the mother lode, you gave him one last squeeze, firmer than before, sniggering as his hips shot forward. “Same to you,” you said, before sliding your hands into his silky hair at last. Running your fingers right back through it, you sighed out loud and grabbed a handful with each of yours, and tugged. “I see you like my hair,” he smirked.

You leant forward and kissed him, hard. He groaned, kissing you back even harder. Then your hands ran over the muscles of his chest, down the trail of hairs on his lower stomach, before grabbing his cock and wrapping your fingers round it. He growled, “And what ya gonna do with that, sweetheart?” You began stroking him firmly, “This.... until you decide to get off your ass and do something.”

He laughed out loud, and suddenly his hand was between your legs, his thumb on your clit, rubbing hard. His lips at your ear, whispering, “Something like this?” and you felt a long finger plunging into you, swiftly joined by a second one. He began sliding them in and out, curling them, and it had an instant effect on you, your breath hitching. “Billy,” you sighed, your hand stilling momentarily on his length. You heard his low chuckle, and he increased his pace. Okay smartass, you thought, and gave his tip a very firm squeeze. “Aahhh!” you heard, and gave him another one for good measure. “You minx,” he laughed, then picked up pace with his fingers again. Then they were gone from you, and you saw him moving his head downwards, hands moving to your hips, his tongue replacing his fingers. He was lapping at you, his thumb back on your clit, and now you really were in trouble.

You grabbed his shoulders, digging your nails in, beginning to writhe on the bed, and then his fingers were back, sliding in next to his tongue. The combination of thumb, tongue and fingers was like an incendiary bomb going off in your core, and you could feel your climax building by the second. His pace increased and that was it, the explosion happened and you now grabbed his head like a vice, keeping him where he was as the aftershocks of your orgasm washed over you in waves. Very pleasurable waves. Finally, you released his head and you saw his dark eyes meet yours, a satisfied glint in them. “That was only number one, angel,” he grinned, “fasten your seat belt.” “Cocky bastard. And I’m an angel now, am I?” He moved up and back over you, hands sliding up your body.

“For sure,” kissing your neck, nipping the skin lightly with his teeth. “And I’m so lucky, havin’ one in my bed.” He sat up, opening a drawer in his bedside table, scrabbling around until he produced a condom, unwrapping it and holding your gaze as he rolled it on.

His hands moved to your breasts, palming them then circling his thumbs over your nipples as they peaked once again. You grabbed that hair of his again, little gasps making their way between your lips. Your feet were flat on the mattress, knees either side of his thighs and you felt his hand moving down, then the head of his cock was between your legs, edging its way in. Billy thrust right inside you, and there were loud groans from you both as he sunk in. “Mmmm...” he kissed you, tongue diving into your mouth, then he pulled away, gazing at you, “you don’t know just how good you feel around me.” You shifted a bit, rolling your hips to his, “About as good as you feel inside me.”

A low growl, then he was moving on you, fast right from the get-go, his thrusts forcing a moan from you on each stroke. Your legs moved - seemingly of their own accord - around his hips, and this new angle obviously pleased both of you, as the noises the two of you made got even louder. You felt him deep inside you, and every time you squeezed and held him there, he actually whimpered.

“Good puppy!” you managed to gasp out, hearing an answering snort of laughter from him. “I am not...” he gasped back at you between thrusts, “...a fuckin’ puppydog, sweetheart.” “But Billy, you’ve got those big brown eyes ...” your own eyes closed at a particularly forceful thrust, “...and you are fucking me, so...”

His only answer this time was to pull one of your legs higher onto his back, thrusting deep as he did, and then his hand cupped your breast and massaged it hard. That shut you up.

His fingers were at your inflamed core again and then he was rubbing at your clit, making your back arch with sheer pleasure. He was switching between kissing you hungrily and nipping and sucking love bites onto your collarbone. Thank god he wasn’t targeting your neck, you thought, that would look so professional at work. You, meanwhile, were over-indulging in your obsession with his hair, running it back off his forehead with your fingers and tugging on it to your heart’s content.

Finally your over-pleasured body couldn’t take any more, and your climax hit you like a truck. Your nails dug into his muscled shoulders, grabbing him in a death grip and a small scream of “Billy!” exited your open mouth. You felt him give a few sharp thrusts, realising that he was about to come; you heard your name, then a long groan and he released his warm seed into you. He sunk down onto you, kissing you softly but with passion, long fingers laying gently along your jaw and neck as he did so.

“Angel....” he sighed.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfiction

[spectralscathath]

Like-Minded Souls, Indeed?

Because this was exactly what Mercury needed, the voice of someone his boss killed showing up in his head and telling him to save the world. No thank you. Not unless you paid him.

Meanwhile, on Ozpin's side of things, he would like to very much not be found out by Salem. That would be... unfortunate.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1: In Which Neither Mercury Nor Ozpin Can Ever Catch A Break

Ozpin felt the tugs of Ozma's magic at the corners of his mind, the limbo of their incarnations finally broken as a like-minded soul was bonded with.

He awoke in the back of someone's mind, still bleary as though he was physically waking up from a deep sleep. The mindscape was quiet with a forced calm, tension like pulled strings threading through the soul of this new individual and ready to snap at the slightest touch.

He looked out a set of new eyes, to see if it was a good time to introduce himself, and felt ancient fear flood through him at the sight of Ozma's oldest and most terrible foe. Oh. Oh no. This was very bad. This was quite possibly the worst place he could incarnate.

Salem herself, smiling at the girl who had killed him under Beacon. To die in fire was not an experience the countless souls wanted to repeat, and Ozpin was unfortunate enough to join the ranks of the few predecessors who’d suffered such a painful death.

He chose to say nothing, instead observing the way silver strands of hair fell over the side of his vision, how the body ached with phantom pains that were not Ozpin's, and wisely retreated back into the mind.

Perhaps another time.

Perhaps when Mr Mercury Black was not currently surrounded by danger.

After all, they both had to make the best of things now. He could only hope that Mr Black would be the type who could be persuaded away from Salem.

If not, then this was going to be... difficult.

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

Ozpin had been a father, so many lifetimes before. He had never been perfect, he had made countless mistakes across Ozma's many lifetimes, he accepted them all as his failures, so he could learn from them and do better in the next life.

He had given his second life in a futile attempt to save his daughters, and sometimes wondered if he regretted his choices. Should he have stayed? If he had stayed, would he still be alive? Would his children still be alive?

The look Marcus Black wore in so many of Mercury's memories reminded him too much of Salem to ever again regret his attempt to escape her clutches.

He had been waiting a long time, studying Mercury’s routine so he could find the safest time to breach the gap between them. He had to say, this was an opportunity like no other, to see what Salem’s plans were without detection, but with great reward came terrible risk. All it would take was one slip, and they’d both be dead. Or worse. And if he did nothing, then all the knowledge he could gain would be for naught.

So he waited until they were alone before he could chance speaking to him, until Mercury had retreated to his corners and locked the door, shoving a chair under the handle as was his custom. He was paranoid, which was a very fair response to the situation. The massive wardrobe must have taken some shoving to put it in the path of the window, but it certainly did prevent any unwelcome visitors who might see it as a means of entry.

The bed pushed into the corner was wise as well, to put his back to a wall,  although the fact that Mercury piled his pillows under the covers as a decoy and then slept under the bed itself might have been pushing it somewhat.

He waited until Mercury was sitting on the bed, looking over his weapons and performing any upkeep needed, the faint cyan glow from the vents in his prosthetics lining his silver fringe.

Mr Black, don’t be alarmed.

“What the FUCK?!” Mercury bolted upright, knife in hand as he looked around, head swinging to every potential place an intruder could be. “Who’s there?!”

Professor Ozpin. He had to think quickly. Don’t tell Salem or she will kill you. This is part of my curse as her opponent, I must incarnate into a new mind with every death, and I am now currently in yours.

“No the fuck you are not.” Mercury snarled. “Show yourself, come out and face me.”

I can’t, actually. He should try and enter Mercury’s dream. He personally had never done that, but Ozma had, so therefore he had as well… hadn’t he? It seemed the lines were blurring between himself and Ozma already. More than they had been when he was alive. He’d been one of the more compatible hosts, on account of not having anything that really needed Ozpin Headley more than it needed Ozma-in-Ozpin’s-head.

“Nope. Okay. I’ve gone mad. I’ve been up too long.”

That is true. Mercury had a terrible case of insomnia, it seemed. Though with the night terrors he had, it was understandable. He was about to have a whole lot more, once the merge hit the point where Ozpin was able to fade into the memory consciousness, just as Ozana had when she had joined the other incarnations in the depths of their shared subconscious.

He was hoping he could spare the young man the nightmares from hundreds of deaths. Ten thousand years was a long time to live and die and live again. Mr Black, I assure you, this is not an ideal situation for me either, but you must understand that you are not crazy and that I am now-

“Taking up residence in my head like a fucking pervert? What, running a school wasn’t enough for you to get your sick kicks?” Mercury snarled at him.

Okay, that was uncalled for. Mr Black, that is very untrue. This is just something that happens . After all, someone had to stop Salem.

“Fuckin- alright, fine, so I’ve gone mad. What else is new?” Mercury grumbled, sitting back down and angrily sharpening a knife.

You’re very sane, I assure you. Ozana had told him something similar, if a bit less polite.

“Right, I’m talking to a voice in my head while living in a castle owned by some sort of humanoid Grimm witch, that’s the definition of sanity.” Mercury snarked at him.

If you can believe Salem’s existence, then surely you can believe mine?

“I don’t believe anything you say. Can you go back to shutting up?” Mercury’s anger was a tangible force in their head, not like a wildfire, but more like a poison, something that slowly corroded whatever it touched. It was a very cold anger.

I’m afraid not. I must insist that you leave this place before Salem finds out of my presence, or she WILL kill you then and there. Or worse. There could be so much worse. Salem had been around far longer than he had, by sheer virtue of her immortality working differently. It had left her with a large pool of creative methodology for causing pain, many of which had been lost to time.

He didn’t want to undergo that as much as Mercury likely wouldn’t want to either, so that meant leaving was their best choice. He’d been listening in on a few of the meetings that Salem had hosted, finding out that Haven was the next target, and Vacuo after that. He’d also found that she hadn’t yet obtained the Crown of Choice, but that she did still have at least one operative in Vale looking. He wished them luck. He personally had decided to move the Beacon Vault and hide it a little better after he took over the school.

There was no way Salem’s people could find it. Not without his knowledge. Or Jinn’s knowledge.

He had to keep Jinn out of Salem’s reach. If summoned, she wouldn’t choose not to answer Salem’s question. She didn’t have that sense of morality. To the Relics, all that mattered was their task, and the rules that bound them to it.

So, Mercury, when do we leave?

“You’re stupid.” Mercury told him bluntly. “We’re on another continent with no way off that isn’t controlled by Salem. There is no leaving. At least not until she sends me out on a job. So here’s the deal, you shut the fuck up, and then maybe when I’m out of this creepy fucking castle, we can talk.” Ozpin could hear the lie in there. Mercury had zero intentions of ever talking to him again.

But it was a good idea, for safety’s sake. He would have to be a silent observer. After all, the walls could have ears.

Besides, once they were out on a job, so to speak, he could simply start talking again. After all, that was the letter of the potential agreement, if not Mercury’s intention.

Agreed. I will see you when we are in the clear.

“Piss off.” Mercury grumped at him, and just this once, Ozpin chose to comply. He could use the time to gather information, and silence was a small price to pay for that.

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

Mercury followed Emerald, Watts, and Cinder into the safehouse Lionheart had brought for them, feeling a strange sense of betrayal flood him that was definitely not his. He realised it was probably Ozpin, who had so far remained quiet during the flight out of Evernight, meeting up with Watts, and going over battleplans for confronting Raven Branwen.

He’d been tuned in just to see what his role was (he was Thug #2, the muscle who was meant to stand there and possibly kill someone if that kind of point had to be made), and was allowed to be basically invisible beyond that. He watched as Cinder went to cook herself dinner, and since she knew she controlled Emerald through food and shelter, probably Emerald as well. Mercury could cook for himself, if he had to, and Watts could starve for all they cared.

He wasn’t hungry anyway. Too busy trying to hold off on the wrenching nausea in his gut that was not his. “See ya, Em.” He shrugged at her, holding up his scroll. “I’m gonna play some Amid You. See ya tomorrow.”

“See ya, Merc.” She waved him off. She’d gotten a bit more tolerable since they got trapped together in the deathworld that was Salem’s castle. Not that they were friendly or anything. Just tolerable.

He made his way up the stairs and into one of the rooms, making sure it wasn’t the fanciest one because he’d let Cinder and Watts duke out ownership of that one. He locked the door, looking for something he could shove against it and picking the bedside table. It’d do.

He checked the window lock and pulled the curtains over, sitting on the bed as he played music on his scroll to mask the fact that he could be talking to himself, if only to tell Ozpin to shut the fuck up with the sadness.

“Alright asshole, what’s the problem.”

I can’t believe Leo would fall this far. Ozpin sounded fucking miserable. Sucks for him, he got betrayed. What happened to him? He was a hero for so long…

“People suck, get over it.” Seriously, if he’d been around since the asscrack of time, then he should know that.

Not always. Some people are good. It makes it hurt all the more when some of them turn out to… well. Stick a knife in your back . Ozpin sighed, impressive for a man who didn’t have a body or lungs. So. Now we can discuss you leaving this group and helping protect the Relic of Knowledge.

“Yeah, no, not happening. If there’s a mole on the inside of your old team, then me buggering off from Cinder is only gonna end up with us dead, which is that thing you didn’t want, right? After all, Leo runs Haven, and those kids Watts mentioned? First years and a drunken Huntsman. Haven’s dead meat.”

We have to try. Salem cannot be allowed to obtain any of the Relics.

“Nah. We have to survive. I’m not dying just because you wanna be a hero.” Mercury kicked his boots and greaves off, since he was out of Evernight, twirling his ankle a bit and listening to the metallic clicking the joint made.

Mr Black, I must insist. If the Vault in Haven is opened, it could go very badly. Besides, Qrow is my friend. I’d rather not risk him being hurt.

“Hey, the plan involves not going near Qrow. It’s a simple sneak in, sneak out, and the White Fang blow up the school a few days later. No one’s getting hurt, except for Lionheart. Clock’s ticking on his usefulness.” The plan was easy compared to Cinder’s weird domino pieces plan for taking down Beacon. He preferred the Haven plan that was clearly Salem and Watts’s idea. It was simple, no muss, no fuss. Easy pickings.

Gonna be great to see how Cinder’s rampaging ego ruined it, something easy like this clearly wouldn’t fuel her proud streak. She was just like Marcus. Always wanted a challenge. That was why he saved cutting off a target’s semblance for a finishing blow in his assassinations.

Haven Academy is important, Mercury, you can’t just let it be blown up! I won’t stand by while Salem steals the Relic and destroys another Academy! I can’t!

“All the Huntsman in Mistral are either dead or useless, gramps.” Mercury rolled his eyes. “Academy’s already useless. You should focus on the relic.” Maybe if he came up with another plan it’d get Ozpin off his back.

I don’t play to win at all costs, Mr Black. I try to protect as many pieces on the board as I can.

“That’s why you’re losing,” Mercury collapsed back on the bed, hooking his hands behind his head as he got comfortable. “How about another deal? We wait for Cinder to get the Relic. Watts has to go back to Evernight after dealing with Branwen, so the trip back will be me, her, and Emerald. Cinder won’t be expecting an attack, so how about we kill her, steal the ship, and then you can take the Relic wherever you want?”

And Emerald? Ozpin queried. Would you be killing her in this sneak attack as well?

That made him pause for a moment. Would he kill Emerald? Probably not, he didn’t need to. Cinder was absolutely a threat who had to be taken out as quickly as possible, but Emerald? Nah. “She’d probably get all butthurt that Cinder’s dead or whatever, but I don’t see why she should die as well. Worse comes to worst we’ll knock her out. We’d be doing her a favour, honestly. You’ve seen how Cinder treats her.” The fact that Ozpin was constantly watching everything was real fucking unnerving and something he tried to not think about at all times.

Hmmmm… Ozpin deliberated for ages, which made Mercury think he was probably scheming away. Whatever. Mercury wasn’t going to fall for any of it. What could a voice in his head do? Get sad at him? You think you can kill Cinder?

“I think that I’ve been watching how she fights for nearly two years now and that she’s got a massive blind spot on her left side.” It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be manageable. Amber got taken out too, after all. “You got anything that would help? Cinder said you put up a fight in that basement where she killed you.” He hoped that was uncomfortable to talk about. If he had to be disquieted by sharing headspace with a weirdo, so should Ozpin.

Yes. I have some magical ability left that can, at the very least, level the playing field a little bit. It’s not as strong as the Maiden’s magic, but if applied correctly, it could work.

Sounded like Ol’ Oz was coming around to ‘fuck everyone else, I got what I want in the end’. Selfish thinking won again. Why waste energy on stopping the destruction of a school when Cinder could be allowed to think she won and Mercury could then use that pride against her to escape this whole messed-up situation.

After all, Salem might be remaking the world and had offered to make him one of the top dogs, but in the pecking order, he was still near the bottom of the ladder. Besides, he did have her worst enemy in his head.

Escape was definitely the best option. “And hey, if she’s planning on attacking Vacuo after, think your buddy in Atlas would let us bunker down there?” If they did it right, then no one would know what happened. Cinder would be too dead to talk, Emerald would be a flight risk but he could probably talk her into not going back to work for Salem, and he sure wouldn’t tell anyone.

Yes. James can be trusted.

Just like Lionheart could, Mercury thought, but this one he kept to himself. “So. Deal?”

I don’t like this. It’s cruel and callous.

“I’m Mercury Black, have we met?” Why would he want to be anything else? The world was cruel. The only way to win was to take what you had and fight for what you wanted. No rules. No lines. Those made people weak.

… Very well. I’ll agree, for now.

“Then we’re done for tonight.”

I suppose we are. Thank you for hearing me out.

Mercury blinked perturbedly. Did he just get thanked? Weird. “Uh- sure. Whatever.”

Ozpin sounded way too amused as he chuckled, Mercury’s hackles rising only slightly. Good night, Mr Black.

Mercury snorted and didn’t bother replying, reaching for his scroll as he switched his music off and went into the games folder. Yeah it was gonna be a good night. He was gonna play video games til his eyes fell out and not sleep.

He supposed this situation with Ozpin could have been worse. At least the guy kept to himself and didn’t make a nuisance. If Mercury had to have a creepy man in his head talking to him, it could have been a lot worse. Could have had a Tyrian in there. Or a Watts.

Or his dad.

Mercury’s nose scrunched. Wouldn’t that be awful. Least Ozpin knew which of them was in control.

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

It was chaos in Haven Academy’s foyer. Mercury dodged a wild swing from Yang, flipping back in a handspring as he errantly observed the room. Ozpin had not been happy about the ‘kill everyone’ plan but whatever, they were here now. Ozpin had been a lot louder since then and was still there, still currently losing his mind in the back of Mercury’s head. Mercury tried to tune most of it out. Wasn’t easy.

Mercury, please! This can’t be what you want! Ozpin begged as Mercury watched that kid in the green get thrown through a wall by Hazel. Ozpin always went real quiet around him. He wondered why. They’re just children!

He didn’t answer back, because fuck it, what did he know? Being a kid didn’t mean shit. Where was ‘just children’ when Marcus beat him up daily? Nowhere, that’s where.

You have to stop this! You’ll never be able to get the Relic now, the plan won’t work! This is our only chance!

He dodged another gunshot from Yang, which was criminally easy, she definitely had not gotten faster since their last fight, and checked in on the only threat. Qrow was- oh fuck he had stopped fighting Raven, disengaging from that little sibling duel to charge Hazel, landing a blow to the guy’s back with enough force that Hazel’s knee hit the ground. Mercury swore it dented from the weight behind that blow.

No no no no no no-

He whistled as he caught Yang’s kick in one of his own, forcing her leg down and scoring a punch directly to the floating ribs. Her eyes went red for a moment as she swung a hook at him, one that he dodged again, knocking her around with a few more kicks to the head. Had she gotten sloppier? He would be ashamed to fight this badly.

Mercury. Please. Don’t make me do this.

He glanced over at where Qrow was nimbly dodging Hazel’s blows before a cheap shot from Lionheart hit him in the shoulder, knocking his footwork off-balance long enough that Hazel got his hands on Qrow.

Mercury I’m so sorry-

“What-” Mercury asked before his vision flashed gold, and he was shunted into the back of his own head. Suddenly he was the voice, and Ozpin was in control- he had no control over his own body, no way to stop as Ozpin took a running leap, leaving a confused Yang behind, and landed a kick into the side of Hazel’s head, the shotgun blasting right in his ear.

Ozpin had took over. Ozpin… could take over. And he’d never mentioned it. He’d never-

Qrow looked at them, utterly dumbfounded. The entire room had gone dead quiet as Ozpin-in-Mercury’s-body artfully landed between Qrow and Hazel, not taking his eyes off the latter. Then he spoke with Mercury’s voice but it wasn’t Mercury’s words and it wasn’t right-

“I’d like my cane back, if you wouldn’t mind, Qrow.”

Cinder was staring. Emerald was staring. Everyone was staring as Mercury was turned into a fucking puppet, all his control stolen away. He hadn’t even known Ozpin could- He’d thought-

His view of their- their, not his- vision tunnelled, greying out at the edges. Haven wasn’t there anymore. It was just that house. His room. The smell of whiskey and blood and cigarette burns-

And Mercury clocked out, brain going black with panic.

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

He felt hands on his shoulders even though there were no hands on his shoulders, pulling him out of the darkness and shoving him back in the driver’s seat. He blinked, collapsed against a wall with a cane handle in his hand and Qrow leaning over him, the smell of alcohol on the other man’s breath hitting some button in his head too close too close-

“Get AWAY from me!” He shrieked, kicking him full in the chest and loosing a shotgun blast to make sure the point got across, the Relic clattering on the ground as Qrow lost his grip on it. His hand clenched on the cane handle so hard it was shaking, and he threw that away as hard as he could.

Mercury, I am so sorry, I swear, I didn’t want to ever have to do that to you, but you left me no choice-

“ Shut up!” He snapped, voice ragged and a little too raw as he pulled his knees defensively to his chest and dug his fists into silver hair, tugging until the burn on his scalp felt like he was pulling Ozpin’s voice out of his head.

He heard footsteps come closer and looked up from his defensive curl, a knife appearing in his hand as he met Lil Red’s silver eyes, wide with concern and simmering with underlying resentment. “Professor Ozpin?”

Mercury, you have to understand, we can’t let Salem get the Relic-

He remembered a similar look on her face when she saw him walking again in the maintenance hall of Amity Colosseum. He snarled back this time, instead of a cocky smirk. “No. Come near me and I’ll rip your fucking face off.”

“Don’t talk to my sister like that!” Yang snapped, her eyes bright red as she glared at him, the Schnee keeping a hand on her shoulder to keep her in line. Fucking try it, Blondie, he’d take her other arm off, they could match.

Ruby wisely took a step back, still easily too close for him to handle. “Mercury?” her hand twitched towards the gun on her back

Mercury? Will you let me explain?

“All of you shut up.” He glared at the Relic, kicking it away as he jumped to his feet. He couldn’t handle this. It was too much, too much control lost- and Emerald wasn’t there, FUCK. So much for doing her a favour. He looked at everyone, feeling cornered, skin alive with fire ants that weren’t really there and legs burning with phantom aches, and did the only thing he could do when fighting wasn’t the option.

He bolted, clearing the stairs behind him and disappearing into Haven Academy, picking a random room that wasn’t Lionhearts (he was not going NEAR a fucking Seer, no thank you) and locking the door.

Mercury, I truly am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Ozpin told him gently, and the worst thing was that he sounded like he meant it.

“Don’t ever talk to me again.” Mercury snarled, and started breaking everything in the room that he could get his hands on.

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

Man, Ozpin's sections got deeper then I expected but then again the guy has identity issues for sure. Where does Ozma end and Ozpin begin? Things we will literally never know!

#rwby #mercury black #ozpin #Oz!Merc AU #rwby fanfiction #my writings

[jauneda1]

RWBY Resident Evil AU

Patch's Destruction

Patch Island Destruction Incident 1998

September 25, 10:05 am U.B.C.S Security Unit 4, current position Shinga Shima Hospital, Island city of Patch.

Mission Objectives: Search and Rescue of all civilians. Contain the outbreak threat. Report any unidentifiable contacts. Regroup with Unit 5 to save anyone living outside of city limits.

"Arc your with Taurus, Angelo, Sykes, Flores, Richardson, Evens, and Winters. Taurus I assume you know your groups mission?" Adam spoke in a clear voice over the radio. "Yes sir our mission is to link up with Unit 5 and proceed towards the suburban district outside of the city, and rescue any and all uninfected civies." Jaune heard his squad leaders response and was actually happy. He knew that Yang was outside of the city when this all happened 2 hours ago. So he is absolutely astounded that he'll be able to clarify her safety for himself.

"Yes that would be your main mission but Unit 5 has already been dispatched and haven't run into any trouble in the suburban district. So your team will be staying based at Shinga Shima Hospital and going out and bringing Civies back to the hospital as a safe haven for survivor's. In a congruent with said task it appears that the upper floors of the hospital have all been shut off and blocked off due to the infected being stuck upstairs. You will send a small force up to save any survivers who maybe trapped and to grab a key card in hopes of unlocking Dr. Oobleck's office located in the trauma center which is also on the upper floors." Well there goes Jaune's hopes of seeing to that Yang is safe. Shit he knows she can handle herself but they just found out she is pregnant and he wants to be there for her. Damnit I'll just have to go out and check in on her during his run. There's no way Adam would make Jaune clear the upper floors.

As if a higher power was at work. "Jaune, Myself and Flores will take the upper floors." Well fuck me sideways.

Jaune was equipped with a customized company issued M4A1 with a 12gauge deputy/vertical forgrip. Then there's his Glock-18 20 round green dot tactical. Jaune was honestly at this point just trying to figure out how the hell he was going to find any survivors when everything him and Flores have come across are either dead bodies torn apart. Or infected that always seem to sit and wait for something to walk past them. Flores had found a young girl probably around Jaune's age she said that Oobleck was last seen up in the trauma center.

Jaune made it upstairs found the key card and a completely chewed through Oobleck, but heard over the radio that the main hospital was under attack hundreds of infected where trying to break in. They lost Evens and Winters, as Jaune rushed to get down there he ran into what he could only call a bulky lizard man. After killing three of them Jaune made it downstairs to find that all of there survivors where either dead or took up arms to help defend the hospital. Unit leader Adam was no where to be found, but Flores had not made it down here nor the girl he was bringing back with him. After what felt like hours It was only Jaune so he pushed back deeper into the hospital and locked the doors he came through behind himself.

After using the key card on the office door Jaune found a video recording of Oobleck talking with the girl that Flores and he had saved. Her name was Cinder and her and Oobleck where working on some kind of vaccine for the virus that has swept the Island. Jaune found the unfinished vaccine. He also found out that there is a underground laboratory beneath the hospital called The Hive. After going down there and killing a few zombies here and there Jaune ran into Cinder who seemed to be doing something on the computer. After confronting her a loud growl was heard as a now zombified Flores came out and bit Jaune on the back of his right shoulder ripping a large amount of flesh. After killing Flores Cinder was about to check on his wounds but Adam appeared and impaled Jaune with his knife lifting him up and throwing him.

Cinder started yelling at Adam before Jaune blacked out. "What the hell is wrong with you that wasn't the plan. He would of been very helpful with finding Summer Rose and her family. Raven is gonna be pissed." Adam respond with venom in his voice. "Raven!? Your leader would have all our heads if someone leaked information about everything Umbrella did after the trials." "That's the point Adam. If Jaune survived he would have enough evidence to bury Umbrella an the Organization could go to step two of there plan." Jaune passed out after that part only to wake up and find himself deeper in the The Hive a whole day later.

From everything he had heard he knows what he needs to do but he knows he ain't gonna get shit down just sitting here. "Time to explore this lab"

Find out what happens next in part two .

#jaune arc #raven branwen #rwby fanfiction #cinder fall #adam taurus #resident evil

[salt-warrior]

Ooooooh can you do and au where cinder and cress run a tech store together, cinder does hardware cress does software? Thanks!!

This one was so much fun—though I made it kaider-centric, so my apologies (except I’m not actually sorry).

A HOPEFUL WISH

Indulging on a Fantasy

“Cress!” Cinder shouted toward the back room of the store, trying her best to hide her distress. Clearly her attempts at calm failed, as her co-worker came rushing out the next second, cheeks flushed and short blond hair in her face. 

“What? What’s the matter?” Cress asked, pulling a strand of hair from her mouth with a look of disgust.

Cinder gestured toward the customer standing in front of her. He wore a smile that was quite possibly meant to look sweet but came off more devilish than anything else. Cinder had an instant dislike toward him, and from the moment he opened his mouth that dislike only seemed to grow.

“Mr. Thorne here has a programming issue and I have some… things I need to finish by four,” Cinder said, glancing down at her watch. She placed her hand on Cress’ shoulder as she brushed past her. “The Benoit’s computer, Peony’s tablet–”

“Kai’s phone,” Cress supplied, a mischievous grin spreading across her lips. “Yeah, I know. Go finish your work.”

“Thanks,” Cinder mumbled, nibbling on her bottom lip.

Cinder walked into the back room and picked up the discarded phone she had been working on before she’d switched Cress out for counter work. She absolutely despised talking to customers, but then again, so did Cress, and they had made a pact to split the work evenly. Of course Cinder loved running the tech store with her best friend, but sometimes their similarities made it difficult. 

They were the dream team duo for a tech store, with Cinder doing hardware and Cress on software. In fact, it had been their fantasy to open Burning Moon’s Tech Repairs since high school (the name being a fun play on both their names) and Cinder hadn’t regretted it for a moment since the doors opened only three years before. Except, of course, when her poor introverted, anxious soul had to greet customers.

Her fingers danced across her tools, picking apart the intricate workings of the device. It wasn’t completely true that she had to have Kai’s phone done by four, or any of the other projects for that matter. In fact, both Peony’s tablet and the Benoit’s computer would be dropped off to the respective owners by Cinder herself. She was taking her sister out for the night, as had been their weekly ritual since Cinder moved out, and they would, of course, be going to the restaurant Scarlet waitressed at. Overall, a win-win situation.

But with Kai’s phone— well, that was different. 

There was no need to get it done by four as they had not agreed upon a finishing date, but Cinder knew that he needed it by then or else things would get ugly between him and his editor for the second time in a month. Not that Cinder was keeping track of Kai and his work troubles.

Cress had teased her all day about the phone, much to Cinder’s dismay. Kai was Cress’ cousin, and also the only person who knew about Cinder’s crush. Cinder had been into Kai since sophomore year, and somehow, seven years later, she could still only seem to look at him.

It didn’t matter though— he would always think of her as his cousin’s weird friend, almost like a kid sister, though they were only ever a year apart in school. He would date fabulous girls while she watched from afar, forever idolizing Kai Prince.

Cinder glanced up at the clock. 3:58. She let out a string of curses, though they weren’t necessary. She had finished the phone, and Kai was never early. Though he was never late either. Somehow, he was always perfectly on time. It was probably the journalist in him.

She clicked the pieces of the phone back together and tapped the home button. The screen immediately lit up, and Cinder’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the wallpaper for his lock screen. It was a photo of Kai and Cress and herself, with Kai’s arms wrapped around both girls as they laughed. It was a picture that she remembered having been taken of them on New Years Eve just the month before, but had never actually seen. Her eyes mapped his arm around her shoulder, and how his head leaned so close to hers that their faces were nearly touching.

“Hey,” a voice said at the same time a rapid trio of knocks ricocheted off the door.

Cinder dropped the phone to the table, her heart stopping as she looked up at Kai. He was gorgeous as ever in a white button down with slacks, and messy hair that she longed to run her fingers through. But she would never— not in a thousand years.

“H-Hi,” Cinder sputtered, picking up the phone from the table and wincing. 

“Uh-oh,” Kai laughed, walking over to sit on the stool beside her. He was close enough that she could smell him, the sweet scent of his cologne and perhaps whatever gel he put in his hair. “Did you just break my newly fixed phone?”

“Who says it was fixed?” Cinder quipped back, pressing the home button once more and watching the screen light up.

Kai snatched the device away from her, a smile lighting up his face. “You, you genius engineer.”

“It’s phone repair, not rocket science,” Cinder said, though her heart jumped just enough at the compliment. “And besides, it was easy. Just a small issue with your chip.”

Kai’s face paled, and he quickly opened his phone. “Did it affect the memory? Will anything be-”

“Everything’s fine, your interview was not erased,” Cinder cut him off, trying her best to sound soothing. She watched as he opened his Voice Memo app and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his interview at the top, dated to 7:19 that morning.

“Bless you,” Kai clicked his phone off, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to Cinder’s cheek before she could react. In another instant, he was standing from his seat and offering a hand out to Cinder. Hesitantly, she took it, wondering if her heart had stopped completely as her fingers touched his.

“You saved me from getting murdered by my editor,” Kai said, leading her back out to Cress, his hand still holding hers. “Of course I had notes, but this woman talks so fast, especially for a politician,” Kai said, talking rather fast himself. “But I can get this in by my six-o-clock deadline. You are an angel.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Cinder mumbled, not hearing a word he said, but thinking only of the way his fingers were holding her own.

They reached Cress in a rush, and Kai released Cinder from his hold. He gave Cress a pat on the back, then walked to stand in front of the counter. 

“How much for the repairs?” Kai asked, pulling his wallet out from his back pocket.

Cress started to respond, but Cinder cut her off. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, waving her hand at him.

Kai’s hands froze, and his gaze switched to Cinder. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Cinder said. “Now go! Write your article, and don’t die at the hands of Torin. Go!”

Kai gave her a grin, then put his wallet back into his pocket. “Thanks, Cinder,” he said, turning and walking toward the door. “Love you both! Let’s go out for drinks this weekend, okay?” He waved a hand over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

The instant his back disappeared from sight, Cress turned to Cinder, chewing on the back of her pen with a devilish sparkle in her eyes. Cinder huffed and twisted away from her friend so she wouldn’t have to stare at that ever-present, knowing look.

Cress laughed, and Cinder stormed into the back room, picking up Peony’s tablet and fidgeting with it, though her nerves were burning far too much for her to actually get any work done.

“You’re hopeless,” Cress giggled, making her way into the room and settling in the chair that Kai had occupied only minutes before. Cinder didn’t look at her, but made a more furious effort to look as if she were actually working.

“You know,” Cress said, sobering up enough that her words weren’t hindered by her lung’s bursts of joy. “We’re not in high school anymore. You’re twenty-three. You could ask him out. I guarantee he would say yes.”

“Yeah, because he’s nice, not because he would actually want to go,” Cinder grumbled, keeping her eyes fixed on the inner workings of her sister’s tablet. “And besides, he’ll always just think of me as your best friend— nothing more. I’m just that weird kid that never went away.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“But it is!” Cinder dropped the tablet and resisted the urge to pound her fist into the table. She was sick of this same speech from Cress over and over again. He wasn’t into her, and there was no use pretending that they could ever be a possibility, no matter how much Cinder, or even Cress wanted it. “You can’t just wish people into liking you.”

“You’re right,” Cress assented. “But in your case, I don’t think it’s just a hopeful wish.”

Cinder stared at the table and tried to process what Cress had just said to her. Did Cress actually think that Kai might return her affections? Not just hope such a ridiculous thing?

Cress patted Cinder on the head, brushing back loose strands of her hair. Then she walked back to the front counter without another word, leaving Cinder to brood in silence. 

Was it possible that Kai liked her— that he actually viewed her as a dateable girl rather than his cousin’s friend? Or was that just Cress indulging on a fantasy?

Cinder let out a dramatic sigh, then picked up Peony’s tablet once more. It didn’t matter how Kai thought of her, or how much she liked him. She couldn’t make a move— he was her friend above all else, and she wasn’t about to ruin that. 

Because no matter how much it hurt to watch him not love her, it would kill her to watch him become a stranger.

Tags: @cinderswrench @cindersassasin @cindersnightmare @strawberry-seraph @healing-winston-pratt @jacihayle @kaider-is-my-otp @kaiderforever @arushahisatroll @the-lunar-thief @horton-hears-a-who @lani-sleeps @impossiblesuitcase @addies-invisible-life @winterrhayle @idkchatie @notarie37 @bookpapaya @lunarchroniclesnet @kittymalechalinethomastair @shellyseashell @wanterwolf @courtlung (let me know if you would like to be added or removed<3)

#fic request #tlc fanfiction #kaider fanfiction #prince kai #emperor kai #linh cinder #selene blackburn #cress darnel #marissa meyer #tlc #the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #kaider #salt warrior stories #a hopeful wish

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Poke Pt 7 - Yacht Party

…

Whistling in the exit of your closet Eddie took in your own toga reminiscent style dress the bright white sheer layered skirt was slit up to the upper thigh and met the golden belt that separated the base from the lace top. With thick straps in white and a low dip in the cleavage almost to the belly button that flowed out to reveal the golden glittery heels you had chosen for the event. “Wow. You need a sign to remind gentlemen to pick their jaws up off the floor.”

“Funny,” you teased, folding a stretchy pair of shorts to cover the thigh holsters for a couple of your daggers for worst case scenario that also would help keep guys from peeking up your skirt if the wind blew the slit back too widely. “I’m sure no one will care about my dress as I death grip the wall.”

“I can skip the trip to prison if you need me there.”

“I’m ok. If I feel bad I am not above fainting or breaking into hysterics to have Tony himself fly me home. Or maybe Prince Thor, I think he can fly if he has his hammer.”

“You can beat this evening. I know you can.”

After a hug for him you said, “You’ll miss visiting hours.” And he chuckled hugging you back and kissed you on your cheek taking notice of the one side of your hair braided back so you could flip the rest over to your left side knowing the boat would drive it wild no matter what you tried to do with it.

The ride didn’t calm things and from the concrete pathway to the wooden docks your focus shifted in a means to calm yourself on the pelicans and gulls who watched your stroll beyond the guards at the entrance who took your invitation shared the lit pathway would guide you to the proper ship. At the base of the plank bridge to get onto the yacht you paused hearing the guests already aboard.

Mid stare at a gull hovering above the boat in a try to focus on anything but the fact you would be out on the open ocean for who knows how long you flinched to look at Sam in his step up to your side with an impressed whistle. “My sister would die of envy seeing this ship. She loves to sail.” His eyes landed on you asking, “Ever been on a boat like this?”

“I’ve been on ferries, but I haven’t been over the open ocean yet.”

“You’ll be okay. Stark’s probably built this thing himself. Bound to be unsinkable.”

“Well, there’s a history of unsinkable ships that beg to differ when it comes to that claim.”

He chuckled and said, “We’ll be just fine. Just in case,” he said showing his duffel bag at his side holding his metal wings, “Brought my wings, things go south The Falcon’s got you.” To yourself you grinned and followed him up into the monstrosity of a boat.

Surely one that would make your ancestors weep, not just for the luxurious ability to have food storage, running clean water and plumbing but for the fact that nothing of the earth other than the single fallen tree stump of an end table was here. The wood was fake same as the faux leather seats and imitation marble finish on the metal surfaces. Nothing of this boat showed the respect boat makers used to put into building sea faring vessels to keep from displeasing the Gods in crossing the tumultuous open ocean and you guessed that might be why they always bothered you.

With legs crossed you sat with eyes fixed on the open ocean in your second level seat unable to keep on your feet to mingle in the crowded floor below. “Thirsty?” the voice at your side brought the sudden place of Prince Loki there with two drinks in hand, one of which with a pacifier band around the stem of the fruity blended drink he offered to you. “The bartender insisted I offer you this one.”

Unable to help it you chuckled and accepted the drink, “It’s a virgin margarita. Thank you.”

“What would maidenhood have to do with drink offers?” he asked and you glanced away to keep from spitting your sip of the drink on him. “Is it repulsive? I shall demand a new drink to replace it.”

You shook your head and giggled in catching his eye to say, “Virgin, when related to drinks means alcohol free.” And his eyes narrowed, “It’s illegal for people under 21 years old to drink alcohol in this country. Others it ranges from 14 to 18 depending on their culture.”

“Why would they have such variation?”

“Because hardly any of the countries share the same faiths, histories, cultures or beliefs on how they should be governed. So just stubbornness and idiocy.”

“I had hoped the drink would aid in a welcome of my company, you seemed troubled when I arrived.”

Softly you chuckled and replied, “Quite humorously for my bloodline I have a fear of open ocean outside of wooden boats.” His eyes locked onto yours in a moment of shock, “There’s no earth in this boat. Vikings paid homage to the Gods for smooth sailing across the oceans. Might just be me.”

And he grinned your way stating, “Not only you. Those who can hear Yggdrasil have higher expectations when it comes to vessels. Your ancestors would be proud you wish to honor their traditions, the ocean is not a fair mistress, she is an insurmountable warrior, she demands respect.”

“How have your candles and soaps been?” You asked to change the subject, uncertain of what meaning his lingering stare into your eyes meant.

“Quite exquisite. Thank you again for your care in crafting the mixtures for us to our likings. Your customers have been favorable of temperament?”

“For the most part. Before the shoes Natasha and Steve bought me I got shunned a bit because of my clearly worn name brand shoes, but the new ones have helped to give me a bit of credit to my image. Used to be called an immigrant and now people are asking if I’m paying my dues in the entertainment or beauty world until I get my big break. When Stark came in I almost thought he would just order enough to use that as a means to force me to accept the money he offered.”

“What should it matter what shoes you wear when you are working?”

“The shop has an image to uphold for their most superficial of clientele.”

“Should they ever release you from employment alert my brother and myself and we shall raze the building to cinders.” That had you giggle around your next sip and he said, “You doubt my loyalty.”

“Not at all, Prince Loki. Merely I question how Stark would handle the discovery of who was behind the attack after he’s vetted you both as Heroes.”

“Not one person in my lifetime has been foolish enough to dub me a Hero. I am the God of Mischief and Deceit.”

His eyes lowered to the hand you offered him that his rose palm up to accept, “Fool, right here, pleasure to meet you.” To himself he chuckled and smiled in a glance away. “See, that smile,” he glanced back and chuckled again as you said, “Pure sunshine. You can’t convince me there’s evil in there no matter how many times you stab your brother.”

“I unleashed an army on New  York,”

“Oh who hasn’t unleashed havoc on New York. Havoc is the new pink pumps of the season, everybody has to have some. New York, Washington, California, your brother leveled a town in New  Mexico. Now you go and attack Rhode Island or someplace small like that then we can talk crossing into unthinkable territory, which is seven miles below evil. You have to earn evil.”

He smirked and at the notice he was still holding your hand he released it to take hold of his drink for a sip to break his stare only to look down at that hand resting on his knee when the boat began to pull away from the dock. “I murdered my birth father.” He blurted out as if to try and not lie to you or make you believe he was anything but evil as most from his planet thought.

“Did he raise you?”

“No.”

“Were you close or just a birthday card once a year type of situation?”

“He abandoned me at birth in a frozen tundra in the midst of a battle between the Jotuns and Asgardians and never acknowledged me as his child or that I even existed.”

You nodded and said, “Selfish quim had it coming then.” Throatily to your sip of your drink he chuckled and bubbled into a few moments of unforgiving laughter. “I’d pick Frigg as a mother any day over that bastard.”

“King Laufey of the Jotuns, or Frost Giants, as some nations dub them.”

“Odin’s half Frost Giant in the legends. They knew each other?”

“Odin,” his eyes fell on you, “Father is half Frost Giant in the legends?” You nodded and he said, “He never speaks of this if it is true.”

“Well he’s probably jealous.” You said and his brow twitched up, “If it was between me and you to be Jotun I’d stay mum simply because you have to be the peak example of Jotun prowess.”

“Asgardians tell bedtime stories of Jotuns to terrify their children and frighten them to behave or they will be eaten.” He said mournfully and looked out at the sea.

“I’d start biting people then.” You said and in the spread of his smile you said, “Always a monster till you’re necessary. How the universe works. The odd one, the new one, that one who doesn’t belong. Till they need you, till they’re scared. So much easier to be scared of the new than to trust it. Well I trust you,” you said and he caught your eye again, “And you can’t stop me. I’m stark raving mad with power and will cackle in their disbelieving faces for not trusting pure sunshine.” You said with a wide smile making him chuckle again.

“Are you certain there is no alcohol in that drink?” He teased.

“Just tons of sugar.” You said taking another giggle laced sip as he took a sip of his own drink. “I heard you’re over seventeen hundred years old? How does that line up to our age progression? If that isn’t too personal.”

“Roughly similar to your age I would presume. Young adulthood.”

You gasped and said, “And they gave you alcohol, someone get this man a pacifier.” You said teasingly turning your head to call it out making him chuckle and simply use his arm closest to you to prop himself up to scoot closer.

“Shh,” he whispered through a chuckle by your ear and you giggled again. “There is little substance on this planet able to inebriate myself and my brother.” He said with his eyes focused on yours when you turned your head slightly to catch his bright gaze and smile.

The ship took a wide turn and your joking mood waned and his hand covered yours at the returned grip of his knee to lace his fingers under your palm, and next to your ear he asked, “How would you like to play a game?” You caught his gaze and he grinned nodding his head at the crowd stating, “Say a name.” He watched your eyes dance over the women in toga influenced gowns surrounded by men in both togas and white and golden suits and you chose one from the back that with a flash of green in his eyes had the man start to dance absurdly awkward luring out your smile and giggle again.

Innocent fun, insignificant playful pranks that had Prince Thor search for his brother in the crowds until he spotted him at your side with his hand on yours. Loki would never have openly chosen such a public display with anyone he dared to imagine courtship until proper tasks of approval had been sought for and by the clear try to not let you have a break to focus on anything but his magic. And the game upon his knowing Thor was looking his way had the Prince conjuring fables and joking tales in front of the possibly distressed young Shieldmaiden he would never dream of damaging her honor. Something was bothering their young respected friend and his brother while Thor saw to his sea wary Mate was distracting his chosen companion for the evening in a far more acceptable use of his magic at this party.

Some food was sampled from the migrating attendees made from faceless drones that somehow had you more weirded out than the ship. One of which that had Peter hanging on his back while it held a bucket and led him to lie down on the couch beside the pair of you. The move had you inch closer to the Prince and had his gaze drop to the thigh pressed against his to something hard he felt tap the side of his leg. He felt himself unable to help but smirk at the clear hilt of a dagger poking out from underneath the shorts that blended into your skirt from afar in its same brilliant white shade. And in a low purr beside your ear as you handed over your empty glass to a drone to free a hand so you could check Peter’s temperature the Prince asked, “Please tell me that’s a dagger on your thigh.”

With a blush to the green mist that eased the hilt of two coiled snakes in bright silver into view widening his grin as he caught sight of the full design. And he could imagine the blade in his mind by the hint of metal beneath the hilt his mist hid away again as Pepper hurried over with some sea sickness medicine. “Where else would I keep it?” you whispered back widening his grin to the point he nipped at his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

Pepper in her trot up to Peter’s side offered him a fizzing drink he accepted and took your help to prop himself up to sip on it, “Here you go Peter.” And her eyes rose to you asking, “Are you sea sick too? I haven’t seen you on the main floor since we took off.”

“I’ve got a thing with metal boats in open ocean,” her lips parted, “I’m good sitting. Body just prefers wood boats it seems. Prince Loki’s been distracting me.”

“Well if you need anything let us know.”

“Does he make a lot of these drones?”

Pepper sighed saying, “It’s a new thing. He said he’d make them faceless since I thought fake humanoid ones might bother me, but these aren’t any better, sadly.”

“Because he does know about all the evidence on making AI’s and how devastatingly bad that could go?”

“I remind him daily. Only, seems he forgets, daily. Progress,” she said shaking her head and rising to her feet to go check on another person muttering, “This party is the stuff of nightmares with these waves.”

In a glance at Loki you asked, “If Stark builds AI’s can I plead asylum on Asgard?”

He smirked asking, “AI?”

“Robots with free will. Always turns out that they want to destroy the human race. Borderline Ragnarok for our race.”

“Should there be any danger to this planet we will grant you asylum. I give you my word.”

“How important are potatoes on your planet? Because if they don’t grow there I will be smuggling some there. My ancestors didn’t get to enjoy them in the older generations, but I know they look down on me in envy. Even broke I eat like a King.” Making him chuckle again. “I’m serious, one of the best foods discovered on this planet is the potato.”

“Potatoes are amazing,” Peter sighed after finishing his drink and laying flat again. “I would bring lemons. My aunt gets this big smile when she sees lemons. I don’t get it, but it makes her happy. And I’d have to bring her too of course.”

Loki smiled saying, “We have six variations of potatoes and four lemon breeds. The pair of you and young Peter’s aunt would be amply pleased.”

“Could I have a sheep? My parents promised to get me a sheep when I was bigger. Or is it mainly city spaces without any room for cottages?”

“We have a mixture of both. A quaint cottage could be arranged, or a plot of garden and field to keep your sheep in should you prefer an apartment in the Palace. With ample workers to help train you in treatment and sheering of your sheep when necessary.”

In a giggle you replied, “I would need sheep lessons.” Making him chuckle as well.

At their sides save for a trip to the bathroom you remained until the boat docked again and Loki rose to gently help you up and lead both you and still unsteady Peter to the dock. The assigned car to drive you back however found him reluctantly in release of the hand his had been fixed in for hours now. “Thank you, for the asylum and the sheep,” you said in words that muffled in the ears of the Prince whose cheek you had left a peck upon. “Sleep well, Sunshine.” You said and in a lower to sit inside the car.

“Sleep well and safe on the earth, Shieldmaiden Pear.”

.

Vision. The newest Avenger had his face plastered across the internet and all you could think of was the promise the Asgardian Prince had made you and it just made your stomach turn. He was so polite and out of everybody he could have spent his time with he seemed to gravitate to your company. Even when a long train ride let you take a long stroll in Central Park that had you run into the Super Soldiers and Sam on a run. When the Zoo was mentioned the Princes seemed to appear in mid air and as if to counter Bucky’s time with your attention another animal would be pointed to and his questions would arise all aimed your direction.

End to end between your fingers your Mate button box was flipped to tap against the counter easing the slide of your fingers to the bottom to aid the lift and flip of the box to do it again. No matter why he was focusing on you there had to be a line and you couldn’t stop hiding from your fears of finding out who your Mate was by humoring the attentions of the Avengers. Onto the counter you settled the button box and gave the button a single tap that almost an hour away had Loki’s eyes twitch off his book confirming he was alone in his gifted apartment followed by an irritated grumble and nestle back into his spot to ignore the unhelpful poke of his Mate from this infuriating planet.

Several taps more in a notice of the muffin bag you had gotten from a café earlier that had you murmur, “Let’s meet for coffee at the Blue Bird Café. Nine AM.” Your fingers tapped before you could think it through just how many could understand Morse Code this day and age, you just had to try and see if anyone would turn up.

And just like you knew it deep down, no one did, at nine or ten when you had finished off pretending to write out something in your pocket journal after you’d finished your first cider and just wanted to go anywhere but there.

 *

Glaring as he made his way to the group lunch after a much needed breakfast alone Loki plopped into his seat and turned his gaze to Natasha at her asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Ten minutes my Mate poked me last night, ten minutes. All in some absurd pattern,” Loki repeated the pattern with the tip of his finger on the table and had her, Bucky and Bruce listening to the meanings of the taps.

Bucky however asked the question the others didn’t, “So did you meet your Mate for coffee?”

Loki glared at him, “I beg your pardon?”

Bruce, “That’s Morse Code. Old school. Must have been eager to meet you rarely hear of people using it these days outside of military or science families.”

Loki asked in a slightly panicked tone, “Where would I meet them?”

Bucky said, “Blue Bird Café, nine am.”

Loki didn’t have to look at the clock but said in his rush from the table, “It’s half past noon!”

He didn’t know where that was but he knew who to talk to to get into Stark’s system. Knowing fully he had links to cameras everywhere. “Red Man, I require your assistance.”

“I am Vision, Green Noble.” The Prince led the way to one of the public labs that linked to his system that Loki linked into the simple online page of the only Blue Bird Café in New York that was located in Queens.

“I need you to help me use Stark’s system to see who was in this café this morning.”

“Are we searching for a culprit in a crime you are aware of?” Vision asked in his hover beside the Prince.

“My Mate used Morse Code to send me a message I did not understand last night and I missed the meeting they tried to arrange. I wish to know who I have spurned to offer my apologies and win back their favor.”

“Oh, very admirable then.” He said lowering as he said, “I am under the understanding that a Mate is the strongest bond you might find in your lifetime. I anxiously await my eighteenth year to have earned my own chance to meet mine.” Raising his hand to link to the system that began to shift the screen windows to delve through the system to first link into the café’s security and the street cameras to watch every person from eight am onwards.

“Pluto,” Loki muttered in the sight of you wearing an anxious expression and a slightly less casual dress entering the café, ordering a drink and muffin with glances at the door to every entrance in a clearly sinking mood as Vision continued to run facial recognition through a database while the video played.

Vision said, “From the 47 customers 24 are legally married and another 17 have announced themselves as engaged on their social media accounts.”

“Pluto Pear, that woman. When did she leave exactly?” Visio read back the time stamp and he said, “I need a print out of this list, I’m going to start with her.”

Vision asked to the print of the page behind him, “Does the young lady hold a certain physical appeal for you to begin with her?”

“I know her. I would never wish for her to believe I have left her there alone. As if I had refused to meet her on the grounds of being my Mate.”

Vision said, “Ah. Then yes, begin with the young Miss Pear.” He said offering the printed sheet that Loki accepted and hurried with rushed thanks in his race out to go and the whole while his mind raced with a single repetition, it had to be you.

Truly for months now any excuse to cross paths was taken including a laughable amount of candles and soap with films, trips out between your shifts and group meals he always made certain to be chaperoned for everyone’s comfort and for your honor the Prince searched. You were the one to make him laugh and find some sense of ease on this planet with a person who seemed to genuinely care about his comfort and tried to keep him from growing too homesick or thoughts on his lineage to spoil his wishes to ever return. If you weren’t his Mate he never desired to meet the person who dared to poke him. He didn’t want to be forced onto anyone else, he had subconsciously chosen you for a while now and would continue to do so.

 *

Three knocks soon bled to five and before the sixth could land you had opened your front door to the wide eyed Prince who rapidly opened his fist to an awkward wave. “Miss Pear. Might I come in?”

“Sure,” you said letting him inside closing the door behind him in his awkward check of the single room apartment with a lingering gaze at the boat shaped bed he pointed to mid amused smirk. “My first year here there was a play they used that as a prop in and put it up cheap for sale after it closed. Really comfy.” You looked him over and asked, “You have to go on another mission? Only seen you twitchy like this when you had to leave town.”

“No,” he replied and moved closer offering the cider in his hand you hadn’t noticed. “I owe you a drink.”

In the narrow of your eyes you accepted the still warm cup saying, “Thank you. Don’t recall how, but thank you.”

“I don’t know Morse Code.”

Your lips parted to ask over the thunder of your heart in your ears, “Did you want me to teach you.”

“Not today, thank you.” He inhaled sharply and said, “I know you went to the Blue Bird Café this morning and I know that you didn’t meet the person you had hoped to.”

“I-,”

In a step closer he cut you off saying, “Because I don’t know Morse Code and it took me repeating the lengthy set of taps that kept me up last night to those amongst the team who do.”

“Oh,” you squeaked out in realization of what you guessed and halfway hoped he might be saying.

“So I came here to ask you to poke me again,” his eyes lowered to the finger that rose to tap him in the center of his chest that had him let out a breathy chuckle and scan his eyes over your face that was still devoid of anything readable but uncertainty and shock. “No, with your button, do you have it?”

“Oh, button,” sharply your head turned setting the drink down and gingerly he shadowed you in your circle of your bed to the near burrow under the fake fur blanket you had to do to grab the button that seemed to try and keep it hidden for itself. When you stood again you eased your fingers around the sides of the box with its mint colored button now a deep green that with a press of your thumb had him exhale shakily to the poke he felt.

He didn’t know what to do or say and yet all on its own it seemed his body acted to first cradle your cheek then lean in to press his lips to yours in a blind hope that however possible he could seal this bond to never break. Just as loudly as yours his heart thundered in his chest for the action his body had taken without permission.

And when your eyes met again his breath hitched hearing you whisper at the sight of the swirls of green mist that had filled the room with sparkling veins of gold to glimmer around the both of you. His skin now blue with raised ridges trailing across his skin in snowflake like unique markings to just him from his Jotun blood paired with his crimson eyes. “Was that supposed to happen or was it on accident.”

“The mist was unintentional.” He hummed back lowly and in his lean forward to brush his nose to yours his body melted forward at the toe top lift to kiss him again. With the close of your eyes covering his shift back after his notice of the color of his hand still on your cheek. An action and pose he lingered in to savor every second of it.

“Blue is a good color on you, Sunshine.” You said and his lips parted only for the growl of his stomach to make you grin and claim his hand and say, “Let’s feed you and that angry rhino you swallowed.”

Out of your slow cooker some jambalaya was served for the both of you to go with the cheesy mashed potatoes you topped with bacon bits he amusedly poked with his spoon as if it was possibly toxic. “I’m not going to poison you,” you giggled out.

“No, there is a topping like these pebbles on Asgard and it is merely awful.”

“Well this is tiny bits of bacon.”

“Bacon,” he said in an intrigued tone and took a bite he hummed around making you giggle to yourself.

“Midgard isn’t so bad, we’ve done amazing things with bacon.”

“That you have,” he said filling his spoon again with some of the jambalaya that while he chewed it his eyes scanned over your face in your downwards gaze, “Are you pleased?” he managed to ask when he swallowed lifting your eyes again to his.

“Could use more sausage. They’re so stingy on the weight per cent these days.”

“With me?” He asked in a near squeak afraid of the answer.

“As my Mate?” you asked and he nodded, “You are indescribable. You can do magic, I mean come on, I started magic when I was a kid and dreamed to have someone who would be so much more spectacularly talented than myself. Need I say, the essence of pure sunshine in your veins. You accept my Norse roots. Some people would just label me a witch on that alone. And you tolerate my weirdness, major plusses there.”

“I would assume, my title-,”

“Psh,” you said lifting his gaze from his bowls. “I would be honored to be bound to you if you ran a button stand.” You said triggering an awkward grin across his face at the compliment. “If anything the expectations of your possible requirement to take up after Odin on what I would only assume to be a possibly uncomfortable looking golden throne in that floating golden Palace would trouble me for the increase of scowls that would develop from the stress and drive that smile of yours away. Not to mention the heightened risk of stress on the heart from a job of that level.” After a moment of his amused grin your way you asked, “Do you really live forever?”

“Roughly 5071 years.”

“Well Bucky’s close to a century and he hasn’t seemed to age much, Steve was frozen for most of his. So I suppose logically, I can’t say how long I would be around.”

His brow inched up and he said, “I would find you. No matter where in Hel they settle you to spend your afterlife.”

You nodded and asked in a rather embarrassed tone, “No possible way I could get to Valhalla then?”

“You most certainly could well earn place there. Few Midgardians are welcomed, I did not mean to worry you or offer insult.”

You shook your head, “It’s just all different than how I was taught. You’re Frigga’s son, and Thor isn’t a redhead, no telling what else could be different. I mean did you at least give birth to a eight legged horse Odin rides around on?”

“Did I what?” he chuckled out with a widening smile.

“I mean who wouldn’t be able to learn to love a guy who gave birth to Hel, the Goddess of Death; Jörmungand, the serpent that surrounds the world; and Fenrir or Fenrisúlfr, the wolf; and Sleipnir, Odin's eight-legged horse.”

“Thor did advise us the mortals had warped our tales, yet I had no imagination it could be that vastly different.” He paused and asked, “Hel, is she prominent in my life in the tales? I have never heard of a Goddess of that name.”

You said, “Those you had with the female giant Angerboda. You seem to love her in the tales. Though most of your tales I prefer include your other wife, Sigyn. You had a son with her, named Nari or Narfi.” His lips parted, “Odin uses your son’s intestines to chain you to a rock where snakes drip their venom on you and she sits beside you with a bowl to collect it. Though when she dumps it out and the venom drips on your face you thrash around causing the earth to quake. It’s quite the tale of devotion in Norse Mythology. There’s actually quite a tale for how you got married, she was betrothed to another and on the wedding day you kill him and take his shape and then reveal yourself after and she tells Odin she will honor the marriage. Sigyn’s basically known only for her devotion to you.”

“I have never wed, nor know of a Sigyn. I could never imagine my father able to bind anyone with the innards of their own child.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He shook his head, “No, you have not upset me. Although I am curious to ponder on when the tales stretched so far from the truth. Perhaps an exceptionally harsh winter with little to distract from boredom.”

“Well that’s the thing about legends. Everyone who first heard or saw them happen is dead. Kind of like the phone tree game,” his brows furrowed a moment in confusion to the name, “One person in a circle whispers to another, it can be a word or funnier a phrase and gradually through the circle the words change. Sometimes for the worse. Known a few to end in fist fights when they made us do it in schools in some mock trial to stomp out bullying as a sort of way to display how gossip explodes like wild fire. Then again it could be a testament to hearing loss rather than weak attention spans on trading whispers.” As you eyed his grin after a glance away to fill your spoon you said, “Sorry, got away from me there.”

“You did not wander far. Often I find people who ramble show great promise of intellect. Brains that are rapid to focus on new topics are very welcome amongst our scientists.”

“It must be amazing, your home.”

“My people are brilliant compared to yours, however very gullible. Hence my prowess in mischief.”

“Well, if you assume to have all the answers why would you bother looking for more?” making him smirk proudly at your words. “They’ll learn, with enough shoves in the right direction, or enough books to hurl at them. Sometimes you need a bit of mischief to open some eyes.”

“Thor has been working up the nerve to request a trip for his Mate Jane Foster to Asgard. I imagine her introduction to our scientists would be less productive than to hear from one who has crafted a rainbow portal on her own with only supplies from Midgard. Even our best crafters alive today could not tap into that technology. When Thor broke the rainbow bridge that aids in the control of the Bifrost Mother had to travel to Hel to consult with one of our scientists we had lost a thousand years prior.”

“That must have been fun for you to experience.”

“I wasn’t there,” he whispered in a downward glance then cleared his throat and drew in a deep breath, “Perhaps I should share something else, other than my race with you.” When his eyes did rise he almost flinched seeing yours on his, “There’s a, being, a Titan.”

“Like in Greek Mythology?”

“I’m, not aware of their history.”

“Sorry, Titan?”

“Thanos. I fell from the bridge when Thor broke it. Through the open void of the universe I faded to, I don’t know where. There, Thanos found me. His henchman tortured me.”

“Loki,” you said reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm that had his hand turn over to wrap around the underside of yours welcoming the contact and sadness not pity in your gaze.

“I was gone, for so very long, time is, difficult in varied realms to compare.” He wet his lips and continued shakily, “I managed to escape, with a deal. He sent me with the scepter to bring him the tesseract. There are these stones, with different powers to control parts of the universe, he wants them all and has others to locate them for him. That was why, I opened that portal. Why I killed people. To let them know something bigger is out there, and that it’s coming.”

“Okay.”

“He wouldn’t have come on his own, but I lied to him. And my Father can’t protect this planet, or won’t. I won’t let him hurt you though. I swear. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

“That’s a tall order in this city. Plus even doors are a danger to me when I’m in a hurry.”

“I’m being serious, he has decimated civilizations before and enslaved millions he allowed to survive.” His eyes scanned yours finding an expression he couldn’t decipher and he asked, “What is that look for?”

“I have secrets, terrible things I should tell my Mate, for fair playing field since you’ve been so open with me. I do trust you, I just,”

“I understand.”

“It’s just been mine, for so long. Nearly my whole life now, and Eddie, he found me at and back again from my lowest point,” Loki nodded and bit the inside of his lip at the tear that rolled down your cheek all of a sudden. “He was the first person who cared since I got here, and I just had to tell someone. It was breaking me, and he got me help with his therapist, which has helped. I just, I don’t know why, but even with you being able to rain aliens down upon us, I’m scared to tell you everything.” Another tear down your cheek had him lean in closer to your side. “Because if you knew, what I am, you would hate me. I don’t know why Eddie hasn’t left yet. He should have left me by now.”

“He is not going to leave, and no matter what pain that lies in your past, I will not leave you. And I will wait until you welcome me into the fold. No matter how long it takes.”

The rest of the meal he remained at your side and moved with you to your couch to inch closer to cuddling through a film that allowed you both to a comfortable silence. Droops of your eyes however had him excise himself to allow you to rest. When you were on your feet however with sight of his back his body went rigid to the poke he felt that had him turn to see you with your button in hand say, “Double checking.”

Gently he claimed your free hand and raised it to his lips to kiss your knuckles on the hand he cradled after, “Get some rest. Tomorrow should Stark not interfere, hopefully I could arrange a lunch to make up for my misstep this morning.”

“Not your misstep. I shouldn’t have assumed anyone else would know Morse Code.”

“I will learn, there is no fault on your part. Only imagination.”

“You get some sleep too, Sunshine.” His grin widened, “Keep that stress on your heart down.”

“I shall try my hardest with Stark in the same tower.” He said stealing another press of his lips to your hand before he released it and led the way to the door you closed and locked behind your unbelievable Mate you secretly wished would have tried to kiss more than just your hand the second time.

Pt 8

All –

@sherala007​, @mariannetora​​, @jesgisborne​, @knitastically​, @catthefearless​​, @theincaprincess​, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000​​, @alishlieb​​,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​

X Loki - @pastelhexmaniac

#Yacht Party #Soulmate AU #Loki x oc #sea sick #Eddie Brock #Peter Parker #Blue Bird Cafe #Vision #Bucky Barnes

[closetfanfictionauthor]

in which matthias does not pick up any hints and nina decides to push him to the edge so he'll make a move.

Matthias Helvar was very much infatuated with one Nina Zenik. Nina knew it. Her customers at her coffee shop knew it. Their friends knew it. Their professors knew it. The university librarians knew it. Matthias didn't.

Men.

But Nina had the patience of a saint and so she waited. For days. Weeks. Months.

It's important to note that while Nina had the patience of a saint, she was not a saint herself. And she wasn't interested in waiting until she was an old maid before Matthias realized the filthy things she would let him do to her.

And so she took things into her own hands in a very much Nina fashion.

A small dose of jealousy was good for all men, as far as she was concerned. Matthias deserved a larger helping than she normally recommended for the frustration he'd worked her into over the past few months.

Her first partner in crime in her endeavour was one Kaz Brekker, a poor choice, but Nina had to start somewhere. For one, he didn't smile. Or wink. Or do much of anything with his face. In fact, in all the times Nina had known Kaz, she was quite sure she'd never seen him express any sort of emotion.

The first attempt occurred on a Monday while she was working at her cafe. Nina's boss had been warned in advance of what she was doing and had gladly turned a blind eye.

"As long as we're making money, do what you want Nina dear," they'd said and disappeared.

Matthias was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, in direct view of Nina, while she was working behind her counter. His gaze had passed over Kaz when he'd strutted into the shop and then pinned the man in place after five minutes passed and he was still at the front with Nina.

And then his gaze passed over Nina and Kaz after ten minutes had passed and Kaz was still there.

"Kaz, I'm begging you here. You gotta give me something to work with," Nina gritted out through her wide smile. She batted her eyelashes at Kaz and trailed one hand over his arm and up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt. Kaz tensed underneath her touch. His breath came a little shorter, and if she wasn't as close to him as she was, Nina would've missed the slight changes herself. She could, however, see Matthias tense out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm not an especially funny man," Kaz replied in that even tone of his.

"Boy, I'll say," Nina said. "You know how talented I have to be to act as if you've told me the funniest joke in the world. Come on, try for me."

Kaz was unmoved.

"I'll give you five kruge?"

A slow blink.

"It'll make Matthias want to kill you?"

Between Nina inhaling and exhaling, Kaz transformed into a different man right before her eyes. The tension melted from his always stiff shoulders. Gone was his military straight posture, instead bending towards Nina.

"Should've started with that, Nina darling," Kaz said, his voice suddenly two octaves lower. Paired with the lopsided smile that spread across Kaz's face, and Nina was left momentarily speechless.

"That's-that's…wow," Nina stuttered. "Is this what Inej has to put up with?"

"Only on very special occasions. I don't like to smile. It contorts the face unnecessarily," Kaz replied, his regular sternness appearing briefly before he pushed it away again.

"Where is Inej?" Nina asked as she trailed her fingers across her collarbone, a move she knew regularly worked on men to attract their notice downwards. Kaz's eyes stayed firmly focused on her face.

"She's got an exam for international law coming up that she's studying for in the library," Kaz replied. "Which reminds me, I have a group project to work on."

"What about your other group members, surely they can manage without you," Nina said as she flicked back her hair, a move that brought attention to her chest. She could feel the heat from Matthias's glare all the way across the shop. She couldn't help but grin even wider.

A sharp crack caught the attention of everyone in the room. Kaz turned around and Nina looked over his shoulder to see Matthias at his table. Pencil snapped in half. He let out a string of swears as he grabbed his bag and aggressively rifled through it, looking for a new pencil to write with.

Kaz turned back to her as if nothing had happened and leaned over Nina to whisper in her ear as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger and giggled. "This project is worth half my mark and if those imbeciles I'm forced to call partner's cock it up, I'm going to have them buried somewhere no one will find them."

"If this is what Inej is subjected to, I don't envy her," Nina said, leaning in to whisper into Kaz's ear. She never knew what Kaz would've said in response because at that moment Matthias pushed back his chair with a loud scrape, slung his bag over his shoulder, glaring at Kaz the whole time, and marched out the front door.

Kaz leaned back, one arm braced against the counter as he watched Matthias's large back retreating. "I think my work is done here. Always a pleasure working with you Zenik."

***

Matthias was a creature of habit, which was unfortunate for him, as Nina had his routine memorized and used it to her advantage.

Jesper proved a much more enthusiastic actor. But then again, Jesper regularly irritated everyone to distraction, so it wasn't much of a stretch.

Nina was seated facing the entry to the library, where she knew any second Matthias would walk through the door. Jesper right on cue came dashing into the library, made sure to knock into Matthias on his way in, and then bounded over to Nina. Matthias was still glaring after Jesper's back when the boy in question slung an arm across Nina's shoulder and kissed her on the cheek, dangerously close to her mouth, before taking the seat next to her.

She saw Matthias freeze where he was as he stared at the two of them. Nina threw back her head and let out a laugh as Jesper slouched in his seat, his other arm thrown across her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

"I didn't know you had such a performance in you," Nina said.

"I dare you to find someone out there who wouldn't jump at the opportunity to piss off Matthias," Jesper replied.

Nina made a big show of looking around and then acting as if she'd spotted Matthias. She gave him her biggest smile and waved him over. He stared at her for so long she was almost certain he would turn around and ignore her. But eventually, with the air of a man who had cinder blocks tied to his feet, Matthias stomped over to their table and let his bag slide off his shoulder.

She pretended to giggle as if Jesper had said something hilarious. "Be nice, he's just gruff."

Jesper nuzzled into the crook of her neck, smiling against her skin and whispered, "He's an idiot."

"He is not and you know it," Nina said, trying not to let her temper rise.

"He still hasn't figured out you're mad for him," Jesper pointed out.

"Not everyone is a flirt like we are."

"Matthias!" Jesper exclaimed with a wide grin as the broad-shouldered man violently pulled out the chair across from them and sat down. Jesper had a hand on Nina's neck and was gently massaging the tense muscles there.

Matthias gave a grunt in response. His eyes locked on Jesper's hand as it kneaded Nina's soft skin.

Jesper acted as if he hadn't noticed, and kept going. Jesper could've declared he planned to plant an explosive in the library, and he doubted Matthias would've heard him.

"My da's coming to visit," Jesper said.

"Mhmm," Matthias agreed.

"I figured I might show him around the city."

"Hmm."

"And did I forget to mention I'm getting married!"

"Congratulations."

"I was thinking of having it on a floating barge going down the river."

"Wow."

"Kaz might even agree to wear a dress."

"Definitely."

"Although of course I'll have to skin a bag full of kittens before he'll do it."

"Necessary yes."

Jesper kept going as Matthias refused to look away from Nina's neck. Jesper's hand moved across her shoulders, kneading at the skin there. Nina let out a sigh. Matthias stiffened in his seat.

"Maybe I should accompany you when you show your dad around," Nina said in a breathy voice, her head tilting as Jesper continued to knead. Matthias's eyes were hungry as they roved over her neck. Jesper's grin widened as he imagined Matthias was likely becoming very uncomfortable right about now.

Jesper leaned in close to her face so that Matthias had no choice but to look at him and said, "You know, maybe you're right Nina darling, hospitality is most certainly," and here his gaze wandered down to her exposed cleavage and then locked on Matthias, "one of your stronger assets."

There was a small crack as Matthias broke off a piece of the wooden table.

"Mmm," Nina agreed and let her head fall back, exposing her throat and closing her eyes. The look on Matthias's face when it snapped to the smug look on Jesper's face was murderous. If looks could kill, Jesper reckoned he would've already been gruesomely dismembered.

If only Matthias wasn't such an honest man, people wouldn't make it a hobby to get under his skin. He leaned forward and looked to be about three seconds away from lunging across the table and wrapping his large hands around Jesper's skinny neck.

And everything probably would've de-escalated if Nina, in that moment, hadn't moaned while her head was back and said, "that's the spot Jesper, yes."

Jesper and Matthias were banned from the library for the rest of the semester.

***

There were not enough words to describe the level of irritation that Nina had reached. How much farther was she going to be forced to go with Matthias before he finally snapped? The man was constantly on the edge of giving in and doing what she knew he wanted as much as her, and yet he just wouldn't give in.

She had to get more drastic. And if this attempt didn't work, then Nina was going to jump him in his bed in the middle of the night. Enough was enough. A girl needed release, and he was going to give it to her, screw his honour.

It took place in a club. The music was thumping. Nina could feel it vibrating in her bones, and could barely make out the words that Wylan was yelling. It was too dark to see much of anything, but Nina made sure she would be easy to spot when Matthias eventually found them.

"Nina, I don't think this is a good idea," Wylan yelled, as his eyes darted around anxiously.

"I'm not asking you to have sex with me right here in front of everyone," Nina yelled back.

"I still don't like it, Nina. I mean, have you seen Matthias," Wylan replied. "The man could snap me in half."

"You let me worry about Matthias. Now touch my boob, Wylan."

"Isn't there something else I could do instead?" Wylan asked desperately, his eyes glancing back to the door to the men's bathroom.

"Wylan."

"Can't I just put my hands on your waist?"

"Touch the boob."

"Nina-"

"You said you were willing to help make him jealous, didn't you?" Nina demanded.

"I mean, yes-"

"Then touch my titty. It's just a boob, Wylan, I'm not asking you to marry me here. Just cup the boob."

Nina clamped her hand down on Wylan's neck and yanked him down until his forehead was resting against hers. She placed one hand of hisi on the small of her back and the other on her waist.

"Nina, he'll be back any minute," Wylan hissed.

"That's the point."

And bless Matthias, for the man always seemed to be on cue, even though he didn't know it. In that moment he exited the bathroom. And because Nina could sense the presence of that man like it was her sixth sense, she only had time to tell Wylan, "I'll make it up to you," and then gently pressed her lips to his.

The poor boy gave a start in surprise, but Nina had a steel grip on his neck and kept him in place. It was dark enough that Matthias couldn't see Nina speak against Wylan's lips and tell him, "Now take the hand at my waist and slowly slide it up to my boob."

"Nina, I can feel him stripping the skin from my body with his eyes," Wylan responded against her lips. Nina could do nothing but hum in agreement, as loudly as she could, to make sure Matthias heard it. Wylan's hand moved at a snail's pace from the swell of her hips, past the dip of her waist, and up to her breast, where he hesitated for a moment before finally letting it rest on the swell.

"You owe me for this," Wylan said seconds before he was yanked off of Nina by a fuming Matthias.

"You are in public," Matthias snapped at the two of them. Wylan had his hands up in front of his chest in surrender. The second Matthias took his eyes off Wylan, the boy disappeared into the crowd. Nina couldn't help but feel smug. Triumphant.

"And what about it?" she demanded, taking a step towards Matthias.

"People can see you," he barked at her, taking a step closer.

"Good. Maybe I want people to see," Nina snapped defiantly and took another step closer until she was chest to chest with him. "Maybe I want people to think I'm spoken for."

She stared into his eyes and said, "Maybe I want to put on a show."

Matthias's pupils were already blown, but at Nina's words, they overtook what little colour was left of his irises. He stiffened, but couldn't stop the urge to sway towards her.

"It's inappropriate," his voice was gravelly and lower than before.

"Is it? Or is it only inappropriate because you're the one watching instead of the one participating," Nina said, and stepped closer still until she was chest to chest with Matthias. He clenched his jaw and looked down at her, unable to look away as she looked him up and down and then licked her lips when her eyes met his again.

"I don't-" Matthias choked out.

"In that case, let me go find Wylan and we can pick up-" she interrupted, and abruptly turned her back on Matthias and stepped away.

She hadn't managed even a step before Matthias's arm wrapped around her waist and in the blink of an eye, Nina found her back pressed to a wall and Matthias pressed up against every inch of her front. He was bent over her, his body blocking out the rest of the club.

"No," he said with finality.

"No, what?" Nina asked. She pressed one hand to his chest, feeling the hard muscle underneath as she explored and then slowly wrapped her arm around his back, and then the other one joined until she could spread both palms on his back and pull him closer. He was so solid and so warm. Nina desperately wished they were alone and with far fewer clothes on.

"No, you're not going to Wylan," Matthias replied. He seemed equally incapable of keeping his hands off of her. His arm was still wrapped around her waist, his large hand spanned from the small of her back to her hip. Nina's heart stuttered when he gave it a squeeze, tilting her pelvis towards his and bringing her even closer.

Nina slowly slid one arm from his back, over his chest, and around his neck. "Mmm, it doesn't have to be Wylan. I can always find someone else."

"No," Matthias snapped. His free arm touched the arm wrapped around his neck, followed it to Nina's shoulder and then slid it down until his hand skimmed her breast. Nina was breathing so hard, and her heart was pounding so fast, she thought she would have a heart attack and die right there.

"Why not, you don't want me, right?" Nina breathed as she pulled herself closer still. She wasn't the only one having trouble breathing. Matthias looked as if he was about to have an asthma attack. He slid a leg in between Nina's as he gave another squeeze around the waist. Nina's breath stuttered as she gave a roll of her hips and watched a shudder pass through Matthias.

He nodded his head in agreement as his other hand covered her breast and he idly passed a thumb over her nipple. Nina gasped and couldn't stop herself from arching into him.

"You're a terrible liar, Helvar," she said breathlessly. Nina pulled him down towards her, buried her face in the small space right behind his ear, and breathed him in.

"We should...stop," Matthias panted into her neck. "We should...do this properly…"

"Matthias, if you do not take me to your room and make me forget everything except your name, the next time you catch me with a man, it's going to be even worse than Wylan," Nina threatened him. She rolled her hips one more time to drive her point home.

Nina considered herself very fortunate that Matthias was a smart man.

#fanfiction #grishaverse #matthias/nina #helnik #nina zenik #matthias helvar #romance #jealousy #au #this is like lowkey an au?

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader}

Masterlist

~^*^~

The fog that had settled overnight was nothing short of opaque. Thick and with an amber tinge, it seemed to cast a curtain between the north cliffs and the harbour, and, the North Sea, of course. However, a little fog wasn’t going to get in the way of any business or any vendor today as people still busted about the small seaside town, getting on with life.

Your feet carried you over the swing bridge and down to Bridge Street, where shops began to open by pulling up their shutters and the owners looking out expectantly as the small clusters of customers waiting to come in. Instead of following the road round to find yourself on the other side of the mouth of the River Esk, you abruptly turned left up to Church Street, where the cobbled road made walking just that little less easier. The boutiques here were also opening up, doors unlocking and shutters ascending to be concealed by the concrete above the windows.

Although the fog that had seemingly come from nowhere overnight, the humid summer air still clung to the streets and made a sheen of sweat grow on your skin. The walk from the viaduct, all the way down the cinder track and even this far was quite a trek when it got warm. 8am, a foggy day and you were still panting from the heat? Something wasn’t right.

But then again, you had read in the news this morning that a strange man had been surrounded by police on the sea front, not too far from the cliffs that hosted Whitby Abbey in the early hours of the morning. And that was the cause for your journey so early. Clutching your bag closer to your chest, you made your way past the countless Whitby Jet distributors and found yourself at the top of Church Street, eyeing the 199 steps.

“Quite a lot of exercise for first thing in the morning, no?”

You snapped your head left, eyes connecting with the blue orbs belonging to Dr. Zoe Van Helsing. Her eyes smiled at you, along with her lips that pulled up mischievously. She had caught you off-guard and she knew it. Replying to her question with a hint of sarcasm, you both began to climb the stairs. About halfway up, when the seagulls had no issue with swooping far too close to your head, you decided to pipe up and inquire about the gentleman you had been called to visit.

“Ah, you mean the Count? Yes, he is definitely a piece of work. We have a whole test group of people to come in close contact with him, however, we’d still like for you to have a chat with him, given your expertise in the area.” She turned her head to look at you expectantly.

“Well, it sounds like it’ll be a challenge. But you know me, I love a challenge.” You smirked back at her.

“We’ll see.”

When you both made it to the top of the steps, you stood to take in a deep breath of air and look back out towards Whitby. The fog was moving inland and it was getting difficult to see even the band stand, which stood overlooking the harbour on the opposite side of the mouth of the river from where you stood. There was a faint noise coming from the amusements and the sound of people slowly filling up the streets. But it was all drowned out by the roar of the North Sea, the howls of the summer winds and screeches of seagulls.

You turned once more, facing towards and beyond St Mary’s Chruch. Just further up, you could make out the peaks of Whitby Abbey. You were close. No more words were shared between the pair of you as you walked further up. You pushed past the open gates and found yourself facing the visitor centre. You turned right once more and before you, as grand as every, the Jonathan Harker Foundation.

Zoe led you through the winding halls and turns once inside and it seemed she knew the place like the back of her hand. You had only been inside a handful of times, and yet you still hadn’t acquainted yourself at all with the winding halls.

“I must warn you before we go in, so I suggest you take a seat.” Zoe began, leading you into a small room with a desk. She held the door for you as you stepped inside and reluctantly took your seat.

“You say it like it’s a life or death situation.”

“Actually, it is.” As if she had simply stated on the weather, she strode last you and slumped down into the seat opposite.

“You alright?”

“A little tired. Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix. Now, let me explain to you a little about the gentleman we are... housing. You need to throw all of your understandings of this world out of the window. This isn’t some basic cannibal or murderer we’re dealing with.” With every word, with the seriousness of her tone, you were starting to panic.

“Ok, Zoe, you’re really starting to worry me now.”

“There’s no need to panic. You see, you will be in safe hands and there are precautions put into place to ensure your safety.”

“My safety? What on Earth, Zoe-?”

“Count Dracula, the man you will be speaking to today, is a vampire.” Your mouth dropped at the words. The absudety of it all! A real life vampire?! What nonsense!

“Ok, you’re definitely pulling my leg. There’s-...” you looked at the demeanour of her expression. Her eyes were cold, lips softly turned into a frown. She wasn’t joking.

“Count Dracula is approximately 525 years old. He spent 123 years drawing energy in a box of his own Transylvanian earth at the bottom of the before emerging last night. According to oral accounts, Dracula is the cause of one of my own ancestors deaths, along with several others on the Demeter that brought him here. You will be assessing him - just like you do with all of the other criminals you’ve worked with before. Except he isn’t a criminal. He’s a beast.”

Those last three words rung in your ears continuously as you followed Zoe down the hallway towards the room that held this beast of a man. You did not know what to expect, though the image of an old and shrivelled man concealing superhuman strength came to mind. He was over 500 years old, after all. You had read the case file after Zoe’s briefing with you, and learnt about the real mystery of the Demeter whose ruins lay on the coast line. It had come as a shock to you to learn of such things actually existing, yet you had no time to digest the information as you practically marched behind Zoe. Lining the hallway was an abundance of guards; you took notice of the fact that they were oddly guarded with crosses and stakes. Clearly all of this vampire lore turned out to be true. You wondered if Zoe had figured this out, or if it was the work of her ancestor who was murdered by the man lurking behind you door you stride towards.

“Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s like a dog - can smell fear a mile away. He feeds off of it.” These were Zoe’s last words to you before she pushed the doors open. A large room stood before you, with a glass square in the centre perched on a circular stage rising maybe a foot higher than the rest of the floor. Inside the box, a desk, and standing in the corner, hidden in the shadows, a looming figure. Zoe spoke again, “you may close the skylight. Let him come to us.”

As if her words were spoken by a god, the light that streamed down into the glass container began to dim as load croaks came from the ceiling. Now, he was free to roam his transparent prison. Your eyes locked on his form, watching as he slowly prowled forwards. His nose twitched and pulled his head up. He was taking in a scent.

“Ah, I see you’ve brought me another new appetiser.” His smirk was plastered over his face and you were finally able to take in his features.

He was nothing of your imagination. Nothing close. He was a towering 6’4” with ebony locks styled up and out of his face. Matching thick eyebrows kept watch over darkened eyes and although his face was clearly mature, it was built well and prominent with masculinity. This, paired with the tailored suit he wore (where on Earth he had managed to acquire such clothing, you hadn’t a clue) screamed danger. It screamed warning. He was sophisticated; he was inviting; that meant he was dangerous. His feet carried him towards the glass panel closest to you and he pressed his long, thick hands up against the glass.

“I can smell her from here.” His smirk deepened.

“Pay him no attention, [First], he’s trying to scare you.” Zoe rolled her eyes, leading you closer towards the cell.

“No, just... testing the waters.” His tone was slightly mocking. His voice was deep and somewhat sensual to the ears. It was nice, melodic voice. It was a dangerous voice. Just like the rest of him.

“Well, there’s absolutely no need. Count Dracula, this is my associate, [First].” Zoe stepped aside, allowing him better access too look you up and down. Had he been a normal male, the gaze would have been dubbed rather disgusting, eyeing you up with a sickly grin toying on his charming features. But he was not a normal male and he was gazing at you like a predator eyeing up its prey.

“Very nice to make your acquaintance, [First].” He locked his eyes with yours and you could only stand the building tension for a fraction of a second. But you continued to keep the gaze locked, wanting to prove that you were the stronger of the two of you, “oh, I like her.”

“Good. You’ll be spending a considerable amount of time with her. Now, step back so she can enter - and don’t you dare forget that we can end your pathetic existence in a second if you attempt to harm her.”

“I have been around for over 500 years, Helsing, so don’t be surprised if some things happen to slip my mind.”

“You have no reason to harm her. We have provided you with adequate nutrition.” Zoe stated plainly, leading you closer to the door.

“You humans have no reason to indulge in confections, yet you do. It’s about the satisfaction, is it not?” His eyes bore wicked holes into you. You were much too close to him now, mere meters and a thin sheet of glass separating you from him.

“I am not your confection, Count Dracula.” You narrowed your eyes, “ and believe me, you try to put a single malicious finger on me and it will be the last thing you do.”

“Ooh, feisty. You remind me of someone I once knew. Hopefully your fate will not adhere to a path similar to theirs...” he trailed off and once he realised your presence was about to accompany him, he stepped backwards, keeping his eyes locked on you.

“Do not threaten her.” Zoe warned before turning to you and placing her mouth close to your ear, “he tries anything funny, use your fingers as a makeshift cross. We’ll get you out as soon as we can.” You merely nodded, psyching yourself up for this fateful date with a real life vampire.

The ceiling opened up as the door opened in sync and you stepped over the threshold. Immediately, you were hit with an intoxicating scent of something. Pine, maybe? Or something more earthy. It filled your lungs in a matter of seconds and you took a moment to intake the scent, pleasing to your senses. 

Dracula’s eyes watched you closely as you placed your bag down beside the door as it snapped shut. Now, a triangle of light illumated the centre of the glass cell and Dracula was pinned against one dark corner.

“Come closer.” His velvety smooth voice commanded, long finger beckoning you towards him. You knew that he wouldn’t try anything here. The jeopardy to his life was too great, and so you found yourself being pulled closer towards him. In this proximity to him, you realised just how much he towered above you. His head found itself slowly rolling downwards to stay connected with your eyes and his mouth was turned upwards smugly.

You grew closer still, until all that remained between you was the barrier of light. An oddly symbolic line of goodness and of evil.

“May I?” His eyes trailed down to your hand. You looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly, “my only intention is to be chivalrous, I swear.”

“If I get even a hint of tooth-“

“You have my word that you will not.” His eyes flashed with mischief.

Oh, the way he spoke! The way he smiled! The charm oozed from him, but that was to be expected. He had over five centuries of experience under his belt in the art of charming his victims. Of course he was going to be good at it.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and it cut through the veil of darkness. Part of you was intruding on his side now. His cold hand slipped under your own, a tinge of freezing cold electricity running up your arm and down your spine. The smirk that had played on his lips since the very moment you stepped into the room moved towards the back of your hand, and cool lips struck your flesh.

“Compliant, I like it.” He spoke against your hand, “why don’t you come into the shadows?”

You immediately pulled your hand away, taking a large step back into the light as you did so.

“Why don’t you come into the light?” You mimicked.

“Touché.” He turned his head to look at Zoe who was standing close to the door, “where did you find this one ? She’s got a fire to her.”

“Yes, well let’s hope you don’t get burnt.” Zoe countered, ignoring his question.

You looked around the cell, mostly at the large desk in the centre where a chair sat on either side. You looked back at the count who was eyeing you up (again), clearly waiting for your next move. Taking a breath, you pondered on the recklessness of your request the followed.

“Close the skylight.”

“[First], that’s not safe!” Zoe called, alarm bells clearly ringing in her head at the million different scenarios that could play out from that action alone.

“It’s alright,” you eyed Dracula, “he won’t hurt me. He knows his place.” You glared.

“I do, do I?” His right eyebrow cocked.

“Yes. Now to make yourself comfortable. We have quite a discussion.”

When the sound of the skylight closing filled your ears, your heart began to pound. You took steps backwards in the light as it retreated, and like a slow, careful dance, he took steps forwards, like he was commander and the darkness filling the space was his army. This was a battle you were losing.

“You’ve got some nerves, haven’t you?” He lowered his voice, “trusting a vampire so easily.”

“I don’t trust you. I trust them.” You eyed the several guards stationed around the room.

“And who do you think would come out as victorious?”

“Why don’t you tell me? I want to know everything about you, Count Dracula. Now, take a seat.”

You slumped down into one of the two chairs and Dracula took the seat opposite. He sat up with a straightened back, crossing one leg delicately over the other and rested his elbow on the mahogany, and his chin in the palm of his hand.

“I can hear it.” He spoke softly, eyes once again locking with yours. Every time they did so, your heart faltered.

“Hear what?”

“The blood rushing through your veins. It was rather sweet the way it jumped when I kissed your hand. Tell me, [First], why are you putting up such a front? I can read you like an open book. You’re nervous, you’re afraid.”

“I told you. I’m not afraid. You can’t harm me because they will harm you.”

“And again, I must lead you back to the rhetorical question of who would win?”

“You believe it is you, correct?”

“Correct.” He leaned forwards, closing the gap by another inch, “well, I know. I do not believe anything.”

“Well, I know that all we have to do is open up that light once more and you’re toast. Quite literally.” He chuckled at this. A deep, booming noise that sent a chill down your spine.

“There it is again, your heart. You must be infatuated with me.”

“You wish.” You glared, “now why don’t you tell me just what happened on board the Demeter.”

“You see, to tell that story, I’d have to begin right back in Transylvania - months before I even set foot on that ship.” He noted, eyes boring into your face.

“I have already read the accounts, Count Dracula. I already know. I want to hear it from you.” You folded you arms, tryinf to control your heart rate.

“Why from me?”

“To understand you. That’s why I’m here. Surely you knew that. Just get on with it. I don’t have all day.” You unfolded your arms, your impatience beginning to get the better of you. Your fingers found their way to the edge of the table.

“Then let’s begin,” he raised his head, just enough to slip his hand down into the table. In a swift movement, his right hand had swept up your left and encased it in coolness, “when I stepped foot on the Demeter.”

It took no less than two hours for Dracula to finish his account of the Demeter and he decided to also explain what had happened after he was arrested on the beach in the early morning. The entire time, he was effortlessly attempting to charm a little of your trust into him, but from the first words that left his mouth, you knew what his game was and you wouldn’t give up. Often, his foot would brush against your own, he’d insist on eye contact, or he’d grasp your hand in his at every opportunity he could get. By the time he was finished, you were beyond pissed off with his actions, horrified with the story he had told and exhausted from trying to keep your body from ratting your true emotions out to him.

“Right,” you began, pushing yourself up from the table, “I think that will be all for today.”

“Going so soon?” He faux pouted. He rose with you, clearly trying to prove his dominance over you one more time before you left.

“Unfortunately for you, yes. I’m afraid your company has ran out for today.”

“Is she coming back again?” He looked past you, towards Helsing who was frowning deeply.

“Perhaps. Don’t concern yourself with it, though.” Zoe snapped, “come, [First], you have other appointments this afternoon.”

Turning on your heel, you began to make a b-line for the door. However, the vampire behind you had other plans and before you had even made it halfway, his icy fingers hand tangled around your wrist and kept you held in place. Your heart jumped. Your blood pounded in your ears. His lips brushed against the cartilage of your ear, a cool sensation rippling throughout the left side of your head.

“You really must work on that heart of yours, it is much too easy to pin when you’re lying.” He mumbled, the words pooling in your ear, “even now, the blood coursing your veins is pumping with some vigor. It makes me... hungry.”

You tore your body out of his grasp, turning on your heel to face him and the smug look on his face at the reaction he gained from you. The door was opened and two strong arms hailed you backwards before the door shut once more and light began to flood the cell. Your body collapsed under the pressure of the other person pulling you and your knees buckled.

“Are you alright?!” Zoe was by your side, kneeling quickly to help you up, “you!” She bellowed to the vamp, “you shall be getting only scraps today for that!”

“Now, where have I heard that before...” Dracula mused.

He watched as you practically fled the room, eyes following your every movement until the doors shut. Helsing was glaring at him.

Your feet carried you, the adrenaline pumped in your veins and it was like you knew your way back out without ever having remembering it before. At the entrance, a man dressed up a little too much was arguing with the lady sitting behind the white desk, but you could only catch a snippet as you got yourself out of the building as quickly as you could.

“...-don’t understand! I’m his lawyer!”

Later that evening, when your appointments had all been dutifully carried out, you found yourself wandering along the beach below the cliffs where Whitby Abbey stood proud. The summer air had cooled and the fog had all but dissolved into the summer air. You looked out towards the wave cut platform where rock pools had been formed, and remembered times when you were younger and had gone fossiling (usually with little luck), or waded throughout the rock pools until the sea licked the sand once more.

The dusty sky was lilac, slowly bleeding into navy the higher up you looked and the sun had already disappeared behind the horizon south of you, behind the swing bridge and beyond. The tide was completely out, the waves sounding years away as seagulls cruised the sky above, unable to find any supper for the evening. The sand was derelict apart from you.

“We meet again.” You gasped loudly, turning on your heel to come face-to-chest with a rather unfortunately familiar form.

“Wha-.. I-... how did you-?”

“Get out?” He finished your rambles amusedly, “I have connections.”

“Even though you technically haven’t been on earth for over a century?”

“Yes, despite that.”

“What is it that you want...?” You took a step back, feeling a small pebble bite the underside of your foot through the flimsy sandals you wore. His eyes bored down into yours with such an intense predatory gaze that you felt your knees buckle for the second time in the day. He grinned.

“What else? You.”

#oh my god my first fic on tumblr in years #i hope i did the characters justice #but sorry if it sucks i wrote this on 2 hours of sleep #dracula #bbc dracula #claes bang #dolly wells #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader

[artificialqueens]

Sweet as Sugar (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: Vanessa is a cafe owner who finds herself instantly crushing on the new bakery owner across the street.

A/N: Bakery au is finally here! Every time I was about to get this finished and ready for posting, I got distracted by another fic I wanted to write. It’s finally here, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you to Writ for betaing and encouraging me to finally finish!

Read on AO3.

It’s raining the day the new bakery owner arrives across the street, and Vanessa watches it all through the rain-splattered glass of her cafe windows. It’s cozy and warm in here, the customers chatting while they munch on their sandwiches, and Vanessa’s glad to be safe behind the counter instead of out in that mess.

She can’t ignore the little twinge in her chest as she watches the owner–a tall blonde woman–emerge into the pouring rain and sort through stuff in her trunk. She must be freezing, Vanessa thinks, watching the woman finish with her car and move to fiddling with the bakery door’s lock and a box she’s carrying, before finally setting the box down and using both hands to play with the lock. A minute later, the keys slip out of her hand and into a puddle, and Vanessa bites her lip.

“Someone needs to help that woman,” she says to A’keria, who’s busy stocking the case of to-go sandwiches. “She can’t even get her damn door open.”

A’keria blinks and looks down at herself. “You better not mean me,” she says. “You know how much I hate rain. Have Kameron do it. She has muscles.”

“I’m pretty sure her and Asia are up to something since they mysteriously went on break together.” Vanessa sighs, just hoping those two are back before the lunch rush. “I’ll just do it myself.” She grabs her raincoat and stomps to the door. Vanessa’s a helper, and she’s volunteered at too many church functions with her mom to just leave this woman struggling, even if she has to get rained on.

Vanessa’s boots squelch as she reaches the sidewalk. “Hey there,” she says to the woman, who jumps about a foot in the air.

“Sorry, just–you scared me,” the woman says, grabbing at her heart. Her sweater is soaked through with rain and she’s shivering, blonde hair damp and messy, but she’s still beautiful, with soft green eyes and wide lips that look like they might quirk up mischievously sometimes. Vanessa spends a few seconds just taking her in, heart racing.

“You look like you could use some help,” Vanessa says, remembering why she came here.

“Me? I’m fine.” The woman waves her off.

Vanessa puts her hands on her hips. “I could see you struggling from across the dang street.”

“I guess I was.” The blonde sighs. “I just can’t get this key to work,” she says, holding up a key ring soaked with dirty puddle water.

“Let me try,” Vanessa offers. The blonde’s hands are baker’s hands, their slight roughness smoothed over with lotion, a still-healing burn mark near her wrist likely from pulling a hot pan out of the oven, an injury Vanessa knows too well. They’re also shaking from the cold as she passes Vanessa the key, and Vanessa’s heart softens in sympathy. No wonder she couldn’t get her door open.

Vanessa plunges the key in the lock and twists and turns until it clicks, pulling the door open with a whoop of joy.

“I loosened it for you,” the woman says.

Vanessa shakes her head. “That’s for jars, not doors!” She laughs, scooping up the woman’s box and ushering her inside.

Vanessa’s eyes widen when she sees the inside of the place. This little building has been home to dog grooming businesses and then to pizza businesses that did nothing to mask the wet dog smell and then to shoe stores that not only did nothing to mask the wet dog and tomato smell, but also added feet to the mix. Vanessa watched moving trucks drive up and pull away through her cafe windows, wondering if the next person would stick around.

It seems this woman wants to, and she’s completely transformed the place. Gone are the muddled dog/tomato/feet smells, as are the cracks in the wall Vanessa remembers from when she went shoe shopping. Instead, everything’s been painted a soothing lavender, with black silhouettes of baked goods–cupcakes and cookies and donuts–framing the top part of the wall. There’s a big counter with a glass case waiting to be filled, and tables and chairs stacked along the walls.

“It’s beautiful in here,” Vanessa says.

The blonde blushes. “Thanks. And thank you for your help, um…”

“Vanessa,” Vanessa says quickly. “I’m Vanessa.”

“Brooke.” She takes the box from Vanessa and sets it on the counter, eyes roaming around the room and a grin breaking out on her face. Vanessa recognizes the feeling–it’s the same one she had three years ago, when she couldn’t believe her cafe was really hers.

“When do you open?” Vanessa asks.

“Two weeks, if everything goes to plan. Just need to get the rest of the equipment in and finish everything up.”

Vanessa nods, hovering by the door awkwardly. There’s no reason for her to stay, but she can’t quite make herself leave. She wants to keep talking to Brooke, find out more about her. She watches Brooke blow on her hands to thaw them and an idea pops into her head.

“Hey, why don’t you come to my cafe and have coffee or something and warm up?” Vanessa offers.

Brooke smiles. “Lead the way.”

—

Vanessa sits with Brooke at the corner table right below the heat vent, watching her sip coffee and eat Vanessa’s famous grilled cheese and tomato sandwich.

“This is really good, Vanessa,” Brooke says, and Vanessa beams. She can’t help it. Even after three years of having her little cafe, watching people enjoy her food still warms her heart like the first time she made her mom pancakes and watched her devour them all. Everything Vanessa knows about cooking comes from dragging a chair over to the counter and watching her mom make dinner, and now she gets to be the one cooking.

“Thanks,” Vanessa says. “So, how’d you get into baking?”

Brooke finishes the last bite of her sandwich. “I always liked it. My grandma and I would make something whenever she babysat for me.” She pauses, sips her coffee. “I never went to culinary school or anything, but I’d make stuff for my friends a lot. Somehow they convinced me to start a little home business, and it kind of exploded. I started saving to have my own bakery, and now I do.” She gives a shy little smile that makes Vanessa melt.

“What about you?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa grins. “I basically ran a sandwich shop out of my dorm in college. The dining hall food was disgusting, so my mom got me a little panini press, and I started making grilled cheese and stuff for me and my roommates. Word got around and suddenly I was cooking for the whole building!”

Those had been some of her best days in college—people lined up and down the hall waiting for their sandwiches, bopping to the beat of the radio she had blasting and talking to her as she worked, even bringing their own ingredients for custom orders. And the best part of all: watching them bite into their sandwiches, closing their eyes and groaning about how good it was, like they were in a fancy restaurant and not a cinder block college dorm.

Brooke laughs, and Vanessa would do anything to hear that sound again.

“Somewhere in all that, I realized I loved cooking. It was exciting and relaxing at the same time, you know? So I did a bunch of restaurant jobs until I could finally open this place.”

Brooke nods. “It’s really nice here. Did you do all the decorating yourself?”

Vanessa glances around at the wall of framed posters bearing her favorite movies and singers, the fairy lights lining the walls, the fuzzy pom-pom banner draped in front of the counter, and nods proudly. “And the menu too. All the sandwiches are stuff I came up with myself.”

Brooke whistles. “That’s a lot of sandwiches.”

“Tell me about it. Took me months to come up with them all.” Vanessa must have tested hundreds of sandwiches in those months, adding and taking away and re-adding ingredients so many times her friends and family would run the other way when they saw her coming with samples. But after hours remixing and experimenting, her kitchen transformed into a science lab, Vanessa finally had her menu.

“I like it though,” Vanessa continues. “Trying new things and testing them out. Doing my own thing, you know? You can’t really do that with baking. Tried to do my own thing making a cake once and the thing exploded. I was cleaning my oven for days.”

Brooke laughs. “I get it. I think I like baking because of the rules. There’s certain things you have to follow, yeah, but such good stuff comes from it. And it’s–it’s kinda amazing how some of the techniques haven’t changed in hundreds of years.”

“You’re right,” Vanessa says. “I never thought of it like that. Making stuff’s always been special to me. It’s like making someone food is—“

“It’s like saying I love you.” Brooke blushes at what she’s just said and Vanessa does too.

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat so silent Vanessa hears A’keria muttering to herself about Vanessa’s extra-long break while she wrestles with a pile of spoons. Brooke looks at her empty plate and stands.

“I, uh, I should go. Got a lot of work to do.”

“Right.”

Brooke pulls out her wallet. “How much for–”

Vanessa waves her off. “On the house.” She smiles. “I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate cupcake once you open, though.”

Brooke grins. “You got it.”

She heads out, and Vanessa does more staring out the window than working for the rest of the day.

—

The next two weeks fly by. A’Keria takes over Vanessa’s spot in the window when a muscled moving crew hauls in Brooke’s equipment. Vanessa chases A’keria away for the rest, watching Brooke pace around inside her bakery, rearranging chairs and tables more times than Vanessa thought possible, sweeping with the ferocity of a hockey player, and talking to two girls Vanessa assumes are her assistants. Vanessa imagines Brooke’s delicate hands carefully piping frosting onto cupcakes or icing intricate designs on sugar cookies and has to smile.

Brooke’s been so busy that Vanessa hasn’t seen much of her, and she tells herself the little ache in her chest is just two weeks’ worth of heartburn. Brooke does stop in and asks Vanessa if she can put business cards and flyers on her community bulletin board, and Vanessa barely breathes as she and Brooke tack them up between advertisements for dance classes and library events, their shoulders brushing all the while.

It seems that all the flyers and advertising worked—the day Brooke opens, there’s a line of people stretched down the sidewalk, and Vanessa beams with pride for her. She knows how hard it can be to have a cafe, knows how amazing and necessary the customers are. She wants Brooke to succeed just as much as she has.

She watches all day as the line moves and people come out with bright white boxes and even brighter smiles.

Vanessa is closing up for the day when there’s a knock at the door. Lord help her if these are people ignoring the clear-as-day Closed sign to demand that she serves them.

But it’s not a pushy customer—it’s Brooke, with a tiny box in her hand and a huge smile on her face.

Vanessa grins too, her heart leaping in her chest.

“Big day for you, huh,” Vanessa says, guiding her into the cafe.

“Yeah.” Brooke sighs, rubbing at tired eyes. “I’m exhausted, but in the best way, you know?”

“I do.”

Brooke smiles again, and she offers the box to Vanessa.

“Is this—“

“I keep my promises.”

Vanessa opens the box to see a huge chocolate cupcake with swirled chocolate frosting dotted with tiny buttercream roses. There’s a little fondant tag on top, with something written in impeccably neat red icing. It’s a phone number, and Vanessa looks up at Brooke in wonder.

“If you want it, I mean,” Brooke clarifies, pointing to the number.

“Oh, I do.”

Brooke’s grin reaches her ears.

“Wanna go out for dinner this weekend?” Vanessa asks hopefully.

Brooke can’t nod fast enough. “I’ve got dessert covered.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #akeria davenport #branjie #lesbian au #bakery au #fluff #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

[clockworklozenges]

So, I think it may be time to regale you with the story of the worst heist that I, as a player, was involved in. It was in 3.5e, and genasi were a thing (thanks to the planetouched book) and with the DM getting the Savage Species book (those who read my post about Damien Fucking Bloodmoon will see where this is going, and that it will be going poorly) our group, fresh off an embarrassing TPK to what were, ostensibly, Minions who were aware of their existence being heresy in the eyes of Mother Nature, Father Time and Kooky Uncle Pop Culture - before the advent of the yellow tic-tac banana fetishists - decided that it was time for what could charitably be called the "monstrous regiment".

More accurately, it was Car Crash DnD.

The Monstrous Regiment was a mercenary group formed of the surviving crew of a plane-crossing Spelljammer vessel which had crashed in the Forgotten Realms, leaving most of the crew as social outcasts deemed as enemies of civilisation (fair enough with General Nibbles the Cannibal Goblin, though he insisted on proper table manners when eating people he respected) by the world at large, as we were all what many would deem 'exotic' or 'monster' races.

We had General Nibbles the Cannibal Goblin (not a general, General was his first name because he ate a general once and saved the nameplate from his desk, which he used as sunglasses), a Ranger who was the ship's cook and also had a level in rogue for the acquisition of what could charitably called "mystery meats". We had Table, who was a humanoid-shaped mimic bard, who could only communicate in nouns. This sounds like a handicap, but he effectively became a stellar country music singer. He was somehow the party face, since our other party members were an owlbear cleric who thought he was a bee (a big one, though. He was delusional, but not stupid), a zombie orc fighter called Mighty Green Chad and myself. I was playing as a water elemental Sorcerer called Andalf, who had water themed spells, but had been affected by the crash of the Spelljammer, making it so that he would, in moments of extreme emotional stress, explosively transform into a fire elemental called Malrog, whose spells and personality were much more firey and damaging than the calm and supportive Andalf.

An important note for later is that I could not choose when I changed between Andalf and Malrog. The DM would give me a Will Saving throw with a changing DC depending on the situation, and if I failed I changed, if I passed then I would sustain the form I had.

We had found that, in order to fix our ship and leave Ed Greenwood's magical prostitution brothel realm, we needed the aid of a wizard, who was trapped in his tower under house arrest. The key to the tower was stored in the Inn, where we had to disguise ourselves to even enter. In this respect, General Nibbles made a passable gnome (we did not ask him where he 'found' the skin-suit, but noticed that the gnomish population was less and less prominent with each day we remained in the town), and Chad, Table, Bee and myself used illusion spells and shapeshifting magic to blend in. We needed the key, and Andalf, the calm and collected Sorcerer with no damage spells at all, devised a plan of genius equivalent to the innovative spark of whichever fellow decided to stab bread before selling it.

Firstly, we have General Nibbles...do his thing and run diversionary tactics to distract the town guards, since two of the ten are always at the wizard tower, Nibbles will be given firebombs and potions to increase his speed and stealth, whereupon he'll use his chloroform (um. Don't, uh, don't ask why he has that) to give one of the bar staff a "surprise day off".

Table will mimic the...holidaying staff member, and ensure that they can ingratiate themselves with the Inn customers.

Chad, Bee and Andalf will enter as bar patrons, and whilst Chad and Bee entertain the crowd with what they certainly thought was a humorous stand up comedy routine, Andalf will distract the innkeeper and see if he can access the safe using his enchantment spells.

We leave.

Profit.

Things didn't go as planned.

For a start, Nibbles got...peckish, and ate the waiter Table was meant to become, accidentally used an explosive arrow on the second waiter we tried to ambush and exploded him, and ended up carrying the one we actually got intact with him for his part of the plan, acting like he was starring in discount, arsonist Ratatouille, dragging the unconscious waiter behind him. This meant that the bar staff was whittled down to just the innkeeper, the cook and Table.

Table himself decided, after seeing rich guests, to start doing a precarious dance and using enchantments to lock those aforementioned rich guests in their ensuites and rob them blind, meaning that nobody is keeping watch on the door, me or the civilians (especially since most think they're chickens clucking away in ensuites more like indoor outhouses than bathrooms, and the others are transfixed by the bizarre antics of Bee and Mighty Green Chad).

Bee and Mighty Green Chad get drunk, make friends and then take over the stage, performing karaoke, ventriloquism, expressive dance and a 'comedy' routine which relied on two things: one, that the audience knows that they're an owlbear and a zomborc and two, that the audience is so drunk that they would laugh at James Corden making fart noises during an Adam Sandler film. Fortunately, the bar patrons had passed that point and had reached "you're my best pal, you know" and teetering on the "you fancy a kebab? I fancy a kebab, let's get a kebab, no, the health rating doesn't matter, I fancy a kebab" stage of drunkenness.

This does mean that, of the people in the bar, the only clear-headed people are either me, the innkeeper or an abruptly kleptomaniacal mimic. The cook doesn't count as Nibbles had finished his jobs and had stuffed both the cook and the waiter into a barrel of ale, which he was also sampling judiciously.

After, the DM remarked that Nibbles thought it a fine vintage, if a bit too flammable for his tastes.

So, to sum up- the guests are trapped in their bathrooms clucking their lives away, our spy is robbing purses, our demo man is drinking not-yet-quite-corpses wine in the yard and our muscle is drunk and acting out the Two Ronnies Fork Handles sketch in slurred Scottish accents. With all this, Andalf walks in and I hear the dreaded...

"Make a Will Save"

I pass, but only just, and sweet-talk the innkeeper, using Andalf's silver tongue and high Concentration skill to get into the back room and maintain my illusory Antonio Banderas face (judge me all you want, I have taste in fake faces), and she leaves the room to get some Elven wine from the next room. With only a thin wooden wall between me and her, I find the key, but to grab it is a risk...and of course...

"Make me a Will Save"

And whilst I get the key from the draw...I fail the will save, becoming Malrog, flinging the key across the room and causing the innkeeper to rush back in, howling about a demon who burned up the man she was seducing. Then she sees the fire.

So, as part of the transformation, the DM flavoured it as a small wave of flame or water pulsing outwards from the now-Malrog or now-Andalf respectively. Whilst it did a tiny amount of damage, the flame burst from the Andalf to Malrog transformation would ignite anything flammable in a 10-foot radius around me. This includes wooden floors, ceilings, furniture and, sadly, innkeepers.

So, the innkeeper runs out screaming about a demon (and being on fire, which is understandable when you're on fire) and leaves me alone, the key in a raging inferno near the safe, the room on fire and the fire spreading into the rooms filled with alcohol. And as I reach into the fire...

"Make me a Will Save"

Upstairs, the party have noticed the fire, and whilst Table the mimic leaves out the back window (landing on Nibbles), Bee and Chad drunkenly herd equally drunken civilians out, vaguely aware that the Very Hungry Goblin out back ate the waiters responsible for putting fires out, and the guards are dealing with multiple smaller fires across town.

I fail the will save, burning myself on the key, which causes me to re-transform after another failed will save, melting the safe key in my hand and causing the alcohol to explode, making the inn begin to crumble around me.

Bee and Chad are eagerly trying to get out, to the point where they're just throwing commoners out of the windows and through the walls to get them out of the way. They escape, and hurriedly leave before the cops turn up.

Faced with death, Malrog burns up all his spells to try Melt his way into the safe since the key is gone. This melts the safe shut. As a result of the stress from thoroughly beansing up the one job I had, I change back, and now begin to take fire damage as well as bludgeoning from the falling debris.

We did all escape, thanks to Nibbles being unable to resist the smell of cooking flesh and finding our unconscious bodies. However, the inn burned down, the innkeeper mourned Antonio Banderas and we left that wizard to die of starvation in his tower, along with the town.

After all, it pays to know when your welcome is worn out, and when it is burned to cinders.

#dnd #3.5 edition #dungeons and dragons #sorcerer #Bard #Mimic #Orc #Zomborc #Remarkably Nibbles survived longer than anyone else thanks to his hunger for Flesh #but that's another story #elemental #heist #Goblin #owlbear #cleric #dnd fighter #Fire #cannibalism

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Déjà Vu All Over Again (standalone)

Summary: A little look at how a reset might appear to someone on the other side of the button.

Notes: Here's some Sansby for y'all. M for mature!

Tags: Undertale Sans, Undertale Grillby, Sansby, Lemony goodness, Resets

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~~*~~

It was late enough that the snow outside was falling into a hushed darkness. The glow of a sign flickered from open to closed, the shades drawn down, and the front door shut with the quiet click of a lock.

From his usual seat, Sans let his head drop lower to rest his forehead on his folded arms.

"s’rry, grillbz, i know it’s closing time." Silence, but that was all right. Grillby was nothing if not assertive and if he wanted Sans gone, he'd already be packing it in. Normally, he wouldn't need to ask, but tonight didn't feel like it was well-acquainted with normal. The chill outside seemed as though it was waiting for him to get up, ready to grasp him with icy fingers as he made his way home and Sans was in no rush to give it the chance.

The second-to-last customer had shuffled out into the night some few minutes before and the bar was already wiped down. Sans could hear the rasp of the broom and the quiet crackle of Grillby moving behind him. Soothing in its normality and Sans let himself drift, not quite asleep nor awake.

As always, Grillby's voice was less of a sound and more of a presence. Your brother will be waiting for you.

"mmmhmm," Sans mumbled into his folded arms. He would, maybe. The lack of texts made that less likely and much as Papyrus appreciated a bedtime story, there was a good chance he'd had an inkling of Sans's mood and decided to let him be for tonight. He could be startlingly perceptive like that; yet another reason his bro was the coolest.

A sudden rush of warmth tickled across the back of his neck, delicate and precise, a single finger of flame tracing his cervical spine. Drifting into his hoodie to follow the line of his jaw.

"like that is it?" Sans asked, sleepily, rousing enough to lean into the touch. Grillby didn’t often offer and Sans didn’t always accept but tonight…tonight it seemed too cold outside, home seemed too far away even with a shortcut, and Paps was probably already asleep. Still, he couldn't resist adding, "got a burning desire tonight, do ya?"

Silence. Sans wondered if he was about to get tossed out on his non-existent ear and accepted it as his due. Instead, he felt a gust of heated air on the back of his skull, almost like a reluctant chuckle. Hey, that was already better than most of his audiences.

Sans stretched, bracing his hands in the small of his back and groaning. "we gonna do this upstairs like adults?"

A crackle of agreement, less words than simple approval, and Sans knew the way. Not like it was hard to figure out; a trip through the fire escape, past the kitchen, and up the stairs was hardly a puzzle worthy of his brother’s usual.

He'd barely made it through the door when a sudden rush of heat pressed against his back, flaring over him as fiery arms wrapped around him. Drawing him insistently towards the sofa and Sans could appreciate that, the way Grillby tugged him along rather than scooping him up. That was something about Grillbz that Sans had always cherished, ‘cause nothing put Sans off his game faster than getting yanked off his feet. He was short, yeah, but he wasn't a kid and wasn't about to let anyone treat him like one.

Grillby sat on the sofa, drawing Sans in to stand between his legs. Not exactly the subtlest of hints.

“oh, you really are in a mood,” Sans murmured. He could count on one hand the amount of times Grillby had wanted him on top, a fire elemental's dominating nature coupled with Sans’s natural laziness.

But tonight, ah, tonight didn't feel like an ordinary night.

He let Grillby pull him in, drawing him down, and that heat, stars, just

______________

Stay Determined!

______________

It was late enough that the snow outside was falling into a hushed darkness. The glow of a sign flickered from open to closed, the shades drawn down and the door closed with the quiet click of a lock.

From his usual seat, Sans shifted uncomfortably, feeling oddly warm, prickles of unaccustomed heat rippling over his bones. Absently, he rubbed a hand over his skull, grimacing as magic-laced sweat clung to it.

Sans could hear the rasp of the broom and the quiet crackle of Grillby moving behind him. It should have been soothing, homely; instead, it made Sans feel restless and wanting.

"hey, uh, you mind if i…" he started, trailing off. Sans had never actually initiated, well, any of this. From the very beginning, it was Grillby who'd escalated ridiculous jokes into subtle flirting into…well, whatever this was. If he'd ever expected Sans to put any effort into it, he'd never said so, and Sans was usually more than content to follow wherever Grillby was leading this.

A sudden clatter behind him made him jump, half-turning to see what the sound was and he only caught a glimpse of the fallen broom before he was caught in a set of fiery arms, flailing briefly in shock as heat engulfed him.

Flames licked over him painlessly and Sans sighed, leaning back into their soothing caress. "sounds like a yes to me," Sans slurred out, and he couldn't bite back a whimper as a concentrated lick of heat trailed down his jawline to his collarbo

______________

Stay Determined!

______________

It was late enough that the snow outside was falling into a hushed darkness. The glow of a sign flared as ‘open’ faltered into ‘closed’ before the shades came crashing down, one side hanging lopsidedly, and the door slammed shut with a sharp crack.

Sans nearly fell off the stool, already struggling to strip off his hoodie. Grillby was flickering wildly, coming towards him so quickly it was as if he were the one who could teleport. Both hands fisting in Sans’s t-shirt and Sans could faintly smell the material scorching as (and for once he didn't protest the manhandling, not tonight, not, not,) he was lifted off his feet to sit on the edge of the bar, one slipper falling free. Kissing a fire elemental was a lot like licking a charred ember, bitter carbon and heat against his conjured tongue and

______________

You Cannot Give Up Just Yet...

______________

It was late enough that the snow outside was falling--

“oh, come on!” Sans burst out, flopping back onto the floor. His shirt was damp with sweat, his hoodie hanging off one arm as he struggled to get it off, off!

Grillby rolled them so that Sans was on top, practically falling between his legs, both of them struggling to undo his belt, fuck, why couldn’t he wear shorts like Sans did, and his moan echoed through Sans’s skull as he got a hand between Grillby’s legs. His cunt wasn’t wet, how the fuck could it be, but it was something, slippery to the touch, all but sucking his fingers in greedily and Sans jerked his shorts down, his cock so hard it ached, felt like he’d been hard for fucking ever when he managed to line up and push into that slippery, wicked heat, their mutual scream echoing through the bar.

Sans was too short to kiss and fuck at the same time, had to settle for watching Grillby writhe under him and yeah, that was fine, got him a front row seat to the show. The way his fingers scrabbling against the floor as Sans started to thrust, leaving blackened scorch marks, his soundless cries reverberating through Sans’s skull like shouting in a cave in Waterfall, fuck, yes, gorgeous as hell. The ripple of his pussy around Sans’s cock was almost uncomfortably hot and he was already embarrassingly close, orgasm spangling its way up his spine while the salt taste of his own sweat clung thickly to the back of his tongue.

Close, so fucking close, he was cl

______________

You're Going To Be Alright!

______________

Sans accepted the cigarette wearily, pulling in a long drag. The floor of the bar was clean enough, but it sure as fuck didn’t meet the librarby dictionary’s definition of comfortable. The smoke filled his rib cage as he inhaled, nicotine incorporating into his magic along with the weird, sated feeling of somehow being well fucked. Didn’t make any kind of sense, how they went from Grillbz closing the bar to somehow ending up on the floor with an afterglow, but eh, Sans wasn’t gonna question it too hard.

“someday, you’re going to have to explain how you manage to roll your own, grillbz,” Sans said, lazily. Grillby’s cig was smoldering to cinders from the first second it touched his ‘mouth’.

His arm without the cigarette worked decently as a sort of overly warm pillow beneath Sans’s skull. Nice thing about not having bones of his own was that Grillbz could twist his arm about any which way he liked, which, right now meant his warm fingers were grazing against Sans’s jawline. Stay over?

Sans snorted aloud, leaning into that touch. "may as well. the way things are going, seems like this could be a long nigh

-fin

#Sansby #keelywolfe #fanfiction #lemony goodness

[dyke420-69]

Cinder AU

Summary: Logan is a well known mechanic throughout Ladonia. Sadly, he's a cyborg and, where prejudices are common, he's stuck with a terrible stepmother and sister. At least he has Talyn, the android with a faulty chip!

The screws of Logan's foot have rusted, the thread wore down to a smooth cylinder. His hand ached from fighting the nails as he struggled to loosen it. By the time he was able to be free from the damn thing, he pulled it out with his prosthetic steel hand and noticed the hairline threads had been stripped clean.

 Tossing the screwdriver onto the small table, Logan grabbed his heel and ripped the foot off. A spark came from his hands and he jerked, almost pulling out the wires that still barely attached his foot to him.

He fell back into his chair, with a relieved sigh. A freedom came from letting go of that foot. He hated that foot for 4 years, now, he swore to never put it on again. He wished Talyn would be back soon with the new one.

Logan was the only full service mechanic in Ladonia weekly market. His booth only hinted at his profession from the boxes of android parts crowding the wall. The booth was shady, hidden between the thrift booth, filled with old clothes and electronics, and a bar, with alcohol always hinting at the air surrounding it. They frequently complained about the scent of oil and rust in the air but even though the scent of parties from the bakery across from it covered the scent. He knew it was just because they didn't like him.

An old table separated Logan from the shoppers as they passed by. The place was filled with shoppers and hawkers, children, and noise. The sound of bargaining from the robotic shop, even though it was still too big of a price. The hum of hover cars and hopeless voices giving them their receipts as they continued to buy frivolous things. The netscreens that covered everywhere and would never shut up with advertisements, news reports, and gossip. 

Logan's auditory interface was able to dull the noise to a white noise but today a melody lingered over the rest that he couldn't stop from hearing. A ring of small children were standing in the middle of the shops, singing -"Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!"- and then laughed as they fell down onto the pavement, forcing the others to as well.

A small grin attempted to come to Logan's lips. Not so much at the song, it made him creeped out, the song about a phantom song about pestilence and death that gained popularity in the last decade. But he did love the glares as shoppers tripped over the pile of children. The inconvenience of having to step over the children irritated the shoppers and Logan adored them for it.

"Rosa? Rosa!"

Logan amusement faded. He found Helen Smith, the baker, pushing through the crowd, covered in flour. She grabbed the little girls arm, "Rosa, I told you not to play so close to that android-"

Helen locked eyes with Logan, pursed her lips, and pulled on her daughter's arms. The girl whined, attempting to pull her arm out her mother's grip to cross them, then huffing when she couldn't. Logan glared at their back, rolling his eyes. The remaining children left, going back into the swarm of noise, taking their cheerfulness with them.

"For fucks sake, wires aren't contagious. Stop acting like it," he grumbled to empty air.

He stretched, his spine popping in several places. He ran a dirty hand through his hair, attempting to comb the curls, then grabbed his old work gloves. Logan covered his steel hand first, and while his hands were already beginning to sweat, he was already more comfortable with his glove hiding his less… humanly parts. He stretched his hand, working out the cramp that had formed the base of her thumb from working on his foot, and swept his gaze over the market. He spotted many white faced androids but none were Talyn.

Sighing, Logan bent under the table to look through his toolbox. After digging through his mess of wrenches, wires, and screwdrivers, he found the fuse puller that had been long since buried at the bottom. One by one, he disconnected the wires that still barely attached his foot to his ankle. He couldn't feel.them through the thickness of his gloves, but his retina scan was helpfully telling him he was losing a limb. 

With one last yank of a wire, his foot dropped to the floor. 

The feeling of freedom was instant. For once, he truly liked him and had very little worries. 

He shoved the wires to make room for the foot, setting it upside a shrine to letting go of the past among the numerous lug nuts and screws she had scattered through the table, before grabbing an old rag and cleaning the grime from his ankle.

THUD.

Logan jumped, bumping his head onto the underside of the table. He rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair, his glare first landing on the lifeless droid just sat on his table and then to the man behind it. His eyes widened at the surprised chocolate colored eyes and brown hair almost every girl in the country, and probably others as well, has probably drooled over a thousand times. 

His irritation faded.

His own shock was also quickly extinguished, melting into an apology. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize someone was back here," he said.

Logan barely heard him over the blankness of his mind. With his heartbeat quickening, his retina display scanned his features, so similar from all the years spent hearing and seeing him on the netscreens. He was taller in real life and his gray shirt and jeans was nothing like the fine clothes he's usually seen in. Yet it still only took 2.5 seconds for Logan's scanner to measure his facial structure and make a match to his image in the net database. Another 1.2 seconds later and information he already knew flashed on the bottom of his vision in a thin green text.

Prince Emile, crown prince of the [INSERT NAME] 

ID #001252647

Born December 16, 108 T. E.: A press meeting is scheduled by Crown Prince Emile to discuss the ongoing letomosis research and possible ideas to an antidote--

Logan suddenly launched himself up from the table, nearly falling from forgetting about his missing foot. Catching himself with both hands on the table, he managed to give an awkward bow. The retina display faded. 

"Your highness," he was able to stutter out, glad that his foot, or lack thereof, was hidden by the table. 

The prince flinched, and scanned behind him to make sure no one saw before hunching over the table "Maybe, um,-" he put a finger to his lips-- "on the royalty stuff?"

Wide eyed, Logan gave a shaky nod, "Of course. Whatever you'd like, How can I- Are you?- Uh" he gulped, his throat feeling like sandpaper. 

"I'm looking for a Robert Logan?," the prince asked, "are they here?"

Logan dared to lift a hand from the table, using it to tug the glove higher on his wrist. Staring at the bustle of the crowd behind the prince, he bit his lip, "I'm Robert Logan."

His gaze followed the hand he planted on top of the androids round head.

"You're Robert Logan?"

"Yes, your high-" he cut himself off.

"The mechanic?"

Logan nodded, "How may I assist you?"

Instead of answering, the prince leaned down, bending his neck so that he had no choice but to meet his gaze, and flashed a smile at him. His heart flinched.

The prince stood back up, forcing Logan's eyes to follow.

"You're not hardly what I was expecting."

"Well, you're hardly what I expected." Unable to hold his gaze, the mechanic pulled the android to his side of the table. "What seems to be wrong with your android?"

The android looked brand new but Logan could tell from the shape of its mock feminine body, it needed an upgrade. The design was smooth, though, with a spherical head atop an hourglass body and a gleaming white finish.

"I can't get her to start," said Prince Emile, staring as Logan inspected the android. "She was working great one day, and the next, nothing." 

Logan moved the android to where its sensor lights faced the prince. He was glad he had a routine for his hands and a routine for his mouth, something to focus on so he wouldn't get too flustered and overheat again. "Have you had problems with her before?"

"No. She would get monthly check ups from the team of royal mechanics. This is the first problem she's ever had."

Leaning, Prince Emile picked up the small foot from its shrine, examining it from curiosity in his hands. Logan went taunt, slightly shaking as he squinted at the wire filled hollow center, messing with the flexible joints of the toes. He used his oversized sweatshirt to clean off a small smudge of grease.

"Aren't you hot in that?" Logan questioned, quickly regretting turning back the prince's attention onto him.

For a swift moment, Prince Emile almost looked self conscious. "Dying," he said, "but I'm attempting to not be noticed. 

Logan considered saying it wasn't going to plan but decided not to. The lack of an assembly of screaming people and news reporters surrounding them was enough evidence that it was working better than originally thought to be. Instead of looking like the famed heart throb, he just looked crazy.

Swallowing, Logan turned his attention back to the android. He found up the barely visible latch and pulled the back panel open. "May I ask why the royal mechanics aren't fixing her?"

"They attempted but couldn't figure it out. Someone suggested you. I figured why not." He set the foot back down and turned his gaze to the boxes of old and beaten down parts- parts for androids, netscreens, hovers, and port screens. Parts for cyborgs."They say you were the best mechanic. I was expecting someone older."

"Do they?" He mumbled. 

The prince wasn't the first to voice his surprise. Most of his customers couldn't comprehend that a black teenager could be the best of his trade, and he never answered why. The fewer people who knew he was cyborg, the better. He was sure to go mad if everyone looked at him like Helen Smith does.

He prodded some of the wires in the back panel with his pinky. "Sometimes they just break down when older. Maybe it's time to get a newer model? I could tell you some good ones?"

"I'm afraid that won't be needed. She contains a lot of the government's secrets. It's a matter of national security that I am able to retrieve it…. before anyone else."

Stilling, Logan glanced at him.

He returned his stare for a full 3.5 seconds before breaking into a grin. "I'm joking. Valerie has sentimental value as my first android."

A blue light flickered in the corner of Logan's retina scanner. His optobionics has picked up on something he'd missed- an extra swallow, a small change in tone, a hand going a little too still.

He was accustomed to the little blue light. It was a common occurrence to see it flashing there in the corner.

It signaled someone was lying.

"That's funny," he said.

The prince narrowed his eyes, as if challenging him to correct him. A strand of thick hair fell over his eyes. Logan broke the little staring contest they had. 

"Tutor 8.7 model," he read aloud from the slightly raised words, inside the faintly lit panel. This model was used almost 20 years ago. Ancient. "She looks to be in perfect condition."

Quickly pulling back his arm, he hit the android hard against the side of its head, catching it right before it hit the floor. He set it back as the prince calmed himself down from the shock.

Logan quickly turned it around and pressed the power button, but it didn't turn on. "You'd be shocked at how often that actually works."

Prince Emile let out an awkward chuckle, "Are you sure you're Robert Logan? The most renowned mechanic in Ladonia?"

"Logan, I got it!" Talyn rolled out of the hustle and bustle of midday shopping, their purple sensor flaring. Lifting a pronged hand, they banged a brand new, beautiful, steel plated foot onto the table, right beside the android. "It's a huge improvement, barely used, and the wiring looks great! Plus, I got it down to 650 univs instead of the 800 originally. Must be my beautiful looks."

Logan jolted. Balancing on his human leg, he seized the foot from Talyn and threw it behind him. "Thank you, Talyn. I believe Aramoana will be quite happy that you got their replacement foot so cheap."

Purple flashed as Talyn said, "I don't understand."

With a tight lipped smile, Logan waved a hand towards their customer. "Talyn, please respect our newest customer." He spoke softly, "His Imperial Highness."

#logan sanders #sander sides #sander side au #Sanders Sides Cinder AU #Cinder AU #emile sanders #lomile #logan x emile

[winter-chill]

Penny The Custom Built Maiden

So let's just kick this into high gear. Penny was built to be a maiden!

Volume 1

Let's start at the beginning, her first appearance is "the Stray" it shows Penny being innocent, new to town and wandering the city alone. Nothing of note (at least not maiden theory worthy). She's here to fight in the tournament, she's combat ready, but this was just a short intro and not really that evidential. Blake and White however... well we see a lot more of Penny. Her intro into the episode is quiet and she just appears. Already though we know a bit about her, that she can tell Blake is a faunus, she's able to read people, maybe not too well emotionally, but she saw past Blake's bow with ease and could just 'tell' which for a Maiden being able to tell a human or faunus apart (or a faunus trait even if hidden) would be useful... though also just for a combat robot it would be useful too.

We also know she's not good with people, which is just pointing to her past being locked up and not able to socialize, so for however long she's been 'alive/active' she's probably just been training, and this kind of hints to the fact that her adventure into Vale is that of a social introduction, to learn about people a little more.

Cut to the WF fight, Ruby stands to talk and Penny is left a little in the dark about who is on her side or not. When Ruby is knocked down though there's basically no delay, Penny goes into combat mode and is ready to fight, to protect who she's seen as good and stop those who oppose them. It's natural, she's smiling, she's trained for situations much much worse than this. What more is there to say besides her incredible firepower is not something you'd give her if you were using her as maybe a test run for a new set of robots, nope she's special and she's equipped to be one of a kind... or maybe one of four?? Once the fight is over Penny is soon driven off, with no goodbye, and  told that she shouldn't have been alone, but that "her time will come" again bringing it back to the upcoming Vytal festival.

Volume 2

So, it's been a couple of episodes and radio silence from Penny until... there she is, out and about, and trying to keep Ruby out of her now routine run-from-the-guards. I can't really point out much else this episode, again everything she does is either hiding from the guards, avoiding questions, or just related more to her secret as an android than as a maiden. Painting the Town though, Penny begins to explain herself. She was made, she's synthetic, she's able to generate and aura. Note 'generating' though, she doesn't use an aura, she generates one, creates it from her real soul, one I believe was created via "A little help from mister Ironwood" being the Atlas Relic, the Relic of Creation. 

Moving on, sure enough people don't think Penny is ready to protect herself, or the world. She said it herself, she was created to save the world, maybe on her own, maybe with 3 sisters? the point is she's been designed to be someone who can save everyone, and considering the other headmasters are all aware of Ozpin (Ozma's) real purpose, his secrets, his relic, and Salem... she surely then must have been designed and built able to ideally stop Salem, or otherwise protect the Relic's from her until someone else can. This conversation goes on to explain that Penny wants to explore the world, and to test herself. As a Maiden this would be important, to know what the world is like, to travel it, to meet people and learn who she is protecting, to give her a genuine and unprogrammed reason to fight, and then to test herself against those who are also training to fight and protect, she needs to best them and prove herself the strongest (which I'll get to more later in V3). That's about it for V2 though, besides showing up at the dance she won't be seen again until V3 so...

Volume 3

So once again we barely see Penny she appears this volume, first showing up following Ironwood, the man cracking down on her absences, and especially so since the festival has begun. This volume though is where we really need to stop looking at Penny, and more towards Oz and Ironwood for hints and clues. We learn about the four seasons tale, about how that is just a fairy-tale about the maidens, but that all tales are based in truth. That there were four children and they were granted powers, that their souls pass on from one to another in death, and that it passes on to... young girls.

During this festival I'd like to jump almost to the end, to the finalists, a few of which represent the several kingdoms, but our attention is always towards Pyrrha and Penny. And for this we need to ask why? Why have the festival? A bit of fun, a way to test students against themselves, and during this year, a way to find the strongest female student. Ozpin of course has Pyrrha, a world renown fighter and experienced combatant, while Ironwood has Penny, a girl with incredible power but still learning about the world. This fight should have been easier and clear cut, but it was actually Ozpin's mistake that threw it off course, telling Pyrrha about the maidens, about Amber, about his intent for her.. given a fair fight either girl had a good chance, but Penny was Ironwood's hope, a girl who was innocent and pure, willingly to see the good in the world and wanting to save it, and with the power to do just that, a body that wouldn't die of age, and would be fixed easier and quicker than any human body would. The only issue was Cinder.

Cinder pushed their fight forwards, and I'm almost certain they were expecting the two of them to be fighting later on, but when their fight showed up early on it was time to see who made the better choice. Emerald intervened, and Penny fell. Again this was unfortunate, Penny was naive and didn't know why this fight was so important, where as Pyrrha was told but it only stressed her more than it did motivate her.

During this all Amber lay under Beacon, inside a machine which could transfer aura, or at least guide it, built with the purpose of transferring the Maiden's aura from one soul to another. A perfect host would have been Penny for this situation. Trying not to repeat myself she was built perfectly, fixable, unaging, able to generate and maintain an aura, be it her own or the aura granted from Amber, all that, and she fit into the mold of being a young girl - Props to Cinder for even catching on here, "What need would Atlas have for a soldier disguised as an innocent little girl? I don't think the Grimm can tell the difference." No of course the grimm can't tell, but a Maiden's aura could. In the end the power though is lost to Cinder, and Penny is left in pieces, but her existence was never answered during this volume, she was more than an experiment, but explicitly no reason was ever given.

Volume 4-6

Unfortunately the next three volumes are lacking, in general they are great, but for Penny not so much. We learn a little more about the maidens, about the original gods, and while I’d love to headcanon more on those and how that leads into Penny... those are more headcanons that support other headcanons, and on their own are kind of void of evidence. We can only hope Volume 7 brings up more facts, info, and Penny news.. I mean we are heading to Atlas after all, it’s now or never RT.

#rwby #rooster teeth #rwby penny #penny polendina #rwby theory #rwby maidens #maiden theory

[halethkickass]

Too Long a Winter (reposted with permission from Clotho)

I found this wonderful fic on http://clotho123.tripod.com/mainlist1/winter.htm and the author kindly gave me permission to share it here on Tumblr. The story is phenomenally well-written and the characterization is excellent. I especially appreciate the dynamic between Maedhros and Maglor, which is far less sentimental and much more in line with how I tend to head-canon them than that of most fics I have read. The story is told from the perspective of a human warrior dwelling in Himring, which lends an interesting viewpoint to the elves we are used to seeing through the eyes of a somewhat removed historian.

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

Himring is not a good place for old men.  Often I think of riding south again, to the Estolad where there are fewer cold winds to piece my aching bones and no long stone stairs to climb.  Yet to leave would mean never again to see the morning sun on silver stone, or turn a corner at night to see a solitary lamp shine on the carved street before me, or watch the magic the Strangers work as they coax flowers to grow on rock itself.  

It does help me having lodgings in the summit halls.  Himring is steep: in the town that lies beneath the peak a paved courtyard will prove to be the roof of the house below, nor is it rare to walk down long stairs and find yourself upon a deep balcony.  All space is used for dwellings, although all dwellings will be filled only at the height of siege.  Himring was built as a place of refuge as well as a stronghold; it has been full enough these last years.  It is fortunate my duties can be discharged with goodwill on the summit where the High Hall rises in the silver rock.  My mind goes often to the past now, recalling more clearly than for many years, the wonder I felt to see how so much if the city had been cut from the rock as it stood, the very contours of the stone summit kept alive.  Yet Himring is no hidden city, it stands proud as an eagle upon a crag, keeping watch on the lands below. 

The Midwinter festival would have been well attended even in the better times before the peace was broken; now the High Hall will be full indeed.  It is one thing they have learned from us, the great feast of fire at the year’s darkest point, and they celebrate it much as we do, even if some of the older ones like to recall the days when there were no seasons.  We have no tales even of that time, so such stories mark more deeply how much they differ.

 The green boughs are another of traditions they have borrowed although I recall from my gathering days that they practice it differently, each bough chosen with care, seldom more than two from one tree or bush and from some none at all.  “Trees,” one said to me once, “ can spare a limb if chosen right, indeed are often the better for it, but why would anyone wish to leave a tree limbless?”  The gathered braches look strangely fitting in the High Hall, for the rock-cut columns are carved as tree trunks, not all alike but trees of all kinds: oak and birch, beech, ash and pine.  With the evergreen boughs in place it will be a strange kind of forest in which we sit to feast. 

As I turned to leave the half-prepared hall I heard my name spoken sharply.  A little too sharply in truth, my sight is thankfully still good enough, but not so my hearing and I guessed I must have failed to hear at least one call.  That is not fortunate with this speaker.

 “Lord Makalaurë,” I greeted him.  He insists on being addressed by the High form of his name, although everyone calls him Maglor outside his hearing.

“Headman Hallach.”  I still hold the title of Headman for the Edain of Himring although Berach my nephew leads them in war.  He was out of the citadel of course; with fighting so constant he is rarely here.  “We have had word my brothers in the south will not be joining us for the feasting,” Lord Maglor continued, “so that will lessen the amount of accommodation that you will need to find.”  

“We could have housed them,” I said, “but it is better to know beforehand.”  Our word ‘inhuman’ is an old one, from the times before we came to these lands, it carries a meaning of something that is uncanny, disturbing.  It is held impolite to use it of Elves but it is seldom far from my mind when speaking to this one.  Like most of his kind he is handsome with black hair and winged brows that highlight the mobility of his features; still he is unsettling, even to one like myself who has lived amongst the Strangers for most of my life.  I cannot put it better than to say it is as though he is constantly listening to a tune that only he can hear, and thinks the less of others for being deaf to it.  In fairness, these days I unsettle him too, for he is one of those who are disturbed to the point of disgust by mortal aging although he would feel it beneath him to lessen his courtesy.  

“Do you know when my brother is expected back?” he asked.

“No more than you, although I am sure he will be in time for the feasting.”

“Of course,” he said.  “But I would wish to see him earlier.  Erestor does not know when he will return either.  It is inconsiderate.”  It was an unfair complaint, as he must have known.  A survey of territories, half visit, half scouting expedition, could not be completed to set times and his brother never dawdled not even with snow falling every day upon the hills.  We would always vary those chosen to ride with the lord of Himring, for no-one was expect to make two such exhausting rides in succession.  Knowing it unlikely that Lord Maglor’s temper would improve during the feasting time I found myself regretting we would not be joined by the twin lords who would have provided some leavening.  The absence of Lord Caranthir was less regrettable as no-one would count on his presence to prevent family arguments.  

We parted politely.  With so much else lost it is petty to regret that the great reverse has led to Lord Maglor being permanently at Himring, but it does nothing to make the mood easier.

~~~

The Feast was much needed.  Enough time has passed since the great reverse that the remembrance is no longer a dark cloud on the spirits, at least for mortals; but still the presence of war seems nearer, the mood at Himring darker, than in the days when I first came here from the south.  Perhaps that is only an old man talking, but certainly both peoples thronged to the gathering, eager to forget the wars awhile.

The Strangers are masters of light, although I have never known one who feared the dark, and the light in the High Hall was rich and golden.  Mead and wines from the south flowed freely, although some of my kindred preferred their ale, and there was no shortage of meat and pastry.  Their feasts, however, are not for the belly alone; there was much song and music, dancing, laughter and re-telling of tales.  A hall full Elves singing in harmony is not to be forgotten, it almost makes me understand that odd tale that the world was created by a song.  By long custom the songs and tales at the Midwinter feast are of good cheer, it is a time to look forward and to hope.

It was the third evening when Lord Maglor took the harp.  No, in fact he had taken it on the first two evenings also, but only for a brief light song, the third evening was the time that mattered.  I had heard him sing many times, and what they say of him is not too great praise, indeed it falls short as all words must.  A singer to draw the stars from the skies and turn back the moon in its course, a singer to make stones dance and streams stand still, despair laugh for joy and gladness weep like rain.  Not that he unleashed his full power every time he sang, that third night was the first time that Midwinter.

He sang in the High Tongue, as he always does which makes his power to move Men the more remarkable.  Few of us have mastered more of that tongue than a few words and commonly used phrases, such as war cries, and in that I am no different.  Yet what he sang was a lament as plainly as the night is dark.  The grief wailed in the strings and wept in words beyond my understanding, and through my tears I saw the whole hall was weeping, Men and Elves alike, weeping silently, some with faces hidden by a cloak fold, or buried in their hands or arms.  Erestor, the castellan, seemed completely overwhelmed, nor was he the only one among the elf kind.  Recalling the scene now it seems to me that the ones we call Flame-eyed, who have dwelt in the West, made up the greatest part of those who had abandoned themselves completely to grief, yet in light of how deeply moved my own senses were I cannot swear my memory is true.

After the song ended, as the nameless mourning at last released its spell, my eyes cleared enough to see the only one who seemed unmoved.  Maedhros sat upright and tearless in his accustomed place at the high table, only his face was locked in an intense stillness which showed to one who had dwelt in Himring many years how hard he had bitten down to hide all feeling.  He sat with his right elbow resting on the table, forearm upraised so the light fell on the marvellously worked copper sheath that covered it almost entirely.  With the copper circlet on his russet hair he looked every bit the King of the West March his followers call him.

“Remarkable as always,” he said in the cool even tone that spoke of steel control.  “Could do with a little taughtening in the central section still, you are capable of better rhythms.”

Maglor’s expression hardened and as they met each other’s eyes it seemed the winter outside entered the room.  In that moment they looked very much alike, and no fool would have mistaken either of them for young.

“You take a pride in it, brother, do you not,” Maglor said at last in a tone smooth as gold.  “You think you are the better that old loyalties, true duties, have been ripped from you and burned to cinders.”

Maedhros’s voice was cold as snow upon the high peaks, “If to spellcraft tears at time of festival is loyalty, Maglor, then I will not disagree.”  Spellcraft was close to being insult, the word was not used of things natural.  “Well, tears it must be for this night.  Bron, give us a song of your people.”

The young harper thus commanded was one of the followers of Bor only lately taken service with Lord Maglor.  It seemed to me hard to give him such a command and I wondered if he would be able to obey, but it seemed he took it with pride, as a young brave might accept the most dangerous post in battle.  I doubt if any in the hall paid much heed to his song though.

The next day I cornered Castellan Erestor.  Although he is one of the Flame-eyed who have dwelt in the West he seems less far removed from our kind than many Elves.

“What,” I said “was that about?  What was that song?”

“The song?”  said Erestor.  He seemed to consider for a long time.  I waited.  Elves cannot be rushed.  “The song was a lament for their father.  For Fëanor.”

“For Fëanor?”  I had heard tales, but only fragments.  Fëanor was dead before the first Men came to Beleriand from the east.  Maedhros speaks of him very rarely, and then in the calm tone he might use for a passing acquaintance, dead long ago.  “A lament was a poor choice for a feast, but is that all?”

“No,” said Erestor.  “The lament praised his skill, and his courage against the creatures of Morgoth, but it praised also his steadfastness in upholding what was due to him, his intolerance of weakness or those that followed with half a heart.”

“I begin to see, I think.  That could seem reproach to his brother, for letting the kingship pass from their house.”  I knew that much of their history.  

“It was a more than reproach, and not for the first time.  Lord Maglor has seldom agreed with his brother’s choices.”

“Yet he remains at Himring.”

“Whilst Lothlann is in enemy hands he will remain, I think.”  A mortal would probably have sighed at this point.  “You do not need to be told it makes matters difficult, Hallach.  At least when all the brothers are present Maglor and Celegorm spend half their time quarrelling with one another.”

After we had parted I spent some time thinking over this, and all the other things known of the king and his next brother.  I had come to Himring, following the tradition of my house, with a head full of tales.  Not all were reliable, or true at all, and of those which were true I knew only a small part.  But I had heard truly that Maglor the Singer was of all the East lords the most likely to be found riding or fighting with his brother Maedhros Left-hand.  I had thought that meant they must be close friends; it is more like the old saying ‘keep your enemy close in sight.’

True, that is not entirely fair, but the years have shown me Elves are not as unlike us as the first meetings make all Men think, so it should not have surprised me that where brothers are closest in age the divisions are bitterest.  So it is with myself and my nearest brother, although we are brothers still and would not hesitate to unite against any outside challenge.  How far this ran true with the Elf lords is hard to say, certainly the divisions between them made my own with my brother seem nothing at all.  I knew at least that Lord Maglor did not spend time with his brother Maedhros for the pleasure of shared company.

~~~

Two days later they walked in while I was listing the new recruits from my southern kindred in one of the summit chambers, one with walls painted so you seem to look out on scenes of moonlight.  It was still being made when I first came here, and I recall my surprise to see the Lord of Himring himself working on one of the painted scenes, completing the figure of an owl with the lightest of brush strokes.  He laughed at my expression and told me, “The need to create is never far from any Noldo.  I cannot claim my skill is remarkable, but it suffices.”  

Between the work and my hardness of hearing I was not aware of their approach until they had already entered.  As a young man I would have been abashed and slipped away, but being no longer young stayed at the table.  Since they were arguing in the High Tongue it was impossible to tell what they were saying in any case.

Lord Maglor does not shout.  Family meetings have been known to make the castle walls shake, but most of the yelling is done by Celegorm and Caranthir, although Maedhros can raise his voice loud enough when he wishes.  Maglor makes his arguments with level quiet.  It does not do him any good: he never wins.  Although there is nothing at all amusing about the lord of Lothlann in his moods of cold attack, he does make me think at times at times of a pair of young dogs I once owned.  The smaller of the two would attack the other over and over, without any warning; he never won the battles but he kept it up in the constant hope that one day he would win after all.

Whilst my mind had been running on that as my mind often runs on these days, the quarrel seemed to be reaching some kind of high point.  I have seen Maglor in battle and his face as he skewered the orcs of the enemy had not seemed any less pleasant.  I could not understand the words he was using, but took their meaning as clearly as the meaning of his lament in the great hall.  Maedhros’s answer was short and very ugly.  Again I could not understand the words, nor I am sure did Maglor, but that was unneeded.  

Elves do not have curse words.  The need for them is something they seem to have discovered only in these lands.  Most of those who feel that need use words they have learned from us.  I have heard Lord Curufin use the dwarf tongue at times, although with that speech it is possible that what sounds like a curse may be merely ‘Good Morning.’  I have never heard Maedhros use mannish curse words, nor have I ever known him lose control.  He had not used the Black Speech lightly.

I looked at Maglor and felt sure he had been shaken although he tried to cover it.  Maedhros took advantage to follow through with two or three short, cold sentences in the High Tongue.  Maglor’s reply was sharp, but he sounded wrong-footed, and after a brief, savage final exchange he flung out of the room.

Maedhros did not attempt to ignore my presence, instead he took a flagon and poured half a cup of wine for me and some into a second cup for himself.

“I would not have chosen for you to hear that, Hallach, but I do not suppose it surprised you.”

“I cannot say I understood what passed, my lord,”

“You may not have known the words, but you understood enough.”

Even Elves, even the Flame-eyed, have been known to speak of something unsettling about the presence of Maedhros of the East March.  It is not the same quality possessed by his brother; perhaps it is not so much any quality that differs from others of his kind as that he possesses their qualities more intensely, or that there is in him less of a barrier between the world and the thing Elves call the spirit.  There is a force about most of the Flame-eyed like a high wind or a river in spate, but with Maedhros it is like facing into the wind directly instead of being in the lee of a wall, or seeing a flame that is naked rather than one held in a horn lantern.  

I have served him most of my life and followed him into battle even when none thought that we could win.  And the old, I have learned, do not feel awe easily “He has never forgiven you for yielding the kingdom,” I said.

“That is part of it, although we were not on the most easy of terms before.”  His tone was matter-of-fact.  “Maglor would not even like to be king.  He is like our father in that way, the duties of kingship would take time from the works where his heart truly lies, and he would resent that.  No, the injury is to his pride and there is small healing there.”

He drained the cup.  “There was a time,” he said, “when fighting with my brothers was invigorating.  Like a day’s hard riding or a successful skirmish.  Now it grows wearisome, the more so because I fear for them.  They may lose us the war yet.”

We are used to thinking of the Strangers as changeless, and as my limbs ache more and more and my hearing fails I cannot but envy them, ever young as they are, forever straight of back and free in movement.  It does not do to dwell on the envy, some of my kin have been eaten up with bitterness as they grow older and that does no good to anyone.  I have looked at them and have seen only the constants, now for the first time I wondered if there have been changes.  Lord Maglor was never on friendly terms with his brother; I could not say if there have been changes beyond what would be expected from his being so continually at Himring.  Maedhros the king, has he changed?  Am I right to think there are more times of cold control, such as he showed his brother in the hall?

“Perhaps we should retake Lothlann before Thargelion,” I said.  The plans for recapture of the lost lands are still in an early stage and known only to a few, it had not been settled which lands to retake first.  

Maedhros laughed, with genuine amusement.  “No, strategy had better not be determined by which of my brothers is most annoying at present, tempting though it is.  Which is taken first must depend on the Naugrim; we will need their aid to retake Thargelion.  If I cannot convince them to give it until we can show them victories then we must retake Lothlann first, but it would be easier to take Lothlann if we already have Thargelion.”  His voice took on a wry tone as he added, “Whichever we take first Maglor and Caranthir will quarrel violently.”

Whichever we took would be a hard campaign, with Dorthonion in enemy hands.  He spoke as if there was no doubt of victory, but it is the task of a leader to show confidence.  

“It must be soon, with or without the Naugrim” he went on “We cannot afford to leave Morgoth with the upper hand for long.  I will go to Belegost.”  Although he still spoke calmly I recalled that we cannot expect Angband to rest quiet now the Siege is broken.  Himring is strong, but Angband is stronger and the alliance among the elf-kind is vulnerable.  For the first time I was glad of my mortal age, and the thought that I would most likely not see what lay ahead.  He would see it.

“I will fetch the latest maps, and Castellan Erestor if he can be found,” I said, “we can work on possible plans for a while.”  Inwardly I resigned myself to loss of sleep, no elf ever remembers how much more of it we need.

The maps are kept in a chamber painted as a glade in springtime.  I lingered for a while after I had found the ones wanted, and hoped that when spring came indeed it would bring promise of the victories that all within these walls would need.

Endnote: Just to say there is canon evidence (admittedly slight) for Maedhros being styled king, and also for the retaking of Lothlann and Thargelion

Source: http://clotho123.tripod.com/mainlist1/winter.htm

#maedhros #maglor #himring #silmarillion