#in the very first volumes he got submerged by questions about him and he was like “why do you guys love him so much” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starsuh · 4 years

Text

if fwb!jaemin can’t have you for forever then you can at least get tattoos together

featuring. na jaemin x reader

genre. fluff | wholesome fwb!au | very slight angst undertones

wc. 1.2k

warnings. none.

soundtrack. tattoos togethers by lauv.

Spontaneity was one of the many characteristics of Na Jaemin that had drawn you to him. From when he had first suggested being friends with benefits after you had both gone through bad breakups last year to showing up at your doorstep earlier that day to go on a post-exams trip to the beach.

You still would’ve never expected this, however.

He grabbed your hand, giddily bouncing on the backs of his feet as he turned to you to say: "Let's get tattoos.”

The crowd flowed down the boardwalk the same way the Han River would always meet its banks, with you parting its waves as you stood with a shocked countenance. Fishermen and tourists alike grumbled as they bypassed your still figure, staring at the grinning man with a look of utter perplexity.

"Let's get what?" Your brows furrowed. You must've misheard him, surely. 'Let's get tacos' sounded more likely coming from the man who could stand in the face of any type of seriousness and laugh. Tattoos were meant to last forever, something that people with your type of friendship never had.

"Let's get tattoos together," the corners of his lips upturned, pulling your interlocked hands upwards. "So we can remember this."

Jaemin had an inner happiness so independent of the outside world that his smiles burst from within rather than of masked pretenses worn in obligation. Often times, you found yourself almost envying his nature until you found it directed towards you.

You could only laugh, allowing the boy to pull you beside him and continue your path across the boardwalk. You leaned forward to better assess his expression. “For real?”

With the afternoon light reflecting on his clear skin, he looked like molten gold and the promise of happier days. His eyes twinkling as he looked down at you looking up at him. His other hand reached up to pat your head to which you ducked away with a scoff, resuming your pace slightly behind him. You hid your smile with a cough.

He tugged you closer to the shore, away from the crowd. Kicking off your sandals, your feet dug into the warm embrace of the earth. Jaemin followed suit.

"Yeah," he said. "We could get matching crab tats to commemorate the time we thought we had syphilis."

"Oh my god, for the last time, crabs aren’t-“

"Anyways!" He clapped his hands. "It's a cute idea, right? You're welcome."

"Getting that permanently etched into my skin sounds like I'm asking for bad luck," you paused. "Or asking for actual crabs."

"Listen," Jaemin placed his hands on your shoulders, catching your gaze with a countenance so serious that it caught you off guard. "Whether it's ocean crabs, STI crabs, or crab tattoos, as long as it’s with you I’d be fine with any of them."

You could see the wind-stirred shores in his eyes. If you were braver, you thought, you’d submerge yourself upon their depths completely. All else but him would be but one blur, and you’d find yourself falling so deeply in love with the feeling that you’d choose to stay there, with the sands and waters, no matter what, even if such feelings weren’t meant to be had for the boy with shining eyes and a smile brighter than the sun.

But, it was only a joke. Such an outcome could only be made in jest, in the universe where the two of you existed on parallel lines, close but never intersecting. So you laughed. Laughed and shoved him away, tumbling onto heaps in the sand at the absurdity of it all. The lingering seriousness in his eyes, however, would remain in the back of your mind as you contemplated the unexpected request.

Like clockwork, he tucked himself behind you; legs beside your hips and arms around your waist. A soft kiss was placed against your neck, not out of want but out of simple reassurance. You supposed there were some things in life that would never numb or dull, his warmth one of them.

“Are you actually serious,” your brow raised. “About the tattoo thing?”

“Yeah,” he hid his face where your shoulder met your neck. “Why not get a tattoo with a person who means a lot me, you know?"

“But why?” The unsaid question rung in the sudden silence. ‘Why want permanence for something temporary?’ After all, the unspoken rules of being friends with benefits was that it would end when either, one, feelings got involved or two, when one finally found someone they wanted to be serious with.

“Because, I love…”

He sighed, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, though he didn’t need to. Jaemin didn’t kiss like how books described and movies portrayed. He kissed like he was telling a story; the one of you and him, on a beach, far away from the rest of the world. It was the promise of a new reality. Of heartache and passion. Friends didn’t kiss like this, you thought, and a softer voice in the back of your head whispered back: nor do friends with benefits.

You hovered soundlessly against his lips afterwards, simply feeling each other's presence. This was intimacy— the revelation that you could be the truest form of your whole being and not fear judgement or reprisal. He had always been that person to you, but you had never realized until now, with his hands tightly grasped around yours as if he feared that at any moment you might let go.

“I know that we might not last forever but you don’t understand how badly I want us to,” his secret was whispered against your lips and caught by the wind. “I think the thing I’m most afraid of is forgetting. Forgetting our memories and everything you've made me feel, because I don't think I understood what moments were worth making memories of until I met you."

You kissed him once more like a silent prayer to any god who could hear you that the next words to leave your lips wouldn’t end in regret. “Fuck it, let’s do it.”

He tilted his head in question. “What?”

“Let’s get tattoos.”

And that's how you found yourselves at the tattoo parlor three hours later, admiring the small bandages on both of your left wrists. You ended up getting the crab tattoos much to Jaemin’s happiness. They were smaller than a thumbnail and laid in the center of your upper wrists like an oath that you found yourself not minding.

Yours was done first and you loved it before you even saw it. It was simple and inked with black but you didn't need more than simple, not when someone as thoughtful and kind as Jaemin existed in your universe and wanted to stay in it.

When Jaemin’s was done, he had immediately barreled towards you and attacked you with a tight hug, twirling you around and off your feet. You laughed without care for volume or pitch as you playfully smacked his shoulder to put you down.

He leaned his forehead against yours with what could only be described as a love-struck grin (you didn’t understand how you hadn’t seen it sooner). “Hypothetically, what would you say if I asked you out on a proper date?”

You smiled and reconnected your hands with his. “As long as we don’t order crabs or get more tattoos on it, then I hypothetically might just say yes.”

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lucidpantone · 3 years

Text

Preview: The three sided king

Yes I am still writing this fic and this chapter is almost done. Its super long chapter but here is a preview.

Incase you need to a recap of where we left off: Published Chapters

Aquarias 1470

He is standing on the axis.

Barely visible between the white florets.

It’s soothing on the inside.

Like a concentrated dosage of vitamins and minerals.

The walls surrounding him are lacquered in a mint hue. Cool and expressive, a pigment rumored to remove free radicals from his interior.

The south wing of the palace seemed to suffice.

The Duke’s quarters were generous and ample. For all the Duke’s pomp and circumstance he actually required very little to live comfortably. He had only one request and that his chamber be adorned with white flowers at all times to quench his need to bring beauty to life via his skills on parchment.

Drawing was the only therapy that would help elucidate the Duke’s mind. It would bend time and submerge his troubled thoughts into a state of calm and as he sat in his quarters trying to unravel the enigma that caught him off guard; time got lost like a billow in a breeze and before he knew it a portrait of the prince of swords was looking back at him. Within seconds after laying eyes on the prince he had become the antioxidant for the duke’s deteriorating soul; an unforeseen remedy wrapped up in a beautiful creature with hickory ringlets that fell perfectly past his shoulders and a chocolate gaze complimented by perfectly placed laugh lines.

It’s hard to forget the moment he laid eyes on him. The smell of rain had just smacked him across the chest as he rushed up the stairs to the rotunda. The rate at which the heavens spilled their tears onto the palace courtyard matched the virago of the many scorned women Sander had left behind. As Sander greeted the Duke of Burgundy and his wife the rain began to whip around like a serpent dancing to a siren’s song and thunderclaps began to roll tide across the grey sky.A lightning fork lit up their drop back like an ominous foretelling of their preordained future but in that moment he first caught a glimpse of him and his center of gravity shifted.

His bride-to-be Mary of Burgundy had stepped forward to curtsy for her lord, revealing the prince hidden by her side. Sander instantly fixated on him. The prince had locked his gaze onto the ground. Focusing on something Sander could not see. Sander was in dire need to see every inch of his chiseled features. Sander was discreet in trying to move his gaze from Mary to the prince but he was suddenly nervy and his suave demeanor broke for a matter of seconds when he fumbled out a high pitch overly zealous greeting, "The Prince of Swords. It's nice to make your acquaintance".

The prince broke thought and looked up at Sander with a curious expression. The prince was nothing like Sander imagined him to be. He was a living cypher. A being in need of decoding. A walking enigma. His features were tender and his eyes warm but also hard edged. The initial flicker of warmth the prince had radiated seconds before was quickly replaced by a glacial facade. The prince was cool and collected, beautiful but stone like but one thing was certain the Prince of swords was no brut he was a man capable of dancing on a knife's edge, conquering a nation, riding into battle and becoming a champion. He was much more compact than Sander had expected but in possession of a noticeably stealthy physique. Sander and the prince both got lost in each other’s gaze for a prolonged second as they shook hands when the prince’s father, the Duke of Burgundy, broke the occasion.

“Here, here. I see you have met my son, the prince of swords”

Sander threw the prince a soft smile before breaking his gaze and looking towards the fast approaching Duke Of Burgundy.

“Yes, yes I have my lord”

“Be careful with that one. I know he doesn’t look like much but blink too slow and he’ll have the dagger of Burgundy at your throat.”

As the Duke of Burgundy positioned himself horizontally to Sander’s right shoulder he preemptively began to move Sander towards the long line of courtiers waiting to introduce themselves to him with their high born titles.

Sander took two steps forward alongside the Duke but then paused and quickly turned back and headed back to prince.

It was practically a whisper, the first of many that they would exchange as Sander cloaked their exchange with a secondary handshake and said softly.

“Sander, by the way”

Robbe’s eyes grew wide and his mouth opened a bit in shock as he knew it was uncommon for Duke’s of Sander status to exchange such pleasantries amongst those unknown to their court but he reacted quickly as to not offend the Duke and matched his lords volume.

“Robbe” he sighed out softly.

Sander smiled and in that split second he saw it again. The warmth Robbe had been hiding from the rest of the world.

Sander snapped out of his memories and was back in his quarters surrounded by the mint hues as he heard his chambers doors being pried open.

He quickly stood up off his chair and discarded his parchment and charcoal on it.

As he walked towards the door he recognized the voice on the other side.

Charles’s voice was animating through the chamber doors as rambunctious and cavalier as always as he strolled into Sander’s hideaway.

“My lord---” Charles interrupted Sander with a palm up salute.

“I told you to call me Senne. That’s what my family calls me and you're soon to be family right?”

Sander threw Senne a half baked smile as validation and proceeded to appease his request.

“Of course, Senne.”

Senne clapped his hands together enthusiastically signaling his entourage to show Sander what he came here for.

“Ahhhh… I brought you something for tonight”, Senne called over one of his servants.

The servant laid down a strange looking object on Sander’s bed. As Sander examined it he found it quite a peculiar gift.

“A mask?” Sander questioned wiping all offense from his tone.

“Yes, You’ll be the bull tonight for our masked ball to celebrate your addition to our family.”

Senne’s tone ranged from devilish to persuasive, mercurial to Insidious but Sander knew these overt insults were merely a test of wit and dominance.

To appease the Burgundian duke Sander played coy and shot him a thankful smile and opened his arms wide as he folded them in front of himself and curtsied towards the duke and spoke clearly.

“My lord if you wish me to be the bull. Then the bull I shall be.”

“Good. I think it suits you. Makes you stand out and we wouldn’t want anyone to miss you.” Sander didn’t miss the slight dose of passive aggression laced all over Senne's voice.

“I’ll leave you one of my servants to help you get ready” Sander noted that a mid sized male stepped forward from Senne’s kings guard with large fluffy curls adorning the top of his head.

“Thank you” Sander stated.

Senne and his court began to exit the mint hue room when Senne turned around like he just remembered what he actually came to Sander’s quarters for, “Oh before I forget…. don’t indulge too much on the festivities tonight. I arranged for the Prince to show you around the grounds in the early morning”.

Sander’s ears perked up at the sheer mention of the Prince.

“I’ll be sure to behave myself sire” Sander gives Senne a light nod as Senne turns and heads toward the exit once again.

“My lord would you like help getting dressed for tonight?” Senne’s kingsmen interrupts Sander’s thoughts.

“Yes, of course. I am sorry I didn’t catch your name….”

“Younes, my lord”

“Younes, please call me Sander” Younes gave Sander a soft smile in agreement.

“You should start getting ready Sander. The masquerade ball has been planned for weeks and it's the highlight of the season. Your betrothed has been planning her outfits since it was announced.”

Oh great Sander thinks not only has he been given short notice but now he also needs to pass some predetermined litmus test that the Burgundians have surely been cooking up for him.

He’ll just rely on his bravado and dynamism to survive the occasion.

“So you don’t know what my betrothed will be wearing tonight?”

Younes gently puts his right hand over his heart and softly whispers, “I’ve been sworn to secrecy”.

Sander lets out a soft giggle.

“Ok understandable. Wouldn’t want you to break any pacts.”

“What about the Prince? Do you know what he’ll be wearing?”

“Oh of course but everyone knows that” Younes reassures.

“He’ll be the lion” Younes states matter-of-factly.

“The Prince is always the lion”

“And why is that?” Sander asks curiously.

“Because the prince has never encountered prey he couldn’t kill.There’s a reason they call him the Prince Of Swords…..Don’t let your guard down or he’ll be the death of you.”

----

The darken corridors felt like a labyrinth.

A maze of endless entry and exit points on a journey to nowhere.

The palace was a mere whirlpool of decor that captured the zeitgeist of the time.

Tapestries adorning floor to ceiling windows.

Polished stone staircases.

Portraits of past rulers and the coat of arms of the burgundian nation stapled across every possible crevice of available wall space.

Sander felt like some sort of heretic. He didn’t belong amongst these people. He gave no credence to their cause. If anything he was the antistasis to their campaign secretly lobbying for their demise and permanently obtuse to the burgundian struggle. He knew there was no permanence to this betrothal. He would never allow himself to wed a kin of the three lions. This agreement was merely for show; a pit stop till he got back to his real life.

He sauntered down the palace halls with little regard to their importance, going out of his way to belittle all the objects the burgundians treasured like some sort of ignorant dilettante.

Sander knew he merely had to survive these grasslands. Deem himself a poacher within this big cat habitat. Become merciless and when an opening presents itself, drive an arrow through the heart of a lion but first he would need to learn how not to become the prey.

He came out of nowhere.

Hidden by the cover of night.

He was observing him from the end of the long hallway. The lion standing at ready. Taking him in. He wore a burnt orange colored cape with hand etched gold trimming. His chocolate orbs the color of an afternoon sunset. His face adorning the face of a leader of the pack.

Sander just stared at him.

Curious.

Drawn in.

His feet pick up pace towards him. Completely oblivious to the fact that he himself is drench in a disguise. For tonight he is but nothing but a bull; temperamental and sinister. A green eyed monster ready to crash land on his own personal matador.

He almost reaches him and then the lion looks out to some unknown voice down the hall and runs towards it, getting lost in the sea of creatures in the throws of their festivities inside the grande ballroom.

The bull lets his instinct guide him and blurs into the terrain of blushing birds, bunny rabbits, deers and wolves all dancing in unison with one another under the twinkle of the ballroom’s candlelight incandescents.

For one night only mere mortals have morphed into beast, hounds and the feather habitants of a wild life Archipelago. The bull weaves his way around a pack of wolves, passes a litter of kittens when he suddenly feels a serpent wrap its scaly surface behind his neck and tug him in their direction.

“There you are?” The Marchioness Deruwe spoke in a possessive tone.

Sander flung his head in a 90 degree turn towards her direction.

The Marchioness Deruwe was a beautiful creature. That was not something that was ever up for debate but she was conniving and a master of the game. She maneuvered courts to her will. Destroying young maiden’s reputations on a whim. Her prowess for dismantling those who opposed her was so infamous it travelled with her across the channel to the Burgundian realm. She was a flower of the Yorkist faction. Her father had married her off to a French Marquess at the tender age of 16. Most young English maiden’s would have been intimidated to enter the French courts so unestablished but the Marchioness had spent her entire life bossing her pack of blonde hair, blue eyed hyenas around every Yorkish social event. To the Marchioness getting in the good graces of King Lucas and Queen Daphne was nothing more than sport. Another challenge to show off her skill set. It took no more than a season until she was trotting around the French palace like she owned the place. She worked her angle to its utmost potential, securing her husband the Marquess Deruwe a role as official acting liaison to the French king throughout the Burgundy nation and so here she stood exactly where Sander expected her.

Regal, drenched in beauty, playing her role. Moving puzzle pieces around. Advising young courtiers who were on the hunt for some prey and willing to do anything to climb up the social ladder to land themselves a big fish.

“My lady”

Sander slightly bowed in her direction as she placed her hand out to be kissed by Sander’s lips.

“My lord”

She said in giddy almost pantomime fashion.

It was strange for Sander to have the Marchioness validate his presence. For so long she had only toyed with him. Wound him up and dropped him like he was some rudimentary tool the Marchioness had outgrown and had no use for anymore. He hated to admit it to himself but she had taught him how to love. To love only for gluttony, to never share or truly give yourself to another but to merely take and when all resources had been depleted to move on to the next bigger and better thing. Sander had experienced this first hand as a young adolescent who lost himself in the Marchioness' blonde locks and lean figure and late nights falling asleep on her bosom but as intense as their “love” was, Sander just became another victim of her wicked game. She gorged and binged herself on his love mosaic, his unrelenting joyful spirit that illuminated a room like a moonbeam in the middle of a forest but once the affair was all over he was left a mere shell of himself. She had taken everything from him. Sander felt he had no other options but to resign himself to a monastic order or to become an agent of this dark market where love was a tool for savagery, negotiation, lust and pure greed. Sander had turned himself from a victim to a lothario. Only playing the game of love for sheer sport just to quench his blood lust.

Sander lost track of time and didn’t even realize how long he had been standing in front of the Marchioness spellbound by her presence when his axis shifted and he saw the lion surrounded by his pack. He snapped into animation and headed towards the lion passing a hoard of mice, a stallion and his mare.

The troop of big cats all turn towards the bulls' direction as he comes to a halt mere feet away from their king. The lion walks forward to meet the bull and as they close the distance and stand mere inches from one another about to break out of this wild life sanctuary and into the human realm the ballroom goes dark.

A sudden cacophony of screams and squeals rumbles through the ballroom.

“Who do you want to be tonight?” The Duke of Burgundy asks the wildlife in a demanding tone.

“Do you want to be a predator?”

“Or the prey? …...Tonight ladies and gentleman or should I say inhabitants of the animal kingdom. Tonight there are no rules. You can be who you want to be under the guise of moonlight.”

“If you dare not play our game and you absolutely must light your way through tonight's festivities then take one of the candles that the servants are providing but if you're brave and truly want to get lost in the darkness then the castle is your playground for one night and there is only one rule,what happens in the darkness stays in the darkness”.

The roar of the wildstock animates through the ballroom and orbs of light begin to appear in front of masked beast, birds and prey.

A gothic melody begins to fill the room as the musical entertainment for the evening amplifies through all corners of the palace.

The orbs begin to make a circular formation and the heat of the flames subdues the wild life.

The candle flames waltz back and forth.

And the hot blooded creatures move in the shape of a half crescent moon.

More orbs begin to light the room and the moon phases begin to decorate the floor as they do the night sky.

The green monster suddenly feels a tug of his wrist as gravity and his heart desire walk towards the moon phases and the lion and the bull head towards the dancing troop standing side by side, when the lion does a sudden about face and is standing directly in front of the bull.

“Dance with me?” the lion asked in a meek tone. One anticipating a denial.

“I don’t wish to embarasses you my prince but one is not a dancer”

The bull notices the lion's chocolate gaze scan his person when a sickly sweet tone comes out lightly encouraging the bull.

“Just follow along. I promise I won’t lead you astray. Just trust me.”

The lion lifts both his palms to his shoulder height facing the bull and the bull matches his movement.

The lion settles his palms against the bulls as they stand two ready pilgrims; palm to palm in holy palmers' kiss.

As the gothic chimes began to pick up pace the lion demo’s a gentleman’s curtsy which the bull mirrored. They retouch palms but this time they point their hands towards the sky and as the bull and the lion brought them down so did each pair of courtiers in the ballroom and took their position to begin the waltz.

The lion and the bull stand shoulder to shoulder vertically, each positioning themselves to face opposite sides of the ballroom but completely interlocked via one's right arm into the other’s left.

“You ready?” The music begins to speed up.

“NO” Sander chuckles out embarrassed.

“Did I mention I am really really bad at this…” he admits with a lack of confidence that is foreign to him.

“Well I think it’s fate then because I’m really good at this” Robbe shoots Sander a wink.

The pair of gentlemen begin swaying in a whimsical harmonic intonation. Fluted skirts twirled around them under the incandescent flicker of limelight radiating around the ballroom.

Robbe’s mood becomes rather chipper as an uptempo beat begins to sound around the room and an uncontrollable laugh begins bubbling up to the surface. Sensing he has the upper hand, Robbe is suddenly full of gumption and can’t help but tease the Duke.

“You really are bad at this, aren’t you?”

Sander is moving his limbs around aimlessly with a lack of grace that you could mistake him for a duck failing to take flight.

All feathers, no grace.

“Stop laughing at me” Sander demands in a playful tone.

Shooting him a makaveli smile. Robbe begins to untie his connected arm and gently grab Sander’s hand to guide it towards the heavens emulating a wedding’s arch.

“Tsk, tsk ……. Come on my duke go on” Robbe signals to Sander to go under the arch suggesting that he was about to twirl Sander mid dance.

Sander stalls for a second but as Robbe pulls on his arm he follows his direction.

“You’re enjoying torturing me too much my prince”

Sander knows that to the rest of the courtiers he must look clumsy and foolish but in that moment he couldn’t care less. The prince stirs an unfamiliar feeling within Sander. He feels weightless, airy and unencumbered. He knows this feeling is what Bernard would call fun or what he was adamant Sander was hesitant to experience in life, which was a carefree playdate. One without an agenda, an individual he could let go with and maybe one day even feel compelled to show his true nature too. The real Sander, the one he hid from the world.

Now that Sander had let Robbe have a little fun with him. It was time he matched the prince at his game.

Sander tugs on Robbe’s arm and pulls him towards him. They are standing so close together that Sander can feel the hot breath of royalty when Robbe doth protest to Sander hand gripping his slim waist.

Sander leans in towards the side of Robbe’s face and whispers lightly.

“Ready?”

“What?” Robbe replies with an inquisitive squint adorning his eyes.

“We're not going to stay here all evening are we? The night is young...”

“Sander I can’t lea---”

“On the count of 3” Sander reenforces.

“But my fiance is waiting…..” Robbe whispers, trailing off in a barely audible volume towards the end.

“3”

Before Robbe can fight the instinct to relent. Sander is rushing him out of the ballroom, leaving the prideland behind. Emergency evacuating from the serengeti and rushing down a dark corridor camouflaged by the night sky.

Before they both know it they have reached the rotunda the place where Robbe’s first laid eyes on Sander under a lightning painted sky that only served to illuminate Sander’s chiseled face; and though Robbe was lost for words in this moment he would look back at their first meeting and recall that even amongst the torrential downpour and screams of mother nature there was no denying that Robbe always knew that Sander would be the one.

____________________

“Have you lost yourself in lunacy?”

Robbe turned to Sander, sporting a sour expression.

“I didn’t think you would lack imagination my prince”

“I don’t” Robbe spoke sternly, surprised at Sander’s use of his formal title.

“Oh no? Seems like you're questioning my intentions.”

“Is the prince of swords fearful he will be led astray?”

Both men stood silent staring at one another. Calculating their next decision as if the weight of a nation depended on it.

For Sander, Robbe had the properties of a seductive paramour. He knew the prince was promised to another and that whatever he sought from him would be nothing more than a diliance by night. A transaction that could only take place in the cloak of darkness but he didn’t care. When he was in his presence he felt displaced, rocking on the edge of an axis, chemically imbalanced, filled to the brim with potency.

For Robbe, Sander was the last drink of the night he should have walked away from. The moment you recall the next morning that tipped you over the edge. He was a deadly sin manifested in a man. Sander was Robbe’s last everclear.

Both men hear the squabbles of hyenas approaching their territory and on a lion’s instinct Robbe grabs Sander’s hand and leads him down the rotunda stairs.

“Come on Sander, someone will see us”

They escape through the courtyard and away from the herd.

Hand in hand.

Together.

In alliance.

The palace is pitch black, almost frightening but Robbe navigates the route with such gravitas, purpose, unwavered and committed towards his sin. The men untether themselves from their role play. They throw their masks aside and run into the night together in their purest forms.

Robbe heads towards refuge, towards the high garden walls where they can hide themselves deep in the labyrinthine green. A garden brew of emerald tinted greenery, shamrock leaves and rainbow colored rose bushes.

“Where are we going?” Sander finally protests and as Robbe lets go of Sander’s hand he takes stock of his surroundings.

“Woah”

Sander is in awe of this grassy fortress. The walls are high so much so that they feel like they are collapsing in on themselves and submerging the twosome in a foggy condensation.

Sander shivers.

“Fock, it's cold”

“Come now” Robbe nods his head signaling Sander to follow him deeper into this thorny environment.

“Where are we going?” Sander asks tentatively. A tad suspicious of Robbe but also certain that his fellow journeymen knows the way.

“It’s a surprise”

“Is this the point of the story where I suddenly go missing?”

“What?” Robbe looks at Sander with a puzzled look.

“Am joking….. But don’t think I don’t know about the legends surrounding the lakes and forest here”

Robbe's face loses all its pink hue at the mention of those stories. Sander quickly recognizes his obvious fumble but it was merely an innocuous mention it was not meant to offend or besmirch his name.

“Umm am sorry, nevermind” Sander quickly throws out and starts moving deeper into the seafoam landscape.

“Ok prince, lead the way”

Robbe brushes off the uncomfortable mention and re-engages.

“Ok Duke, on the count of 3” and before Sander even has time to register the count Robbe takes off running deeper into refuge.

___________

Sander is panting by the time he catches up to Robbe.

They moved so fast between the juniper corridors and foggy condensation he isn’t even sure he knows how to get back out of the labyrinth but for now he pushes that thought out of his mind as he stands at the center of this garden universe surrounded by a rainbow colored flower bed.

He inhales and the scent of chrysanthemum, lillie and roses fill his nasal cavity. He licks his top lip and he swears he can taste the pollen in the air.

“It’s my favourite place in the palace”

“It's beautiful” Sander reassures Robbe.

“I planted these flower beds with my mother. It was the only thing that helped when he d-------”

Robbe cuts off the sentence abruptly.

“It took time but eventually they blossomed” He admits softly.

“These white florets here, they are the ones I picked out for your quarters”, Sander’s face instantly lights up with an innocent smirk when he realizes that Robbe picked out the flowers he's been drawing. Because of course he did, they’re beautiful.

Sander and Robbe stroll past bushes of red roses and Sander stops to clip one off the vine as he gently walks back to Robbe and begins to delicately push his hair behind his right ear and places the red rose atop of it.

Robbe just stares at Sander with big eyes and a dreamy gaze anticipating the next move.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?”

Robbe remains silent shaking his head back and forth.

Sander moves closer to Robbe, surrounding him.

Robbe drops his gaze focusing on the rosewood colored lilies beneath him.

He knows the moment is coming. Robbe can feel the heat of Sander breathe, glazing the side of his face moving towards his mouth when deep in the darkness he hears twigs break.

Robbe looks towards the ominous noise and takes one big step away from Sander and a few steps towards the sound.

Sander notices that Robbe suddenly seems flustered, weary and distracted.

“Ummm we should play a game”

“What? Right now? Why?” Sander retorts in a questionable elevated tone.

“Trust me” Robbe pleads with his signature pyrope orbs that guarantee to make Sander weak at the knees.

“Okay” Sanders states in defeat.

“Close your eyes”

Sander squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation almost childlike.

“When I count to three, open your eyes and come find me”

Sanders stands amongst the roses when he hears Robbe yell out “one” a few feet away from him.

A few seconds later he hears Robbe yell out “two” but his voice is more distant.

Lastly he hears him yell out “three” and when he opens his eyes he stands alone amongst the flower bed.

The red rose Sander placed behind Robbe’s ear lays on the ground in front of him. Sander picks it up and looks around.

Suddenly he is frightened.

The garden walls are high and the night is eerily silent.

“Robbe” Sander yells out into the darkness.

But nothing. Sander doesn’t hear any noise or callback.

Sander pops his head into every corridor but everything is so dark and identical looking that he doesn't dare leave the refuge of the rose garden.

He yells out for Robbe again but still nothing.

He waits another twenty minutes but the night is only growing colder and so he makes the call to head back to the palace and ask his hand, Younes to come back with him to search for Robbe in case he got lost or was hurt.

It took Sander many tries of winding corners and dead ends to find his way out of the garden maze. What easily took him and Robbe ten minutes to navigate; took Sander at least an hour to navigate his way out of.

As he reaches the entryway to the palace garden he sees a figure absconding towards the palace in haste, his locomotives appear unruly and he does not resemble Robbe at all from behind but those hickory manes are recognizable from over yonder.

“ROBBE” Sander yells out ferociously. Annoyed but relieved that Robbe was ok.

“Robbe stop” Sander speeds up towards the figure.

He sees the figure turn towards him and it is Robbe but Robbe takes a brief look at Sander with disinterest and continues on his way.

Sander sprints towards him for some sort of explanation about why he just abandoned him like that.

Sander finally catches up to him and as he tugs on his shoulder. He hears Robbe groan in obvious annoyance.

“What do you want?”

“Robbe what the hell you just left without saying anything…… I was worried”

Robbe's face is blank and unnerved.

“OOookay” Robbe rolls his eyes.

Sander shrugs his shoulders signaling for some deeper meaning or some type of closure.

“Ooookay” Sander repeats back to Robbe mimicking his juvenile ambivalence.

They stand in the darkness, frozen, sizing each other up.

“Is that all you needed to say to me my lord?”

Sander is so confused and angry. He feels like a fool and better yet he doesn't really have room to speak freely at least not in view of the palace guards.

In one last attempt Sander cuts in front of Robbe and speaks in a barely audible whisper.

“Robbe I just thought…...well I thought we both understood that we enjoyed one another’s company. I thought we had an understanding tonight.”

Sander boars his gaze straight into Robbe’s chocolate orbs as he lets the last sentence drip out of his mouth.

Robbe’s steps back and lets out a menacing laugh.

“Oh my lord, for an English man you truly are gullible”

“Tonight was just for show. You and I are just foes through arrangement. Nothing less, nothing more. Let us not pretend that you're anything but a visitor here with his own personal agenda. I was simply entertaining you at my fathers bidding. I thought you of all people would understand.”

Sander stood stoic. Not giving Robbe the satisfaction of showing him an inch of emotion.

Every word spewing out of Robbe’s mouth was meant to sting. Worse of all, Sander could tell Robbe was enjoying ridiculing him.

Once Robbe was done humiliating him and blundering the metaphorical knife deep into his chest cavity he wrapped up their exchange with a simple bid farewell.

As Robbe walked into the palace he turned around one last time to remind Sander.

“Get to bed my lord. Tomorrow we go hunting and god knows…. am in need of a good kill”

And with that Robbe disappears into the palace walls.

Sander can feel tears welling up. He is not upset because some boy played him. He just hates looking foolish and being the butt of someone’s joke.”

Sander gets a hold of his senses and storms through the palace towards his quarters.

As he slams his door shut the moonlight illuminates his sitting room and he sees the bouquet of white florets in the center of the room.

A sudden rage takes a hold of him and he grabs the vase and slams it on the ground. The remnants of the broken ceramic lay shattered at Sander’s feet and the white florets destroyed.

Before Sander can react he sees a silhouette in the corner of the room.

“Well well well someone had a bad night”

It’s the Marchioness Deruwe. Sander would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Britt am not in the mood”

“Oh now we are addressing one another with informalities” Britt mockingly points out.

“Leave, right now”

“Now now Sander I come bearing gifts. The Earl of Warwick has sent a message. He has approved and is willing to arrange a marriage to his daughter Isabel”

“What?!?!?!” This was unexpected Sander knew the Earl despised him.

“How is that possible? Edward would never allow me to side with Warwick. He is already suspicious of his dealings with the Lancastrians.”

“He doesn’t have to know. We would arrange your passage back to England in secret and your union would be solidified without Edward knowing.”

“That’s mad. Edward has sent me here with one objective in mind. We need the Burgundian iron to defeat Henry.”

“You and I both know the Burgundians will never give up the iron without getting something more than a simple marriage to Margaret. This is all for laughs. The Burgundians just want to know if they are backing the right horse.”

Sander knows Britt is right. Everyone involved knows that the Burgundians will never give up the iron without a proper incentive.

“Why are you helping me, Britt? You’re a yorkist flower, what do you gain from pushing me onto the side of the Lancastrians?”

“We all have a part to play Sander. I need to hedge my bets and have as many options as possible. My husband is a complete idiot but our money is not everlasting and we all have something to gain from this war.”

Sander shook his head in agreement. It was rare to see Britt be so sincere but her tone was definitive. She had her own secrets and people to protect.

“When you have a response for the Earl, send a note my way. I will make sure it crosses the channel”.

Britt saunters towards the door when Sander can’t help but show his hand.

“The Prince of Swords. What's his game?”

Britt pauses and looks back at Sander puzzled but curious.

“The Prince, don’t underestimate him; he is a great strategist and has the ability to command an army if need be.”

“Does he want to be king like his father?”

“No he does not but his people want him to. They respect him. They speak of his kindness and fairness above all. He also quells the fears of a French invasion; he has been betrothed to the Princess of France since he was a child. The people call their union the great love story. Betrothed since birth and genuinely a love marriage. Nice for some I guess....”

Sander gives Britt an ambivalent chuckle. A love marriage? What a foreign concept for both of them.

“Is that all?” Sander tacks on to the end of the conversation. Egging on Britt’s conniving ways,

“Does he have any secrets?” Sander finally just asks.

“No, he is clean. If you were to ask me to clean. Everyone is hiding something but it seems like the Prince of Swords is perfect.”

“There is no such thing. Everyone has a secret”

“Exactly” Britt agrees.

“Find out whatever the Prince is hiding and you’ll have the iron and maybe even the chance to be king. All you have to do is to get him to trust you and as soon as he does take the iron away from him.”

Sander nods in agreement.

“Play the Prince at his own game” Sander states with venom in his voice and continues.

“In the end.....”

“I only have one goal”

“To make the prince regret he ever met me.”

#wtfock #the three sided king #almost done with this chapter #lmk ur thots

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silence-burns · 4 years

Text

Please Hate Me //part 40

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, smut - please go easy on me, this is my first smut

"Darling, as much as I appreciate your concern, I'm still not dead," Loki mumbled, his head thrown back.

You shushed him, lighting yet another candle and staging it around the bathtub. A shelf in the bathing chamber was full of them, just waiting to be used.

Loki sighed as the flickering flame joined the others like a lone violin bringing an entire orchestra together.

The water was a blessing made of warm touches and muscles slowly relaxing. Whatever oils and foams you added to the bath were clearly a good choice judging by the soft, fresh aroma filling the air. Loki was not sure how long he had spent in the tub, and he cared little in finding out.

Your hands worked wonders on his scalp and he couldn't help a small groan from leaving his lips.

"Someone's enjoying himself," you said into his ear, fingers washing the soap from his neck. The loose robe draped over your shoulders slowly came undone the more you moved. He kept an eye on it from under lowered lashes.

Loki wished you'd join him in the tub.

The air was heavy, and not only because of the steam fogging up the room.

"How could I not?" he asked, craning his neck to look at your kneeling form behind his back.

You put some of the foam on his nose. Loki didn't mind, and even if he did, he did nothing to stop you. He was spread lazily in the huge tub sunk into the polished, tiled floor. He took up much of the space, and looked good doing so, with the thick foam covering most of him, and only certain, oiled parts of his body rising above it like a greek statue half-submerged in the ocean.

Your fingers followed the curved lines of his arm and down to his hand, raising goosebumps in their wake. Loki's chest rose with an uneven breath.

You were glad about his magic working again - Loki spent a lot of time healing the cuts and bruises you'd earned during the day's events. You could certainly get used to having injuries wiped away so easily. And you could certainly get used to having him so close.

The robe's sleeve slid a little further, uncovering some collarbone that Loki wanted nothing more than to taste.

Violet light seeped through the windows and the light breeze from outside playing with the thin curtains. A few yellowish lights passed through them soundlessly, hovering in the air for a moment before disappearing again.

"I wish this peace could last," you said into Loki's shoulder.

"It's not like I enjoy being chased by spiders the size of a cow either. The Edge isn't always so… hostile, though, we just chose a bad time to pay it a visit."

"How many times have you been here?"

"Twice, as a part of my father's court during official visitations. The first time happened when I was a child and had read hundreds of volumes about this place. I wanted absolutely nothing more than to visit its secret treasure trove. It's speculated to contain some truly marvelous things, but no one from the outside has ever seen it in person."

"I think I can see where this is going…"

Loki felt your smile in the crook of his neck, raising goosebumps.

"It didn't take me long to excuse myself from the welcoming feast, but sadly, neither did it take long for Thor to notice my absence. By the time he caught up to me, I had already been halfway through the locks and protection spells, so we both agreed to have just one look inside, just a peek, really."

"Was it worth it?"

Loki's face lit up with the memories. "It was more than worth it, love. I only saw it for a few seconds, but the sheer aura of the collection was enough to take my breath away. The Edge is a space of high magical density, and the things that sometimes grow or appear here are one of a kind. I wish I had seen more, but I only had a few seconds before Thor waltzed into one of the traps…"

"So you overlooked some?"

"I didn't," Loki stated with dignity. "I simply didn't think anyone would be stupid enough not to notice that one. I admit I might've overestimated my brother's wits, but that's all." He raised a hand and waved it as if he were dismissing the thought.

"Wait, is that why Thor's no longer welcome here? He mentioned an old incident. So you left him there to take all the blame?"

A barely noticeable blush crept onto Loki's cheeks.

"That was not my plan. I had only recently begun training with teleportation, and in my childish pride I thought I'd manage to get us both to safety. A few miscalculations later, I found myself in that beautiful river near the castle walls, and Thor was left in the trove, where he was taken care of long before I managed to scramble to the riverbank and back to the feast. "

"Your father must've been delighted."

Loki closed his eyes. The rage of Odin on that day was something the Asgardian were talking about for weeks to come. "...you've got no idea."

You chuckled and kissed his cheek before standing up. "Don't think about him now. Focus on something more pleasant. We've earned ourselves an evening off."

Loki watched you head toward the bedroom. The robe you wore was a thin, flimsy thing that fluttered over your knees and occasionally rode higher. Despite the bath turning cold, Loki was far from feeling its chill. To think that even after almost having been killed on the same day, you were still in the mood for jokes and teasing… He was lucky. Very lucky.

There was little he could do to show his gratitude - being locked up in that suite made things difficult from a logistical side, but there were still a few ideas up his sleeve.

Loki got out of the tub, sprinkling the scented water around the tiles. A few wild faeries - strange, bird-like creatures the size of a sparrow - were chittering outside the window, apparently arguing over a dead bug's corpse. Loki eyed them carefully while he took a robe in palest shades of green, but nothing suggested they were thinking about entering the bathroom. Still, Loki made sure to close the door firmly behind him. The last thing he needed right now were third-party intruders.

The carpet was soft under his bare feet as Loki neared the chimney. Fire slid down his fingers and burrowed into the wood. You watched him, sprawled on the bed.

"Someone's in a good mood," you noticed. Light played tricks with the shadows over your face.

Loki stalked closer with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. The mattress moved under him as he laid down next to you - close enough to let you feel the heat radiating from him.

"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked in a voice low and pleasant.

"I didn't think being chased by a monster had that effect on you."

"Maybe it was the company that made it that way?"

You couldn't help the soft smile from spreading across your lips, despite how cheesy he sounded. And why should you try to stop it? You were happy. The Edge was not exactly what you thought it'd be. Its magic was stranger than you'd prefer. The investigation got more and more complicated, which made this whole situation widely different from what you'd expected. And yet, there was no denying that there were still moments of simple, unapologetic fun. There were moments of wonder. And there was the person that made everything better.

"I love you," you said, hand brushing over Loki's brow.

He kissed the inside of your palm. "How convenient then, that I share this feeling."

He leaned over you, doing what he'd imagined a hundred times. He'd never get tired of how sweet your lips felt on his, moving slowly and patiently, learning every part of him. A half-breathed groan escaped him when Loki felt you open up. Blush blossomed on his face as he mapped the soft inside of your mouth with his tongue.

Your arms wrapped tightly around Loki's shoulders, pulling him further onto you, and he was more than happy to oblige. Your bodies joined, sharing the warmth and the softness, save for the thin pieces of clothing still somehow between you. Loki could feel you moving, your muscles tense and shifting with every stroke of his hand venturing over your side.

Cautiously, Loki slid his leg between yours, in a question and a plea. He wouldn't push you into anything you didn't want, so he waited for you to choose.

You felt him smile into the kiss that was stealing your breath away quite literally, as Loki settled between the legs you opened for him. With the heat rising in every place he touched, you couldn't help but nudge his hips even closer, too needy to wait.

Loki devoured every whimper you fed him like a starving man. He accepted the silent request your knee was writing on his hip, and pulled more of his weight on you, his flustered face a mirror to yours.

"Is this okay?" he whispered into the soft skin of your cheek, flushed and shining with a thin layer of sweat. His hand froze around the hem of your robe, your bare skin so close he could almost feel it, but wouldn't dare to just yet.

"Yes," said the lips already swollen, half bare without the cover of his.

Loki felt his body start at the intensity in that word, and he couldn't help but mark his thanks into your skin, and over the soft, sensitive edge of your earlobe that sent the shivers down your back and made your fingers clutch his hair oh, so tightly.

"Are you sure?"

The bastard toyed with the fabric, his knuckles brushing ever so slightly over the skin that was more than ready to be painted by his touch. He twirled it between his fingers in a manner that made you imagine all sorts of things they were capable of elsewhere.

"You really are an asshole, Loki," your voice came out raspier than you expected.

"Isn't that why you love me?"

The heavy-lidded mess you'd become looked at him in a way that made Loki's resolve melt between one heartbeat and another.

"Of course it is."

A sigh escaped him, barely audible over the blood pulsating in his veins. It sang poems he wrote down word by word over the accepting curve of your neck as he moved slowly, meticulously down, not sparing an inch of skin from his attention. It tasted like heaven and he made sure you felt it with every nip and lick he took, tasting your desire on his tongue.

His hand finally listened to your requests, and left your robe, moving it carefully away. The calloused fingers palmed at your heated thigh, drawing patterns of devotion with each stroke they made. The goosebumps he could feel made his hand shake just a little, as if he was struggling to keep it from squeezing too hard and too needily. Loki wanted to take his time on you, expressing everything that had been growing in his heart for so long, in every way his dreams had already teased him with. It'd been so difficult to stay focused and slow when all he wanted to do was devour you whole, to claw and bite his name into your very being so thoroughly no one would ever dare mistake who you chose to stay by your side, in this world and all the others.

Loki growled your name into your collarbone with lips of a heathen discovering the absolute. His hand reached in the dark, following the curve of your hip to the soft expanse of your belly. Your robe was hitched higher as he went, and you whimpered at the fabric still separating you. You fumbled with it impatiently, blinded and deafened by the only thing that mattered, by the only person who would ever matter, to the point where everything else felt irrelevant and not needed, and so annoyingly in your way.

Faster than you could notice, Loki stopped your hands with a wicked gaze and a smile that made your hips buckle. "Patience, my love, is a virtue."

"...I don't need virtues, I need you closer, and now."

Loki's mouth went dry as he let your hand slip from his grasp and slid over the soft fabric of his own robe.

With a gentleness that broke his heart into a million shards, you brushed its edge off his collarbone and then further down his arm when he didn't protest. His chest heaved slightly as you reached to his rapid heartbeat and stopped your hand there.

The muscles shifted under his velvety skin as Loki moved back to where he finished. Something ached in his chest, and his throat clenched as the kisses he trailed over your chest and stomach became more sloppy, and heated, and did wonders to the feeling rising in your core, so close to where his mouth now hovered--

The intensity of his heavy-lidded gaze was enough proof of his own pleasure. You might've wanted to say something in the moment you looked down at him, settled between your legs like he owned every inch of bare flesh, all now exposed to, and for, him. Loki smiled, holding your eyes as he slung your leg over his shoulder and lowered himself again.

A throaty curse ripped from your lips as Loki licked, and sucked, and devoured what'd been rising in you throughout that night. Your hands flew back into his hair, burrowing in the soft strands brushing over your skin like feathers.

Release rippled through your body, and you felt pleasure wash over you, over every place Loki had left his signature. One of his hands splayed over your hips, holding them in place as the other one, alongside his tongue, worked you through it until you were just a weak, shuddering mess gasping for breath on the silk covers of the bed. The velvety darkness did little to hide the sweat coating your limp body, and the blush radiating off your cheeks. The fireplace was still alive, and its light touched the few surfaces it could reach with tenderness reserved only for certain nights. The light brushed over your hand, still clutching the bed sheets tightly. It lightened up the curve of Loki's back as he let his robe fall off, exposing flesh, desire and the eyes burrowed into yours as if nothing else in the world was worth admiring. He rose on his knees, admiring his work with pride seeping out of his every pore.

It also shined over the glistening mess around his lips and chin, where saliva and your juices mixed. And it showed the bastard putting his fingers, covered in it too, straight up to that damned mouth and licking them clean.

"Thank you for the meal," he grinned, memorizing every piece of you laid out in front of him.

You nudged him with a trembling leg, already missing his touch.

"Where is mine?" you cooed softly, and watched the light flash in his eyes at the rasp and raw need in your words.

Loki stretched over you again, pushing you closer and closer to him, until there was nothing separating your bodies. His hand found its way underneath your back, holding you with both gentleness and demand, as he positioned himself where he had always wanted to be.

And as he entered where his fingers used to be just moments ago, he felt your back arch even more into him, and he drank the moan that escaped from your perfect trembling lips, and drowned in it as you moved together, nothing more than two separate beings that had finally became one, and nothing less.

The world shattered around you, blurring the edges. Your nails dug into the flesh of Loki’s back. The moment of bliss lasted as the final waves turned into shivers and then into an embrace so tight it was barely different from the heated moments. But it was all you needed right then, and so the two of you stayed together, limbs interlaced, and fingers grasping for a hold as the night darkened, and sleep finally took you over.

A/N: I really hope this wasn’t weird, I’ve never written smut in my life, so please be merciful on me! I kept the reader gender neutral through the whole series, so I did my best to keep it that way even in smut, although it was really hard.

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki marvel #loki #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #marvel #mcu #loki mcu #loki x reader series

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xumos-hoe · 4 years

Note

hiii i’ve been reading all ur works and i love it so muchhhh😭😭😭 and i want to req can u make a headcanons about the boys when MC forgot to put their bra on and they can see MC’s nipples through that thin shirt lmaooo 😂😂 and thank you i luv u

SKXMEKWMX NOOOOO I HATE THAT THIS HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE😔

Ily too anon, hope you enjoy🥺❤️

MLQC crew seeing MC’s nipples through a thin shirt

~~~~~~~~

Victor

Wasn’t so much a “shirt” since it was a swimsuit.

Vic’s weekly swim lessons🤩

You’d recently purchased a one-piece swim suit and decided to wear it that day since your go-to swimwear was at the dry cleaners

Why didn’t you account for the material being excessively thin and tight? I dunno. but since the problem didn’t come around until much later, you hadn’t thought much of it.

The material clung to your breasts, hugging every dip and curve tightly, especially in the water as Victor guided you through a back-float. His face hovered close to your body, half submerged in the water as you struggled to stay afloat.

“Try not to struggle so much—and if you happen to drown, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to save you.”

You took in a shaky breath as you braced for the moment your temporary instructor would remove his hands. With the intake of breath, your chest puffed out significantly—and due to the chill of the pool water, something started to poke through your bathing suit.

Now...it wasn’t like Victor had been eyeing that area on purpose—he was just as nervous as you were to let go in case you wound up actually drowning.

He looked over your entire figure one last time before leaving your side, and...

that’s when he was met with the little accident around your chest.

Your nipples poked out through the spandex, especially since the swimsuit was a bright color that contrasted with the water, which made them even more obvious.

Victor had a brief second of disbelief where he wondered if he might be seeing things, but when he blinks and your nipples are still there in plain view, he averts his gaze as discreetly as possible.

What isn’t so discreet is the color in his ears as he scoffs and refocuses on the task at hand.

Thankfully, you’re too busy struggling between life and death and don’t notice the tightening sensation around your breasts, or the dumbstruck gaze that glances at them.

“Victor... You can let go now, I think I got it...”

Your request falls on deaf ears when you feel Vic try to pull you out of the water instead.

“Ha. Not a chance—your form is even worse than before. We’ll try again next week.”

“But—!”

Which a small tsk, Victor scoops you out from the water. You almost fight against him, but back down after noticing the irritation in his features.

You nearly fall into his chest with the sudden force, but a quick pair of arms steady you instead.

Unfortunately, this position isn’t so convenient for Victor. The first thing that pops into his mind is the possibility of your nipples pressing into the planes of his chest at that very moment

...so without a second word, you’re lifted into the air and placed on the edge of the pool. When he speaks again, you’re surprised at the sudden assertiveness of his voice.

“Now go get changed. I believe I promised you a meal after today’s lesson.”

You instantly perk up at that and run off to the locker rooms. Could you even deny his cooking?

But in your excitement, you don’t realize that he never actually promised you a meal after today’s lesson.

Actually, Victor just wanted a bit of alone time to ease the heat in his face and crotch.

Lucien

In addition to forgetting to wear a bra—you hadn’t accounted for the forecast and forgot to bring an umbrella.

As though Lucien expected it because he did, the first person you spot when you step out of the office is your boyfriend’s smiling face peeking out from the window of his car.

You decide to make a run for it, even though the rain was coming down in torrents—soaking you before you could manage to slip into the warm interior.

Lucien laughs quietly as he watches you take a few deep breaths after your awkward sprint and lean against the chair.

“Just as I expected...You ought to check the forecast more often, or otherwise, I’ll keep having to come rescue you.”

You turn away meekly and shrug. “You’re busy enough as it is, and I don’t want to keep burdening you.”

He falls silent and takes a moment to admire you from afar, though you don’t notice it—and what you also don’t notice is the split second something catches the professor’s eyes and his gaze drops to your chest:

to find your nipples in near-perfect view.

White shirts and rainfall, along with the lack of bra, made for quite the view.

Lucien raises an eyebrow when he realizes what he’s looking at, but his face remains as expressionless as ever.

Your drenched clothing sticks to all the right places, especially against your breasts and the flushed nipples poking from underneath. In fact, the shirt was so thin that he could even spot the tinge of color from your areolas.

It amuses him that you don’t seem to notice something so painfully obvious...

But ever the gentleman, Lucien looks away, unfastening his seatbelt with a soft click that catches your attention.

You turn towards the source of sound, only to find Lucien stripping himself of his raincoat. And before you realize it, Lucien has handed his coat over to you.

“Lucien, why are y—?”

The professor shakes his head and laughs again, rebuckling himself. He glances out the rear window, daring one last glance at your chest before returning to the road.

“It seems a raincoat wasn’t the only article of clothing you had forgotten to wear today.”

You pause for a moment to think back at his words before it hits you.

The gasp of horror that fills the space of the car earns a few chuckles from Lucien as he watches you throw his coat over your body furiously.

It wound up becoming one of the quietest car rides in your life.

Kiro

In your defense, your current lack of bra shouldn’t have been a problem.

You don’t even realize it when Kiro swings by to drop off some of your belongings that had remained in his suitcase after you and his’ last trip together.

It was close to midnight, and all you were dressed in was a thin pajama shirt and matching shorts—too exhausted to remember you’d thrown off your bra earlier and that this getup was definitely not suited to greet guests.

You swung the front door open with a yawn to meet the smiling eyes of the superstar as he stared back at you fondly, lifting your belongings.

The smile disappears off of Kiro’s face when he realizes he may have interrupted your sleep.

“Ah! Miss Chips, were you asleep? I knew I should’ve brought these in the morning...”

You shake your head and stifle another yawn.

“It’s alright, I haven’t even gotten into bed yet.”

“But look at you! Already in your slippers and pajamas and—”

He falls silent in an instant. You almost don’t realize the sudden lull in the conversation where his gaze has dropped to your chest after a certain something catches it.

And by ‘something’—the tips of your nipples poking from underneath your pajama top, and thanks to the corridor lighting—clearly.

Your belongings almost slip from Kiro’s hands when he notices and forgets to speak—what were the two of you even talking about again?

You stare back at the man in front of you, caught off guard by his sudden speechlessness and the dumbfounded expression on his face. Not to mention the color in his face...were his cheeks always that pink?

Before you know it, all of your items are thrust into your arms as Kiro readjusts his hat and turns away timidly.

“...Definitely should’ve came in the morning...”

“What was that?”

But before you can get your answer, Kiro has already made a beeline for the elevator, waving to you from afar.

“Good night, Miss Chips!”

Gavin

Birdcop was staying with you for a few days while the injuries from his last mission healed. You were adamant about him staying with you because this boy was in no shape to help himself at home alone.

You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard Gavin call for you from the kitchen.

He’d offered to purchase some take out while you showered, and in your excitement, quickly throwing on everything except a bra.

Gavin’s back was turned to you as he gathered utensils from the counter. You sat on a bar stool and searched for your order before Gavin called out with a smile.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

But you were already too busy eating to hear him mention anything about heat.

When Gavin finally turned, the last thing he expected to see were the evident peaks in your shirt.

Suddenly, the food wasn’t the only thing hot.

You were too busy squeezing sauce onto your meal to notice anything off about your clothing. And worst of all, when you moved to throw the little packet away, your breasts bounced gently with the force.

jesus. he had no idea why he was still staring.

He wanted nothing other than to hide the pink in his face, that you would inevitably notice and comment on.

Did you really not realize your...

Even the thought flustered Gavin to his very core—so wiping his mind clean of any lewd thoughts, he turned away and summoned all his might to talk to you with a straight face.

But the VOLUME of how suddenly he cleared his throat gave away too much.

“Aren’t you a little cold like that?”

You stared up from your food to look back at Gavin.

“What do you mean? I actually thought it was pretty warm in here...”

Barely registering what you had said, Gavin ran off to your bedroom to retrieve a jacket before calling out from over his should

“You’ve been worrying about me this entire time, I almost forgot to take care of you.”

Shaw

Shaw has probably done a lot of questionable things, but he’s polite enough not to ogle at a woman’s chest.

Especially when the chest in question is rightttt by his face.

You accompanied him for drinks one night—the root of the issue was that you had forgotten to do the laundry and ran out of bras.

You didn’t really think that the shirt you wore was something that called for a bra anyway; and for good measure, topped it with a cardigan.

The reason for the cardigan slipped your mind as you felt yourself becoming tipsier and warmer. Without a second thought, you quickly peeled it away and began to fan yourself with your hands.

Shaw snuck a glance at you—but he couldn’t recall seeing you walk in wearing such a thin tank. And as he checked you out, something seemed off:

He choked loudly on the drink in his hand after noticing the pair of nipples poking through the material of your cami; in addition to the slight bob of your chest as you reach over to ask for another glass.

At this point, there’s no telling whether the pink in his cheeks is from intoxication or the sight you’ve unwittingly provided him with.

As Shaw glanced away, he pushed your cardigan back towards you.

“Don’t be stupid and put it back on.”

You glare at him and push the cardigan back in his direction. “But it’s so hot in here...”

He figured you’d be too drunk to realize your nipples and that the guys beside you had probably noticed as well.

With a small tch, Shaw draped the cardigan over your body and pressed you into his chest.

Your eyes widen in suprise when you realize how closely he’s holding you, but before you can say anything, Shaw leans close to your ear and whispers low:

“I don’t like how these assholes are looking at you—so do us both a favor and stay close.”

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ais-for-alex · 3 years

Text

The Scars of Our Past: chapter 21

So this is a very important chapter to the story and I don’t want to spoil anything but there are descriptions of traumatic events, death, and injuries so please read with caution if you are sensitive to anything of that nature. Anyway I hope y’all enjoy 🥰

You’re getting in too deep, Knut.

Leo blinked away the thought as he followed Logan up the stairs towards Finn's apartment. His mind wandered back to the two of them sitting in that courtyard with the soft music and the radiant warmth of the fire as their companions. And when he had glanced over to see the orange glow of firelight dancing over Logan’s face Leo’s heart ached at that look in his eyes. He could see that Logan felt so much inside but he was held back by the crippling fear of the unknown and the unspoken, Leo couldn’t stop himself from reaching out.

Damn, you are such a hypocrite. Talking about fear like you haven’t been living in the shadow of loss for so long you barely know what sunlight looks like anymore. Too scared to move on, too scared to let go.

This is different, Leo told himself, silencing those nagging words just as they got to the front door.

“Hey Fish, you here?” he called out as they slipped inside and began shedding jackets and scarves before wandering farther into the apartment.

“In here,” Finn said just as he and Logan walked into the living room to find him hanging upside-down from the recliner, one leg thrown over the back and the other over the arm. There was some tv show playing quietly in the background but Finn wasn’t really watching rather he was holding his phone precariously over his face playing some word game.

Leo laughed, “Is your default state just upside down?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” both Finn and Logan said at the same time, causing him to look up and see them.

“Lo?” he asked, Finn rolled off the chair in surprise falling to the floor with a thump, Leo could hear a bit of uncertainty in his voice.

“Hey,” Logan said softly, locking eyes with Finn, “Leo mentioned food so I tagged along, hope that’s ok?”

“’Course,” he answered without a thought, scrambling up off the floor, “you know you’re always welcome here.”

There was a tension between them, Leo could feel it bend and stretch like an elastic band tied between these two men. It flexed as they moved, pulled taught like they were testing how far it would stretch before snapping. This thing between Finn and Logan was strong though, nearly tangible with the intensity of whatever past lay in the space separating them. Something inside him was telling Leo that rather than breaking under their pull it was more likely that the elastic band would snap back into place, leaving behind sore red welts as raw and tender as the emotions tying them together in the first place.

“Alright,” Leo said, bumping his hip lightly against Logan still standing next to him, “I’m gonna go start working on dinner.”

Logan finally looked away from Finn's hot cocoa eyes to glance up at Leo, “Now this I’ve got to see,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh come on,” Leo huffed an exasperated chuckle, “just cause you guys can’t cook doesn’t mean nobody else can.”

“How do you know I can’t cook, hmm? I might be a master chef in disguise,” Logan joked.

Finn scoffed at that before slinging an arm over Logan’s shoulders and pulling him into a headlock, “come on Lo, no one’s gonna believe that.”

Leo rolled his eyes and made his way into the kitchen, Finn and Logan’s chatter followed close behind as he began pulling ingredients out of the newly stocked fridge and cabinets.

“This looks suspiciously healthy,” Logan commented while Leo washed and prepped a variety of veggies, he and Finn had settled at the counter to watch and talk as he cooked.

“Don’t make that face,” Leo laughed at the grimace Logan made, “healthy can be good.”

“Lo has an aversion to vegetables,” Finn teased, knocking their shoulders together.

“I do not,” he huffed back, “just if given the choice they’re not my first pick.”

“Well, then what would be your first pick? What’s your favorite food?” Leo asked as he began working on the chicken.

Logan closed his eyes and leaned his head back, “probably, filet mignon. Mmm,” he hummed low in his throat like he was imagining it.

“Ok, I’ll give that to you, few things trump steak,” Leo said, “maybe I’ll make it next time.” When Leo glanced up he met sparkling emerald eyes and Logan’s happy grin, it made his breath catch in his throat.

“So, whatcha making tonight?” Finn asked, resting his chin to rest in his hand against the counter while watching Leo work.

“I thought I’d do a honey and sesame chicken with a teriyaki stir fry,” Leo replied, snagging some seasoning off the counter.

“Ahh,” Finn sighed, wilting down to lay against the counter, “that sounds delicious.”

Both Leo and Logan laughed at his dramatics, their conversation dissolved into Finn and Logan’s upcoming game as Leo made dinner. Leo was only listening with half an ear but it sounded like they were concerned about their goalie who was struggling with an injury to his thigh. Soon the kitchen was filled with sizzling and the warm smell of cooking food making their stomachs grumble, by the time Leo had finished all three of them were salivating over the delicious looking meal.

As Leo was putting the finishing touches on the stir fry and pulled it from the heat of the stove he watched Finn slide off his stool at the counter before making his way over to the cabinets and grabbing plates. Logan wandered over to the fridge and snagged drinks for each of them. He was a little struck by how smoothly the three of them worked together; they moved and orbited around each other, somehow knowing exactly what the others needed and providing it before they could ask.

Once he had gotten his food Leo wandered back into the living room and settled on the far end of the couch, Finn and Logan joined only a moment later their plates piled high with food. Finn flopped on the opposite side of the couch, squishing back into the cushions comfortably. Logan chose to settle down and sit on the carpet near Finn’s legs, his back resting against the bottom of the couch as he placed his plate on the coffee table in front of him before pulling out his phone.

“Alright, what are we watching?” he asked, tilting his head back to look at Finn and Leo.

“Whatever is fine with me,” Finn said before shoveling a forkful of stir fry into his mouth.

Logan turned and fixed him with a disbelieving stare, “Fish, we both know you are literally the biggest movie snob on the planet, and will have very strong opinions on whatever we end up watching. We also know that if you make me choose again, we will be watching Fast and Furious.”

“Nooooo, not again!” Finn groaned, making Leo snort a laugh.

“What about you Le,” Logan asked, “any movie preferences?”

For a moment Leo’s brain shorted out at the nickname and the casual way it fell from Logan’s lips, he blinked hard realizing that he was supposed to be answering a question, “umm, well I always love a trashy disaster movie.”

“Sharknado!” Finn shouted, bouncing with excitement while trying not to spill his food.

“Yeah, that works for me,” he laughed.

“Alright, Sharknado it is,” Logan pulled it up on his phone and cast it to the Tv, while they all settled in with their dinners.

Leo tried to focus on the movie, he really did. However, it seemed that his attention couldn’t help but be pulled back to the two men next to him. He felt a little smile forming on his face as he watched them bicker back and forth about something silly a character on screen said, as he watched Finn lean down and ask for the veggies Logan had picked out of his food, watched them shoot glances at each other when they thought the other wouldn’t see. It was weird, this feeling that had begun pooling in his chest while watching them; Leo felt warm and giddy with it, it felt like summer sunlight was caught inside him making everything glow golden.

A soft contented sigh fell from his lips as Leo leaned over to stack his empty plate with Finn and Logan’s on the coffee table, he shifted in his spot turning to burrow into the squishy cushions and bring his feet up to rest on the spot in the middle of the sofa. Before he could stop himself, Leo let his legs extend to press his socked feet under Finn's warm thigh. And when Finn glanced up at him, a soft little smile at his lips, Leo flushed suddenly submerged in chocolate fondue eyes. Something inside him squirmed happily when Finn simply smiled a bit wider and rested his hand on Leo’s ankle before turning back to the movie.

Leo happily let himself drift in and out of a light doze while they watched, it seemed like one minute he blinked and the next Logan was turning the volume on the tv down as the credits rolled over the screen. Taking a deep breath that turned into a huge yawn Leo shifted a bit and reached up, stretching out the soreness from sitting in the same position too long.

He heard a soft chuckle from the floor and looked down only to meet Logan's bright eyes sparkling with the grin on his lips, “so you’re the type to sleep through the movie.”

“Guilty,” Leo said, suppressing another yawn.

“Ok, question,” Finn said in a mock serious voice, making Leo glance up at him, “promise not to be weirded out.”

“Alright shoot.”

Finn shifted watching Leo, he had his phone in his hand, “Do you not have social media? Cause I swear I have been trying to cyber stalk you since like the first time we met and I am finding nothing, zilch, nadda. The internet says you don’t exist. Which I find vaguely interesting cause I low key pride myself on my ability to find out pretty much anything about anybody, but for you… nothing.”

Leo couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up out of him at the frustrated pout on Finn's face, “Yeah, I do have social media. I’m surprised you couldn’t find me; everything is just under my name.”

“That’s what I tried!” he cried.

“Did you spell it right?”

“I mean yeah? I think so, there’s only one way to spell it right? L-E-O Leo N-E-W-T Newt.”

Leo snorted out another laugh, “Fish, my last name is spelled K-N-U-T.”

Finn’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment then relaxed as he shot a look that seemed to be filled with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief, “wait a minute are you telling me your last name is Knut , and has been this entire time.”

“It's still pronounced like newt.”

Finn sighed, shaking his head. “Knut,” he glanced down at Logan and for a moment it seemed like they had an entire conversation in that one look, then chuckled softly, “Nutty.”

“Peanut,” Logan huffed a laugh.

“Ooo, Peanut Butter,” Finn shot back.

“Nutter Butter!” Logan supplied slapping Finn's thigh in excitement, “man, there is just so much potential for nicknames in that.”

“Right!” Finn exclaimed, “how did we not know this?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo chuckled, “laugh it up. I’ve heard all of them before.”

“Did you hear that Lo? I think Butternut Squash over here is challenging us.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Logan said, turning to look up at Leo, “are you challenging us Peanut Brittle?”

At that Leo completely lost it, he could barely breathe through his snorts of laughter, “Oh, god! I suddenly feel like I’ve made a grave mistake.”

“Awe, don’t worry Banana Nut Muffin, we take nicknames very seriously,” Finn said in a sympathetic voice as he reached out and patted Leo’s leg softly, this only prompted Leo to laugh even harder.

It took a couple minutes before their laughter died down to only the occasional chuckle. Leo was warm and relaxed; his body pressed into the crease between the cushions, he could hear the little bubble click sounds as Finn typed on his phone.

Both Leo and Logan’s eyes suddenly snapped onto Finn when a sharp gasp was sucked into his lungs.

“You ok up there, Fish?” Logan asked

“I- um yeah… it’s just-“ Finn was still looking down at his phone, “um… Le?”

“Hm?” Leo hummed, waiting for Finn to say whatever it was he wanted to ask.

“Is this… is this about you?” he asked, holding his phone out for Leo to look at.

Looking at the screen Leo saw that Finn had typed out his name into a google search but rather than links to his various social media accounts the first result that Finn had clicked on was a digital copy of his hometown newspaper. Leo’s blood ran cold as his eyes took in the headline he had tried to scrub from his mind back when he first saw it, the hollow words that could never actually make people understand the pain he felt that night.

Fatal Crash Claims Over 30 Lives Leaving Only One Survivor

Leo sucked in a shaky breath as Finn's phone slipped out of his lax grip, “I…” he pulled his legs in close to himself and wrapped his arms around them like he was trying to protect his heart from the cutting pain of his memories. “I… I forgot that would probably come up,” he said, voice quiet and timid, “um… it- it was a couple years ago now.”

“Hey,” Logan said, he had moved closer and was now sitting on the edge of the coffee table, “you don’t have to talk about it. If you aren’t ready yet, that’s ok,” he reached out and gently pulled one of Leo’s hands into his own.

Leo thought about that for a moment, thought about shoving it all away again, and hiding from the pain.

Sweetheart, the only way to make it hurt a little less is to start letting yourself move on. His mama’s words came back to his mind and Leo knew that it was time to move on, no more hiding no more running away, it was time to start healing.

“No,” Leo said, breathing in deep to steady his hurt bleeding heart, “I… I think it’s time. I’ve been running away from that night for so long now, it’s time I told someone. And you guys are… important to me, you should know what happened.”

Finn shifted on the couch so he was turned to watch Leo with patient eyes, Logan still had Leo’s hand wrapped in his own warm fingers gently massaging the tension from his palm. Somehow Leo was able to draw strength from them, he felt it flow into him until he felt completely safe and secure in their presence.

“It… it was a couple years back now,” Leo began, his voice was shaky; it wavered with emotion as he continued. “But, I actually used to play hockey,” Leo huffed a humorless chuckle at the surprise on Finn and Logan’s faces, “yeah, I played goalie, pretty much since the day I learned to skate. And I mean, not to toot my own horn but I was good too. Everyone said I would go on to play for the NHL, it was my dream you know?”

Finn and Logan both nodded, they knew exactly how that dream went but they stayed quiet waiting for Leo to continue.

“But, that dream got taken away. From me… and from them,” Leo choked back a sob. “We had an away game that night, just a couple hours away so the school didn’t want to pay for a hotel afterwards.”

Leo breathed in deep, he remembered the night with such crystal clarity it could have happened mere hours ago. He could still feel fatigue in his bones from a hard intense game, but the giddy adrenaline filled satisfaction of a win made it easier to deal with. The team was piling onto their bus tired but excited, Leo was grinning ear to ear as he climbed the rickety steps.

Making his way down the narrow aisle towards his spot at the back of the bus Leo caught Cody’s eyes and felt his insides squirm at the private little wink sent his way. Leo had gotten a shutout, and it felt like they were barely off the ice when Cody had pulled him by his jersey into the nearest supply closet to kiss him until Leo didn’t know which way was up, whispering promises of every filthy thing they would do together when they got home.

The bus roared to life just as Leo slung his bag up into the overhead rack and settled down onto the sticky plastic bench. The heat of the engine soaked up into his body soothing his sore muscles while the rumbling and rattling lulled him to sleep.

“We were maybe about two, three hours into the drive when-“ Leo paused a bit unsure in his story, “I guess I don’t really know. They told me a gas tanker hit us, but all I can remember was the sounds…”

Leo had no words to describe the horrible, horrible sound of metal crunching and scraping as it crumpled under impact, as it folded around the soft flesh of his teammates as easily as folding a paper crane. There are no words on earth that could describe the blood curdling screams of agony, of horror and fear echoing out from the people he loved.

“Um… anyway, I was thrown pretty hard but I was still close enough to get to the emergency exit.”

He could still feel that brief moment of weightlessness only a split second before the sharp impact as his body was tossed like a ragdoll to the opposite side of the bus, he felt it sliding, grinding against the asphalt for what seemed like an eternity before finally coming to a halt. Leo blinked against the darkness around him, his eyes were hazy and his left side was searing with pain; it felt like his arm had been ripped off.

He clutched his injured arm close, grunting in pain as he looked around trying to figure out where he was. Leo could hear people crying, screaming but his eyes were too blurry to find them. A thick fog was trying to cloud Leo’s brain as he lay amongst ripped metal and shattered window glass, he wanted to sleep, wanted to escape the horrible pain. He let his head roll back to rest against whatever hard surface he lay on, the side of the bus? The ceiling? Leo didn’t know anymore. He blinked against the fog, knowing somewhere inside him he shouldn’t fall asleep, but then he saw it. A light, it was blurry and out of focus, just like the rest of the world at that moment but it was something. His entire body flared in pain as he moved towards it crawling slowly, shards of glass digging into his palms as he finally made it to the large hole that used to be the back window of the bus.

The moment his feet hit the highway asphalt Leo collapsed, his body crumpling to the ground. He lay there for a moment panting his eyes locked onto that light that had guided him out of the wreckage just for something to hold onto.

“I’m not sure how long I was there, just staring into that light,” Leo sniffled. There were tears running down his face, Logan had threaded their fingers together and Leo was so immensely grateful for the grounding sensation of his warm palm. “Turns out it was headlights, there hadn’t been many cars out so late but a little family saw the crash and pulled over to call 911. They pulled me away from the bus,” Leo squeezed his eyes closed, and he was back staring at that light, but then there was a face blocking it out.

He didn’t recognize the person; it was too blurry, there was too much pain, but he felt their hands as they dragged him away from the remnants of the bus. It hurt, them dragging his injured body against the glass covered ground but in the very next moment that pain was completely forgotten when the world was washed in scorching heat and blinding light.

“The very last thing I remember was this loud ringing in my ears… and when I looked up there was fire, raining down around us.”

“I woke up in the hospital with a concussion and a dislocated shoulder,” Leo said through little gasps, “they told me… they told me that I was the only one to survive, it was a one in a million chance that I made it out of that wreck. They said it was a miracle, but it didn’t feel like a miracle. I lost everyone that night, anyone who hadn’t died from the initial crash… they did in the explosion. Those people, they were more than my team, they were my family. And they all died, even- even Cody.” Leo couldn’t hold back the sob, “he was my person, I thought we would spend our lives together. But he was taken away from me, all of it was taken away from me.”

“Oh Leo,” Finn gasped, there were tears streaming down his face too as he crawled across the space separating them and pulled Leo forward into his arms, “come here sweetheart.”

Logan’s hand slipped from his but settled between his shoulder blades instead as Leo let himself be pulled into Finn's embrace, he burrowed his face into the crook of his shoulder and felt the hurt flow through him. Soul shattering sobs wracked through his body as the memories of that night crashed over him again and again. After all this time of shoving it down, hiding them inside himself, he was finally letting everything out.

“You know,” Leo said sniffling into Finn's neck, “after I got out of the hospital, I felt so… lost. I’d lost my partner, my friends, the thought of getting back on the ice nearly made me sick.” Leo tightened his arms around Finn's waist, “But the worst part… the worst part was the way that people looked at me. You can’t even imagine what it feels like when the people who used to consider you a part of their family, look at you and you can see it in their eyes that they wish you were dead. They look at you and you know that in a heartbeat they would let you die just to have their son back.”

Leo pulled back from Finn's arms a bit and drew in a deep shuddering breath, “and honestly, I can’t even blame them. Cause if given the choice, I would trade my life to give them the opportunity to live theirs.” Taking a deep shuddering breath Leo squeezed his eyes closed, “even though I walked away, sometimes I think a part of me died with my brothers on the bus that night. And now I’m stuck trying to live as this broken shell of a person.”

“Le?” Leo could feel Logan’s hand soothing up and down his back, “Leo, please look at me.” Logan’s voice was soft and pleading, and as much as he simply wanted to keep his eyes squeezed closed and hide from everything the tenderness he heard there made Leo blink open to look into emerald green eyes glazed with a sheen of tears.

“I’m no good with words. But I hope I can make you understand this, Leo you are not broken . You have suffered unimaginable pain; pain that’s left scars on your heart, and those take time to heal. But those scars do not make you broken ,” Logan reached out to cup Leo’s face in his warm palms, his fingers brushing away the tear tracks running down his cheeks, “you are whole, and healing, and perfect.”

Leo felt a piece of his heart click into place at Logan’s words, he leaned out of Finns arms a bit more and pulled Logan into him holding him close letting his warm comfort soak into him soothing away just a bit of the pain. Somehow while he was surrounded by them the hurt inside lost its sharp cutting edge, it eased to a dull throb still there but easier.

“You know, you said that we’re important to you,” Finns said, his voice rough with thinly veiled emotion, “but Leo, you're important to us too. So, we’re here for you Nutty, for anything.”

Leo huffed a wet laugh through his still streaming tears, “I’m never getting rid of that nickname am I?”

Finn grinned tenderly at him, “not a chance in hell.”

Read on AO3

#sweater weather #coast to coast #leo knut #logan tremblay #lumosinlove #o'knutzy #finn o’hara #writing #figure skating #the scars of our past

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imma-fucking-nerd · 4 years

Text

Into the Arms of the Sea

Siren!Beetlejuice x Reader

((Soo whenever I listen to 'Into the Unknown' and 'Show Yourself' I think about this idea soooo here it is))

It was in the dead of night when you first heard it. It was faint, and so you chalked it up as just the wind. Every night it would get louder, more clear. You tried to drown it out. You've heard the stories. Especially since you lived right by the sea. There were rumors of sirens almost everywhere you turned. So at first you were terrified when you realized what it was you were hearing.

One night it was clear as day. A voice. A song. A siren. You covered your ears and tried to ignore it but....it was just so beautiful. It wasn't a woman's voice like all the rumours said they were. It was a man's voice. Deep and gravelly. It made you think to yourself. Were there male sirens? If so why weren't they spoken about? Or was she really just going crazy and imagining it? Either way the answer wasn't good.

The night after that you heard it again. It seemed louder, but not by very much. As you lay in bed you catch yourself humming to the tune. You're eyes go wide and you cover your mouth with your hand. Did you just do that?

It was the third night and again, the volume rose. Now your curiosity was starting to get to you. Why was it- he? calling to you? There were so many other, more attractive people it could prey on. Unless it liked unattractive people? While lost in your thoughts you had gotten up from your bed and walked to your window, softly humming along to his song. Something about the song he sang sounded....sad? No, that wasn't it. Lonely. It sounded lonely. You knew that feeling well. You went to open the window but stopped yourself. What were you doing? Were you seriously going to give into a siren's call so easily? With a sigh you headed back to bed, falling asleep to the distant song.

The fourth night was it. You couldn't take it anymore. The call was just too strong. You got up from your bed, the moonlight shining through your window. You thought about opening it, but would that be enough? No, no it would. You quickly grabbed a robe and rushed outside. The cold night's air made you shiver, but you didn't mind. You closed your eyes and listened. You heard the memorising song and your lips curled upwards slightly. For some reason, the song was now..... comforting. Like listening to a lullaby your mother, or father in this case, would sing as you slept.

You walked, barefoot down the streets towards the docks. That's where it was coming from. Of course, you were scared of what you'd find. Of what would happen to you once you found what you were looking for. But that didn't stop your feet from moving towards that beautiful sound. hehe As the water came into view, the pull was stronger than ever. You were now softly singing along to the song, no longer humming. Tears were brimming your eyes as the possibility of curing your crippling loneliness was becoming a reality. As you got closer the singing sounded more....happy? Did he feel the same way you did? It certainly sounded that way.

Your heart was beating fast and your steps got faster. The moon was shimmering on the water and it looked gorgeous. He'd be gorgeous too...he certainly sounded gorgeous. Your feet hit the wood of the dock and you slowly made your way to the very end. The wind blew through your hair and dried the tears that ran down your cheeks. As you reached the end of the dock, you stood there listening. His voice was so close, yet so far. Maybe if you called back...maybe he'd come to you? So that's exactly what you did. He sang his song to you, and you sang it right back. You didn't care that he was so clearly a siren, you just felt so.... understood. More than that, you welt wanted. Loved.

"Where are you?" You called out, but the only answer you got was the same melody

"Please, show yourself..." You whispered as as a tear rolled down your cheek

Suddenly, way off in the distance something caught your eye. It was him. It had to be. You took off your robe and took a few steps back before pausing. You took a deep breath and questioned just what you were doing. Were you really going to jump into freezing waters? You were ripped from your thoughts when you heard the song again, and you saw something again. Your decision was now made. You took a running start before plunging into the deep, dark, endless water.

Your eyes were shut tight as you became fully submerged in the water. You didn't try to swim back to the surface as you tried to listen. You tried so hard but you couldn't hear anything. There was no song. You started to panic.

I'm going to die.

I'm going-

Suddenly, you felt a pair of hands gently cup your face. Immediately you opened your eyes, it was blurry and pitch black. You couldn't see, but you knew it was him. You smiled and your tears blended with the sea. Just as felt the need for oxygen, your lungs burning from holding in air, you felt a pair of lips pressed against your own. It took your breath away. Literally. You melted into the kiss, and slowly everything started to fade away. You couldn't feel the cold water biting at your skin. You couldn't feel your lungs burning. All you could feel was his lips on yours. The last thing you heard before the blackness of the sea took you was the sweet, sweet siren's call.

Your body was never found. Not by humans anyways. The siren, who was known as Beetlejuice, took very good care of you before he took you. He made sure that you were at your best state. That's how he liked them, they tasted better like that. It was a shame he did have to take you, you had such a lovely voice too.

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((this wasn't meant to be this angsty oooops))

@meangirlsx @im-eating-rn @lord-satan-3244

#siren!beetlejuice #siren!beej #beetlejuice x self insert #beetlejuice x you #beetlejuice x reader #siren!beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice broadway #my writing

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fruit-teeth · 4 years

Text

Matters of Time and Fate (9)

She was always hurting. She was always sick, in pain, with every part of her body screaming in agony. Her head throbbed, and her eyes burned with tears so often she preferred to keep them closed, submerging her in darkness. What made it even worse was that she was all alone – somehow, pain seemed more bearable when someone else was there, comforting her. But, at this moment, there was no one.

Until the door opened.

Young Helen lifted her head in the direction of the sound, still quivering from pain. She knew it was her father before she even saw him, and when he sat down on her bed beside her, she reached for him right away, whimpering.

“Shh,” he hushed her softly, pulling her into his arms. He was not a very big or strong man, but when he held her, he was the strongest man she knew.

Helen melted into his embrace as he stroked her hair, her sobs slowly fading off. He brushed the tears away from her cheeks, soothing her with, “I told you I would come back, my angelfish…I know it hurts,”

Her father eventually laid down next to her, holding her close and pulling the blanket over her shoulders. She curled towards his warmth, breathing in his scent and closing her eyes.

“My little darling,” he crooned, touching her feverish forehead before planting a kiss there. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this…if I could take on the pain for you, I would,”

Though Helen was still in pain, having her father there was the best comfort she could have asked for. As she began to drift off to sleep in his arms, she could hear him singing softly to her:

“O bonny Portmore, I am sorry to see Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree. For it stood on your shore for many's the long day Till the long boats from Antrim came to float it away.

O bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand, And the more I think on you the more I think long. If I had you now as I had once before, All the lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore…”

“Helen? Hey, are you okay?”

Helen opened her eyes, finding herself back in the present. She wasn’t a child anymore and her father was gone, long gone. She sat up slowly, blinking. “Who is it? Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Miss Pauling sat down on the edge of the bed, shifting closer to Helen. “It’s almost noon, you’ve been in bed a really long time…are you all right?”

“Noon? Oh, my goodness…” Helen shook a hand through her hair, fluffing it up. “I had no idea. What are the men doing?”

“Not much for now, a couple of them went shopping,” Miss Pauling replied. “The others are wondering if you have any jobs for them today,”

“Well,” Helen got up out of bed, going to the mirror to fix her hair. “At the moment? There is not much they have to worry about, but if Saxton Hale still cannot arrive for the signing, we will send the mercenaries to collect him,” she turned around to look at Pauling again. “Has Hale called at all?”

“Not yet,” Pauling sighed. “I tried calling him, but there was no answer. I hope he and Bidwell are okay…”

“Hm,” Helen pursed her lips together. “We’ll just have to wait for now…though, rest assured, the signing must happen,”

“Right, yeah,” Pauling nodded. After a moment, she asked, “Hey, Helen? About Olivia – are you gonna tell her about…you know…”

“Why should I?” Helen’s voice lowered as she shrugged her bathrobe on. “She doesn’t have to know,”

“I know she doesn’t have to,” Pauling assured, though she stood up, gently brushing her hand against Helen’s shoulder. “But wouldn’t it be good for her to know, at some point? Maybe not now, but in the future?”

Helen went quiet again, and she grasped Pauling’s hand in her own, just for a few seconds. “We will see,” she cleared her throat, going to the door. “I need coffee,”

“Okay,” Pauling watched her open the door and head out into the hallway, before she followed after her.

Yet when Helen was downstairs, Spy stepped out from behind the corner and stopped Miss Pauling, pulling her towards him a little. “Miss Pauling, may I speak with you?

“Oh,” Pauling blinked, turning to face him. “Yeah, sure. What do you need?”

Spy took a breath. “Well, I meant to inquire about Olivia. Tell me: what is going to happen with her once the signing takes place?”

Pauling gave a little half-shrug. “Helen’s still working that out, but believe me, Olivia’s gonna be okay,”

“I see…” Spy didn’t quite believe her, but he continued to press. “Is Helen planning on adopting her? Or some such thing?”

Miss Pauling bristled visibly at that, though she maintained her composure. “Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m asking because I’m concerned for Olivia,” Spy dropped the volume of his voice, making sure only Miss Pauling could hear. “Now, you know I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but Helen has never been the parent type from what I can tell. Why would she be interested in adopting her?”

Miss Pauling took a step back, very annoyed but also somewhat anxious at this point. “Spy, look—that isn’t important right now. All you need to know is that we’re gonna handle everything and Olivia is gonna be fine, okay?”

As Spy looked at her, he could see in her eyes that she was hiding something. Though what, he didn’t know. He tried again. “You don’t have to defend her, you know,”

Pauling groaned, rubbing her temples. “Spy…Spy, I’m not—”

Just then, the downstairs phone began ringing, and Pauling perked back up. “Oh, that must be Saxton! Be right back,”

As she hurried downstairs to the phone, Spy watched her go, feeling uneasy and frustrated. He had to find some way to crack her, some way to get her to admit to what was going on…although she was so loyal to Helen, it seemed unlikely. However, Spy knew from his life experiences that even the toughest people have weak spots that will get them to reveal information of any kind, and with Miss Pauling, he knew it would be hard but he would find a weak spot in her shell. For Olivia’s sake, not for his.

At the same time, Olivia had wandered away from Scout at the store when he became distracted by a rack of sport equipment, and though she only went a few feet she soon discovered the toy section.

Her father had always discouraged her from buying toys, but she had never really been interested in them anyhow. Yet as she approached the shelf of stuffed animals, she suddenly realized that she did want one. A voice in her mind told her that they were ‘infantile’ things, as her father would always tell her, and she didn’t need one, though she pushed that back and walked right up to look through the stuffed animals.

At first, she didn’t understand what the appeal to them was. They were just animals made from fabric, there wasn’t anything terribly special or interesting about them. But then she touched one – it was so soft, softer than anything she’d touched, and it had a light yet pleasing weight to it. The animal in question was a little black cat with a blue ribbon around its neck, and she picked it up to get a better look at it.

The cat was very simple-looking, but its eyes were a bright shade of blue. Olivia smiled a little, enjoying the appearance, and she suddenly felt very drawn to the little cat. Yet it was right then that someone approached her.

“Those are nice toys,” a man’s voice said, and Olivia turned around in surprise.

There stood an older man, tall yet slightly hunched over with a thin scar crossing his forehead. Olivia didn’t recognize him at all, and she suddenly began to feel very nervous.

“Yeah,” was all Olivia could reply with, squeezing the cat tighter, really without thinking about it.

The man stooped down lower, his body appearing crooked as she did so. “Are you all by yourself? Where is your dad?”

Olivia took a step back, feeling more and more nervous. She didn’t know what to say or even what to do, but before she could even think of an answer, he stepped even closer. “It’s all right,” he said. “You can trust me, Miss Mann,”

Without even thinking, Olivia looked to her left for whatever was next to her, and when she spotted a tennis racket, she snatched it up and whacked the man across the face with it. He let out a shriek, stumbling back and yelling, “Aw, God, you little shit!”

Olivia began to wonder if he would attempt to attack her after she’d hit him, so she raised the tennis racket again, taking another step towards him, filled with near-murderous rage all of the sudden.

Right then, though, Sniper swooped in, snatching Olivia up and prying the tennis racket away from her and throwing it back towards the bin it had come from.

“There you are!” Sniper exclaimed. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”

Olivia squirmed in his grip, shrieking, “That guy was being weird to me! And he said a swear!”

The man recovered from the blow, but he looked up at Sniper, confusion crossing his expression. “Who the hell are you?”

Sniper looked over his shoulder at the man, squinting. “Huh?”

“Where is Gray?” the man asked, seemingly reaching for Olivia.

Sniper stepped away, getting an uneasy feeling. “What the…? Hey, piss off! Don’t approach lil’ kids like that, you bloody weirdo!”

As Sniper got away from the situation as quick as he could, Olivia calmed down somewhat. Once they were a safe enough distance away, he set her back down, and that was when he noticed the cat.

“Hey, you found a stuffy?” Sniper pointed out. “It’s very nice,”

“Oh,” Olivia had forgotten she was even still holding it. She felt it in her hands, looking back up at Sniper. “Yeah, it’s a cat – who was that guy?”

“I dunno,” Sniper plucked the cat out of her hands, carefully leading her to the checkout area. “But if he ever bothers you again, best believe we’re gonna keep you safe,”

“Okay…” Olivia stared at the stuffed cat in Sniper hands as they approached the register. “What are you gonna do with that?”

“I’m gonna pay for it for you,” Sniper replied, shrugging. “After I do, we can meet back up with Engie and Scout and head on back. Sound good?”

Olivia nodded. “Okay. Yeah, that’s good,” she looked back up at Sniper, watching him as he got his wallet out of his pocket to make sure he had cash on him. The memory of what had just happened in the toy isle crossed her mind, and she shuddered, trying to block it out while standing closer to Sniper.

Sniper noticed, and he took a moment to reach down with a free hand, unsure of how to comfort her but just patting her head for now.

“It’s okay.” He assured her, and although Olivia still felt nervous, the sound of his voice and the tiny gesture of affection made her feel more secure.

#here it is!!!#got it done fast thank god #hopefully its good #writing #my writing #tf2 #tf2 fanfic #tf2 olivia mann #tf2 administrator #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #the chapter after this one is gonna get deeper oop

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saneatsrice · 5 years

Text

mafia! jaehyun: stitched heart

summary: when a stranger hides in y/n’s apartment, she isn’t prepared for what she just got sucked into

pairing: mafia! jaehyun x college student! reader

warning: small amount of violence, mentions of drugs, angst, my friends @huangsren and @hwangdol dragged me down this stupid writing hole and now i’m here, yw :)

jaehyun seems like your REGULAR man who goes about living his life like any other citizen in seoul

yet, what no one knows is that jaehyun runs the most infamous gang, nct

jaehyun has been with nct since the beginning and watched the gang grow to be as successful as they are now

he was there for every single drug exchange that allowed them to be able to financially sustain themselves and every turf war where they had to defend their base and such

however, he can never forgive himself for dragging an innocent college student into his line of work

one night, after being heavily injured, jaehyun was on the run from a rivaling gang

he was running out of ways to run until he saw a window open on the fifth floor of an apartment building

he began ascent up and climbed into the window of the stranger’s apartment, closing the window as fast as he could, in order to go unnoticed by those chasing him

as he sat on the ground to catch his breath, he saw a girl sitting on her bed with a bowl in her hand, ramen hanging out of her mouth as she just stares at the strange, bloodied man that came into her room

the ramen drops from the girl’s mouth as her mouth is still agaped

as a scream was about to leave the girl’s mouth, jaehyun put his finger to his lip, peeking out the window to see the gang running past the apartment complex

he looks back to see the girl had closed her mouth and had her chopsticks up as if it were some weapon that could protect her

“please put down the chopsticks, i won’t hurt you,” he tried to calm the girl as the shock had finally hit her that some man had just jumped into her window when it was five floors up

“i just wanted to eat my ramen in peace tonight and now i have to deal with some man hopping into my room and getting blood ALL OVER MY CARPET,” the girl responded, putting her chopsticks back in the bowl

jaehyun looked down to see a puddle of blood sitting below him due to the amount of cuts he had gotten

the girl finally spoke up, “please just go in the bathroom while i get the first aid kit”

jaehyun followed the girl into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet seat as the girl walked away to get her first aid kit, not forgetting to put on her bunny slippers on her way out

she came back with a white box and opened it to get bandages and antibiotic ointment to prevent any infections

“before i start treating you, i deserve to know your name after you basically broke into my house and ruined my ramen eating session” the girl said, cutting the awkward silence

“jaehyun” he had responded curtly

“well i’m y/n and the least you can do is actually talk to me while i’m doing this, the silence is suffocating me”

thus, the two began to speak about their themselves as y/n was cleaning his cuts

jaehyun later learned she is in college studying to become a nurse and y/n learned about jaehyun being in nct and the reason why he had randomly popped himself into her apartment

after tending to his injuries, y/n had set up a makeshift bed on her couch in the living room for him to spend the night, even after jaehyun had attempted to politely refuse

she insisted that his injuries were still healing and he needed to rest for the night

it is now 12:42, y/n was snoring peacefully as jaehyun laid on her couch staring at her bowl of unfinished ramen sitting on the counter

although jaehyun had the mindset of making this their first and last time meeting, he couldn’t bring himself to never see her again

thus, began their weekly hangouts in y/n’s apartment

whether it be watching high school musical and singing along to all the songs or eating ramen like every broke college students

y/n really began to see that behind the tough mafia persona was a little soft teddy bear with cute dimples

although, there were the few times that jaehyun did come to her apartment all cut up again causing y/n to tend to his wounds while scolding him about being careful and making her worry

through this time period, they began to develop feelings for each other

and like every oblivious character in fanfics, they took every display of affection to be completely platonic

because all friends cuddle each other on the couch and give each other random cheek kisses right??

jaehyun realized how hard he was falling for her as he knew every little thing about her

from wrapping herself in a blanket burrito whenever she sleeps to scrunching her nose when she’s focused

especially when he as super deep cuts from fighting that cause her to stitch them together rather than the normal neosporin and hello kitty bandaid

jaehyun, like every other idiot in fanfics began to distance himself from y/n thinking it will stop his feelings

this caused y/n an immense amount of distress because she began to miss his company and his comforting hugs as her finals were approaching

but she took it as jaehyun being caught up in his line of work and tried to be understanding, making up any excuses for his absences

jaehyun came over one day as y/n had called him over which had him questioning what could she possibly have to tell him at 1am

when he came over, y/n ran up and hugged him leaving him all confused

“i passed my finals and i have enough credits to be able to graduate early” y/n screamed while having the biggest smile

jaehyun smiled at her, showing his dimples (wow i’m soft)

“you’ll be there at my graduation right?” y/n asked while pouting, making it harder to jaehyun to say no

“of course, i wouldn’t miss it for the world” jaehyun responded which made y/n’s smile grow bigger as she planted a kiss on his cheek and skipped to the kitchen to make ramen for the both of them

jaehyun watched her from a distance thinking, “yeah my feelings are still there”

jaehyun continued to distance himself and submerge himself in his work

on a particular day, he was dealing with a drug deal with another rivaling gang which turned very violent very fast

what he had forgotten is the drug deal had taken place on the same day as y/n’s graduation

y/n looked around the crowd in her cap and gown for the dimple boy and couldn’t find him anywhere

soon enough it was here turn to walk across the stage for her diploma

she looked up as she was on the stage and still could not point him out

after graduation, she waited outside the graduation hall for him, until she was the only one left in the whole building

tears began to fall on the floor as she realized jaehyun had broken his promise

she began to walk towards the bus stop in hopes of catching a late bus to take her home

as she got off the bus, the bus driver took pity as he saw her puffy eyes

“hey, congratulations kiddo” the middle aged man said to y/n seeing her in her cap and gown

y/n looked at the kind man and smiled replying a quiet “thank you”

mumbling a small “at least someone was there for me” as walked towards her home

y/n threw her cap and gown as soon as she got into her apartment, taking a shower, and changing in her comfortable clothing

she plopped herself on the couch and turned on high school musical, singing all the songs by herself as she continued crying

jaehyun, who was once again bloody and heavily injured made his way to y/n’s apartment hoping she was awake to treat his wounds

once he walked into her apartment using her spare key, he saw the girl sitting on her couch with red eyes

she looked at the doorway and saw jaehyun

she glared at him and went back to watching the troy and gabriella singing breaking free, jaehyun’s favorite song

jaehyun walked up to her, standing in front of the tv

“hey, do you mind helping me out?” jaehyun asked pointing out all the cuts he had, while y/n just looked out the window away from him

“y/n” jaehyun waved his hand in front of her which caused her to slap his hand out of reflex

“what’s the matter with you?” jaehyun asked

which caused y/n to be enraged as she replied “what day is it today?”

jaehyun looked at the calendar in her room where the day was marked “y/n’s graduation :))” making his eyes go wide that he forgot

“y/n i’m so sorry” jaehyun sympathetically said as he looked down to the floor

“I waited for you for so long, usually i’m so lenient with you ditching our weekly hangouts thinking it’s for work, but the one time i wanted you there, you can’t even do it” y/n said as tears began to make their way to her water line again

“it’s just a graduation it’s not that big of a deal” jaehyun scoffed

“it meant everything to me and you know that. i actually thought i meant at least something to you for you to actually care about my feelings but obviously all you care about is yourself” y/n spat out

“well maybe you’re right, you really meant nothing to me, you were just some who kept latching onto me and couldn’t even see that I never enjoyed your shitty company” jaehyun exclaimed

immediately both their eyes went wide

the tears finally fell from y/n’s eyes as jaehyun stood still not believe he had just spewed out such lies

as he tried to reach for y/n to bring her into an embrace, she ran past him, out the house in her bunny slippers

jaehyun fell to his knees as he finally let his words and its effects soak in

y/n kept running until someone pulled her into an alleyway and afterwards she lost consciousness

when she had awoken, she was tied to a chair where she saw a man cleaning a gun

she tried to scream but realized her mouth was taped

the attempted scream caused the man to turn around

the man ripped the tape off her mouth and covered his ears as he heard her scream’s full volume

“wow jaehyun, really picked a loud one” the man mumbled

“what do you want with me?” y/n asked

the man then explained who he was and his intentions of luring jaehyun to the warehouse to kill him, using y/n as bait as jaehyun loved her too much to let her die

y/n scoffed, “i mean nothing to him”

the man then took a photo of her replying “let’s test it”

jaehyun then received the picture of y/n held captive with a message attached saying “come to warehouse 42 if you want to save her”

immediately, without thinking about the injuries he already had, he ran to the warehouse without thinking about the car he had perfectly parked in the parking lot outside the apartment complex

but as he got to the door of warehouse 42, all he heard was a gunshot and a scream

was he too late?

#jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct jaehyun #jaehyun angst #jung jaehyun #mafia au #angst #writing takes too much work and creativity for my small brain to handle

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lessofthelego · 4 years

Text

MURKY OF MIRKWOOD

[Part Two: Elven Steel]

“Let’s have these off you, Murky-me-lad!!” says a doughty guard removing the irons: he was back in the Walnut Cellar, his details finally processed. The dwarf gestures rightward to a blind-ended hallway, short and dark stained: “Second door down, get yourself washed; there’s nowhere to run, I’ve got the key… I’ll knock on when we‘re ready for you!”

So-named ‘Murky’ finds himself in a curiously hot and dim booth with a curtain in front, the waxy tanned fabric feels strangely moist to his fingertips as he pulls it back. Immediately a wall of hot air encompasses him about and bright light blasts through. Beyond this lies a steam-filled bathing area; the sudden illumination shows no sign of any other present therein and at his right-hand side there is revealed a wooden chest nestled in the cubicle. He guesses rightly that the curtain and box are employed to save any clothing from excessive damp; therefore he disrobes and enters in, drawing the screen behind. Having passed through a swirling cloud of hot steam he fully discerns a sunken bath; a chunky square column stands to the left, atop which and set flush rests a wide silver font, almost filled with a brown substance like clotted mud. The mixture looks disgusting but the scent of it intrigues him; almost like the grasslands nigh to the Elven-gate of Greenwood in the days of his infancy. He dips in the tip of his left hand for a closer whiff as memories of his mother sat peaceably in a meadow light his mind’s eye. He undertakes to rub off the sticky matter on the back of his right hand but finds that it thins with friction and the more he wipes the further it spreads up his arm. Reaching toward the bath water to wash it away the immense heat almost scorches him ere he plunges in his arm, he swiftly withdraws. Something happens then that he does not expect… a thing remarkable: the mud balm reacts to the heat and hardens, moreover wherever it makes contact with his skin it feels cool. He forms a fist with his right hand and the brown surface cracks into dusty fissures as his arm muscles and tendons contract. The residue is easily brushed aside and the soft flesh underneath gleams new; but most noteworthy, the reddening and soreness about the top part of his wrist is gone. He hurriedly revisits the clothes chest to retrieve thongs to tie up his long hair and proceeds to coat himself from top to toe in the earthy salve.

Before long Legolas gingerly submerges into the searing pool: the ‘Mad Matted Mudman!’ of fable; and so, he enjoys the most invigorating bath he has taken in a long time, if indeed ever. Alas, it was over all too soon: knock—knock—knock! The bather reluctantly removes from the water to find a rubbery second skin has formed about him. He manages to peel away the coating almost in one piece without any pinching or resistance against his blonde mane, nor even fine body hair; moreover, the gashes on his shin and head have inexplicably healed. He is instantly dry and feeling good as new. knock—knock—knock: “I needs be clad” he shouts in reply.

At the sound of laughter beyond the door, Legolas finds that his garments have been confiscated and replaced by a scratchy dun sack with hastily cut-out holes to fit his arms and head. His annoyance is heightened as he wonders how he did not hear the dwarves engaging in the swap; but there is much about dwarf keys that the elves do not know. Thus, he has no choice but to tie the sack around his waist with the tatty rope provided and meet the captors bedecked as a beggar; whence he is led barefoot to reconvene upstairs at the Hall of Hearing. Upon mounting the first tread he hears tumult above, and by which time they reach the top Legolas witnesses the leading out of hapless Dimroc and Gimroc. The dense hall-door slams behind them, causing the elf to detect a feature he had not before noticed: sunken in the wall on either side of the door frame there are mounted two enormous horns with gilded flutes ever poised to announce themselves.

In-going: the disparity versus wood and stone registers immediately beneath his exposed sole, whereat Legolas motions to revisit his former place of standing. The cubic chamber is disproportionately large, being designed no doubt to daunt any unfortunate respondent summoned there. This room offers scant lighting (unlike other regions in the vast subterranean development) save at the fore where the Heads wait; all seated in a preformed and hastily assembled semicircular bench, behind which is an usher’s pulpit with a granite hoarding beyond concealing the high seat of the absent Lord Dain. At the centre of the wooden crescent sits a round dais of bare brick, hooped at its kerb, serving as a dock. The heavy door stands directly opposite the bench, and dim-lit public galleries fill the side walls. Hence the walk from the stairs to the bench seems rather excessive; especially so when countless sets of accusing eyes monitor every footfall from the shadows. At length he ascends the stony disc as his four escorts surround him at ordinal points marked on the floor. Each dwarf faces the front and dares not crane his neck upward; Legolas however stands at a height where his eyes meets those of his prosecutors. And then… nothing: no pronouncement, no whispers nor grunts, nothing but silence! Legolas wonders greatly at this since his former appointment had been met with much derisive clamour and expectant chatter. Moreover, a draft of cold air concentrates all at once about him; and not knowing prior that of old the Dwarven engineers had contrived adjustable ducts leading to the outside world, he finally guesses at the reason for his abrasive burlap garb.

Another minute passes by in chilly silence. Presently, four bell peels mark the time of day and Legolas realises that one hour exactly has passed since he last stood here. A deep low chant blends seamlessly with the dying reverb of the final bell; the Heads rise from their seats being closely followed by the sounds of shifting and shuffling as the meeting stands to its feet. The intensity and volume of the chant grows into discernable words uttered in ancient Dwarvish. The unseen cantor stops abruptly and those assembled answer him reverentially; this process continues for two more call-reply cycles, concluding with one last solo intonation. Throughout all this the scholarly prince discerns the words ‘Mahal’ and ‘Durin’; this in itself is remarkable since no outsiders are learned in Dwarric-wisdom. Therefore, having no way of knowing what this means he supposes that the ’fourth of noon’ must be a sacred hour among them, or that this date and time holds some significance on their calendar.

The Head on the far left begins, “Are you ready to furnish this hearing with your true name, Elf?”

“I have given it!”

“Very well,” he sighs, “If we are to continue in this pretence, have the Arraigned registered as ‘Prince Murky’ and be done with it!” The gallery erupts with laughter but the speaker remains unimpressed, “Since you come to us with such an implausible account, ‘Your Highness,’ we must view this question most seriously, the Dispensation charges you with spying and trespass: what say you?”

Legolas answers disbelieving: “Spying, on what grounds?”

“Face the front!” demands the dwarf: The so-called ‘Arraigned’ slowly complies, having already noted the radial iron petals set around his feet. The questioner continues, “I note you do not contest the charge of trespass!”

“On what grounds?” repeats the elf.

“I’d worry more about the penalty than the grounds if I were you, Murky!”

“Please enlighten me!”

“For spying, death by hanging!” he gloats “...and for trespass...” but soon falters as one caught out “Der-death by hard labour!”

The room gasps: “Since you mean to kill me either way; I am as well to take the harder charge and the swiftest course.” reasons the elf.

“We mean to hear you!” another interjects sternly, “Now, lest we gravely lose our patience, reveal yourself and your purpose!”

“Murky of Mirkwood, trespasser and spy, or Legolas Greenleaf, traveller of what used to be called the ‘Free-lands’: what difference does it make here?”

“We could wring the answers from you!” puts in a third.

“I am sure the dutiful Dimroc and Gimroc would oblige you.”

“How do you know their names?” demands the first.

“I asked them: does that equate to spying in these lands?”

The same dwarf sniffs in retort: “You’re awful sure of yourself… for such a one in your shoes…”

Impassive, Legolas glances down at his bare feet with a slight tilt of the head. The flushed inquisitor barks out unformulated words whilst the others splutter and cough; all of them save one, himself of the two panellists who directly faces Legolas, being sat to the right from the elf‘s viewpoint. He is an immutable and permanent looking fellow, not unlike the plain granite behind him: inscrutable yes, but lucid.

As the muttering subsides, Legolas addresses this one directly: “May I speak?”

“You may!”

“Sirs, I hold it decorous to compliment your inspired dwelling; especially the bathing facilities, of which I can truly say I have never before benefited from the like. However, it is plain to all that I do not find myself stood before you now clothed as I was one hour prior. Is it reasonable to assume that the joint-board has possession of my garments and belongings; and that they have been duly inspected?”

“It is!”

“There is much at hand in those effects to substantiate my words and to confirm to you all that you have indeed (to be blunt) bagged a prince. Would it be adequate then to say that in terms of my answering thus far, in relation to who I am, I have not attempted any deceit?”

“It would:” the dwarf then addresses the reporter, “Revise the name on the register to that formerly specified by the Bidden!”

“Not the Arraigned?” considers Legolas to himself.

“How very clever of you,” sneers the first Head, “You have talked yourself into becoming a hostage of war: Haha, and apt for hard labour after all!”

Legolas answers steadily, “I am not aware that our peoples are at war!”

“Oh really,” he snarls, “Our Warrior Lord and his finest soldiery departed these lands not much more than thrice-a-day’s hence: now, Wood Prince, why was that?”

“Ultimately to succeed Thorin Oakenshield as King under the Mountain, it would seem.”

“Ah yes, our beloved Thorin and the elves…”

The centrally sat dwarf stays him, “Ffodor: enough for now, my friend!” who then fixes his gaze on Legolas: “Why are you so eager to prove who you are; when (war or no) my co-auditor rightly points out your value as a hostage?”

“I am not a liar!” replies Legolas.

“And that is your only reason?”

“Is that not enough?”

“Do not misapprehend the licence of this Dispensation, Prince, nor its willingness to act!” calls out the other Head facing Legolas; who then acknowledges his neighbour already addressing the newly renamed Bidden: “Wãelyn, you know elves are dishonest, never tolerate them the slipper‘s twist!”

“Thank you, Karnaech, I need not remind you that the ‘Branch of Juris’ falls to my family this season; however, I will reassure the Mete again that every measure stands upon the sounding and hearing of all occupants at this form!”

Silence falls momentarily until Wãelyn speaks again to Legolas: “So, you are not a liar, I am sure your mother would be most plea…”

“My mother is dead!”

“Do not over-speak me!” blasts Wãelyn, “If it pleases the Branch, whom I am, we could set a holder’s-bit about you and proceed in your hearing only…”

Legolas stalls…

“As amusing as we find your florid obsequiousness, the Dispensation is not satisfied with your scrubby responses to direct questions, hence I reiterate: Why the fervour to prove your credentials against the merit of your being our hostage?”

“And speak plainly!!!” demands a heckler from the gallery.

Wãelyn makes to stand up, whereupon no other onlooker dares to coo or jeer in agreement with the last comment. At considered length he resettles: “Indeed, be plain!”

“I am not accustomed to Dwarric Law and do not understand the intricacies of standing before you as the Bidden or the Arraigned: I could cite myself as the Ambushed, the Assaulted, the Abducted or the Tortured…”

Seven faces snarl at him: but Wãelyn, although calloused to these opening words, remains attentive. He considers the state of mind of the one stood before him, pondering how given the situation he could remain so at ease. He thinks to himself, “Does he not realise that I could have him hanged right now without issue or repercussion?” The elf continues…

“However, I stand before you as Legolas, called Greenleaf by his mother after her people, Son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm in Greenwood! And in the absence of King Dáin, I concede to the authority of his Dispensation.”

“How very kind of you, Highness!” gloats Karnaech; some others harrumph at this but neither Legolas nor Wãelyn react to the interruption.

“You found me recently departed from Erebor where, after the slaying of Smaug by one of the Lake-towners, a battle had ensued…”

“Aye, no doubt prompted by your king!” adds Ffodor.

“Enough!” demands Wãelyn: Legolas resumes…

“For my part I embarked upon a scouting mission to Gundabad and there witnessed the marshalling of the second host set against Erebor; it being led by one Bolg, son of Azog, whom I later slew in single combat. It was here that the fatal contest took place between Thorin and the Defiler, Azog himself; the king fought val…”

“Wait now,” interjects Wãelyn, “you witnessed this but did not intervene?”

“I was engaged with Bolg at lower quarters and did not witness their fight; however I aided him with a sword!”

“Can you produce witness to this effect?”

“I am not sure: my comrade and a Halfling traveller were close by but I do not know what they saw.”

Ffodor laughs, “Haha, you provide a little truth to bear out a big lie! You don’t know what your comrade saw: What then: did you and he have a falling out, are you not talking anymore?”

“She... was immobile at Bolg’s hand and about to be slain ere I befell him.”

“Oh it just gets better,” he sneers, “elf-maids trading their silks for armour.”

“Believe what you will,” answers Legolas.

Wãelyn asks, “What of this Halfling?”

“I know that he was a companion of Gandalf and known to Thorin’s company; I heard him referred to as Mr. Baggins but did not catch his first name!”

“Our people trade with the Shire-folk,” says another, “they’re not fighters nor wizard‘s apprentices,” he sniffs: “Huh, shopkeepers more like!”

“Wait now… Baggins, Baggins… I have heard that name before: Haha, Old ‘Third time pays for all’ Bungo the Broker!” Wãelyn smiles for the first time: “He worked for the Took family as I recall, many years ago, he must be ancient by now; a decent fellow, but I’m inclined to agree: not warrior class!”

“Even so, Mr. Baggins was there; but not so old I would guess,” says Legolas.

“And yet, there is something more,” adds Wãelyn.

“I cannot add much more about him, save that he attended to Thorin as he died of his wounds: this I saw at Ravenhill some way off!”

“I notice that throughout you are skirting the issue of your father, the King!”

“What would you know?”

Wãelyn summons the usher to bring him a thin stack of documents: “Perhaps it is time that you should hear what we know!” He straightens the bottom edges of the papers against the board and clears his throat: “I have here a number of drafts of the ‘Ravens’ sent to our Lord Dáin by the hand of Thorin himself…” He hands the notes back to the usher, “Wylenhin, read these aloud for the benefit of the Mete!”

Wylenhin takes up his position on a high rostrum directly behind Wãelyn and Karnaech, proceeding to read in a loud and clear deep-brown voice:

Lord Dáin,

Allow me to be the first to inform the Seven Families through you, Esteemed Cousin, that despite your shared reticence I am finally to come into my own. The key to the hidden door of Erebor has come down to me from my father; and now on this our day, Durin’s Day, the King’s Stone shall return to its rightful owner.

Thorin Oakenshield.

Lord Dáin,

At long last our people are avenged: the worm is evicted and Erebor is ours. Come and see it, Dáin; see the blanket of gold in which we smothered Smaug the Terrible ere he met his end. Bring with you your bards and minstrels and let us compose a new song: ‘The Ballad of the Toy-makers and the Merchants!’

Thorin ii, son of Thráin.

Lord Dáin,

So it begins, the birds descend: the Lake-town lackwits insist on remuneration, I might have aided them had they not so soon enlisted an army of wood-elves to press their claim. The starlight grubbers are upon my doorstep but these I will not entertain; lest of course it is in like manner to which King Prig and his heir forcibly and unjustly entertained my company and I not long since prior: behind bars!

The King under the Mountain.

“Hang him! Axe him! Make him suffer!” demand several onlookers.

“What say you to this!” says Wãelyn to Legolas.

“To which: the hanging, the axing or the suffering?” he answers amid much uproar and general incredulity.

“The Frequentery will hold its peace…” insists Wãelyn; “The Bidden will curb all glibness and I will have his answer!”

“You refer to the letters just read aloud?” clarifies the elf.

“I do!”

“I have naught in those sheets save for a thinly veiled insult…”

“Read between the lines: tell us of your encounters with Thorin!”

“Very well…” begins Legolas. “Thorin and his company had become ensnared in a giant-spider nest and were fighting their way out, when my division first came upon them. They must have strayed from all known pathways to become thus straightened. However, our greater forces purged that colony of monstrous pests which had been…”

Wãelyn interjects, “You say ‘my division’ meaning that you were in command?”

“Correct!”

“Hmm… so this was not a rescue of dwarves but rather a vermin-control exercise where by some strange chance your company and Thorin’s momentarily fought a common foe?”

“Correct!” repeats the elf.

“So the bugs were squashed: Continue!”

Legolas takes pause to consider his response…

Ffodor speaks gravely, “We come to the truth at last, the Bidden is lost for words; no quick witted retort in light of facts that now lead to the inevitable end. We know Thorin and his company were detained with prejudice by the Woodlanders, we have the evidence of the letters; there is also the testimony of he whom it was that gave the very command to…”

“I believe it was upon me to continue…” puts in the elf.

He is overridden, “HE whom it was that gave the very command to seize our beloved king…”

Legolas defies him again, “So this is what is meant by the inevitable end!?”

“OUR BELOVED KING:” insists the dwarf, “Whom it was His Father that had turned his back upon our kin in the gravest hour of need!”

“I am standing trial for my father too?”

Rising suddenly, Wãelyn slaps down on the board with a mighty thud: “You are the one stood before us, and the only other apt to represent his house. You may continue if you wish…”

“It is true, I apprehended this party of dwarves! In my military capacity I did everything necessary to ensure that my father’s orders were carried out.”

“And his orders were?”

“To imprison them!”

“And release them when?”

“No such command was given: they escaped!”

“How was that?”

“They secreted themselves in barrels and floated downriver to Lake-town,” explains Legolas; “With hindsight I surmise that Mr. Baggins assisted in this endeavour since we knew not then of his part in this…”

“The resourceful Mr. Baggins!”

“Quite so…”

Wãelyn sinks back into his chair, blank faced with his hands loosely cradling their opposing elbows: “Hmm… The Mete has not heard any reasons for your prolonged encampment on the borders of these lands: indeed upon this rests the validity of the charges against you! How do you respond?”

Presently, a brassy note reverbs mightily through the hall by way of the horns beside the entrance. The door creaks slowly open revealing two figures, notable in their differences; the taller clad in grey advances with the aid of a staff, allowing his tiny companion to keep pace as they take the long walk of the accusing eyes.

At length Wãelyn speaks, “Not casually do the Horns of Juris sound during session, Gandalf the Grey; the Branch and this form will hear the cause of it!”

“Indeed, no casual matter at all!” says the wizard who mounts the platform to stand beside Legolas, the hobbit refrains and waits behind: “Much has occurred these last days since the battle; I carry a document of importance, a North-east Accord, if you like...”

“What is that to this hearing?” inquires Wãelyn, gesturing to have it: Wylenhin accommodates him as Gandalf waits.

“It matters much, Sirs!” says the wizard at length, “Erebor and the Woodland Realm have pacted together with the Lake Town Men to rebuild Dale and renovate the waterways of Esgaroth. This means employment of all kinds for all kindreds; surely wine and ale will flow freely once more…”

The gallery combusts with applause; not even Wãelyn’s glower can stop it, but he remains patient holding up a forefinger to stay his colleagues until the clapping abates: “I tire of speeches in place of answers and I say again, what is that to this hearing?”

“I am sure by now you have verified the seal of the King under the Mountain and noted the signatories in front of you…”

“I have!”

“As you can see this declaration is to be sent to all regional authorities of peoples concerned. Perhaps an adjournment is in order whilst you peruse the document...” suggests the wizard.

“Agreed!” says Wãelyn.

“Perhaps too, my friend here might have his effects returned to him as you deliberate!” adds Gandalf.

The Branch of Juris assents to this amid his fellows’ habitual snippy discontent: “We shall have the truth in this!” he tells them; and to the wizard he says, “I should also like to speak with you separately, that goes for your little friend malingering behind your cloak tails too!”

“Of course!” says Gandalf with a courteous nod.

“But tell me, Gandalf,” asks Wãelyn ere they retire to chambers, “How is it that you came thither in person and did not send a herald, or nary a raven?”

“Some birds fly higher than ravens and can see much more clearly!”

#legolas #movie verse #hobbit fanfiction #lotr fanfic

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fifiliphile · 5 years

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apple of his eye (Cherik Inktober Challenge 2019): Day 7

#TheyDeserveBetter

[AO3 Version] — N/A

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | TBC

A collection of vignettes—little slices of Charles and Erik's life across canon and various alternative universes—which have two things in common: they are all told from Erik's perspective and they are hopefully so fluffy you're gonna die (from all that sugar).

Written for @theydeservebettercherikchallenge.

I know, I’ll need to catch up. Sorry, I got sick (oh, how much I love the transition from summer to autumn). But I’m back, and I’m working on the couple of ficlets I missed, don’t you worry. I should post them within the next few days, and then this one will uploaded on AO3 as well.

The fragment that Erik reads here comes from The Once and Future King by T.H. White.

Day 7: Cuddles ( X-Men: First Class; Mansion Fic)

Rating: G

“I’m so terribly exhausted.” Charles’s quiet voice follows the squeak of the opening library doors.

Only now does Erik notice that an hour has passed since he came here to escape the hustle and bustle of the household getting ready to retire for the evening. His days have been occupied mostly by the training of his own, starting with running in the morning, and followed by some more intricate practice of his abilities, or sometimes—seldom, but still more often than expected —accompanying Charles and the rest of the team. He may not be particularly willing to admit it, but he finds himself getting some enjoyment out of spending time with the fellow mutants, much more than he would anticipate.

The evenings, however, continue to be the time reserved for himself, a rare occasion to redirect his thoughts from the revenge to a bit more pleasant matters, like catching up with new editions of the English literature. The mansion’s library proves to be a truly remarkable treasure trove of books; Erik has never seen so many a volume belonging solely to a single person before, but as baffled as he is by such a display of wealth, he isn’t one to miss the opportunity of exploring the impressive collection.

Besides, the evenings are the only time of the day when Erik can steal a few moments alone with Charles, without any unwanted gazes following them around. Another form of indulgence that Erik probably should do his best to avoid, and yet he’s coming here every evening, submerging himself in both the literary world and the magnetic gaze of Charles’s striking blue eyes.

The sofa sinks slightly right next to Erik, and he feels the warmth radiating from Charles as the telepath shifts a bit closer to Erik’s side. The younger man is slumped over the settee rather inelegantly, his head leaning down on the backrest and his eyes closed. He’s frowning.

“The children have worn you down?” Erik raises an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“You have no idea.” Charles groans, throwing his left hand over his face. “And they’re hardly children, almost all of them are in their early twenties,” he mumbles from underneath his palm.

Erik snorts, checking the page and closing the book to put it down on his lap.

“Which hardly makes them adults,” he says matter-of-factly, turning to face Charles.

“No need to be so serious,” the telepath says quietly under his breath, peeking out from in between his fingers.

Shaking his head, Erik smirks. “No need to be so dramatic,” he echoes bitingly, albeit in a rather light-hearted manner.

Charles simply grunts noncommittally, clearly deeming the whole conversation over as though he knows that he isn’t able to outtalk Erik. Once again closing his eyes, the telepath scoots closer to the other man and leans against his arm. Erik, ever thrown off balance by such closeness, freezes for a few seconds, unsure of what to do.

It seems so unfamiliar, that whole thing between him and Charles. Rationally, Erik knows that he used to be very close with his parents, so showing affection in itself is not so foreign to him, but he hasn’t seen himself as someone worth caring for since what feels like a lifetime ago, convinced that his ability to l—to be close to someone died the moment the bullet pierced through his mother’s chest. And yet, the fateful encounter in cold atlantic waters appears to have awoken a spark deep inside of him that he thought he’d lost forever.

Eventually, Erik slowly pulls out his arm from underneath Charles’s weight and wraps it around the telepath’s back, so gently as if he’s afraid he would crush the smaller man. Because he could, he reminds himself sharply, but that thought is gone almost as quickly when Charles snuggles even closer, his arms encircling Erik’s waist, and he buries his face in the crook of Erik’s neck, his floppy hair tickling Erik’s chin.

“What are you reading?” the telepath asks softly, his warm breath dancing against Erik’s skin. “Oh, The Once and Future King,” he answers his own question, apparently having noticed the title of the book in Erik’s lap.

“I’m catching up,” Erik explains, taking the book in his free hand.

“Read to me?” Charles raises his head from Erik’s shoulder, his sparkling eyes looking at Erik pleadingly.

The man hesitates, finding himself incapable of saying no to that imploring gaze. “I won’t start from the beginning, even for your sake,” he says, though his protest lacks any sternness.

Charles simply settles back against Erik’s side, but Erik catches a little smile curling on the telepath’s lips. “I’ve already read it,” Charles says quietly, but he sounds quite content. “So I don’t mind. I just like listening to your voice.”

He says it so lightly, as if it doesn’t matter so much, but Erik knows it does—Charles loves to remind him of how much he cares, often in such little, yet meaningful ways. Erik can’t help but smile softly, pulling Charles closer, and opens the book with his other hand. He quickly finds the last passage that he’s read, and he continues quietly,

“‘The best thing for being sad,’ replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, ‘is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then—to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are—’”

A quiet puff interrupts him, and Erik looks down at the telepath in his arms. Charles’s chest is rising slowly, steadily, his head burrowed against Erik’s shoulder. It takes him a moment, but Erik soon realizes that the smaller man must have fallen asleep, lulled by Erik’s calm voice.

“‘—to learn,’” Erik finishes, an affectionate smile curling on his lips, and he leans down to plant a gentle kiss on Charles’s temple, his lips brushing against the soft skin.

It’s small, and yet so intimate that Erik can’t help but commit that little moment to memory.

#cherik #they deserve better #cherik inktober challenge 2019 #cherik fic #fluff #cuddles #my fanfiction #hanshaped writes #apple of his eye

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oneshotsinlife · 5 years

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I Will Always Be With You Chapter 10: Yule

Life went on after the first encounter between Remus and Severus. Remus was now Harry’s teacher even though classes would not start until the end of the Holidays, the school material would include subjects from the muggle education method as well as introductions to subjects that Harry will have at Hogwarts. Narcissa was also interested on Remus study plan for Harry and, after long consideration, because education is a very important matter, the Malfoy Family asked Remus to teach Draco as well, who was beaming at the thought of spending more time with his friend.

It was Yule Day, a very important celebration within the wizarding community, every family had their own rituals, somewhere very old like the pureblood’s rituals, some others had just become a ritual, but the most important part of the celebration was the dinner. Every year people came together to celebrate, usually, people would invite their family and close friends to this kind of celebration.

That’s exactly why Severus Snape was getting Harry ready, doing his best to comb the mess of curls without making it look too bad, they had been invited to the Malfoy Manor to have dinner. Remus was also going, he and Severus had some conversations but never about the past, always about Harry and, surprisingly, potions, it was normal to hear Severus rambling about potions, but it was definitely unusual for him to have an audience that was genuinely curious about the topic. Harry was always curious about everything and Remus was a great listener, needless to say, that he also had his fill from time to time talking about different spells.

Their relationship had definitely improved and not only theirs, but Remus was also feeling more comfortable around the Malfoys, and Hagrid got used to constant visits from Severus and Harry, who was starting to be more confident around the tight circle of people.

Suddenly, the sound of knocking could be heard in the new family quarters, Severus put down the brush “that must be Remus, let’s go say hi, maybe he knows how to deal with your hair” Harry followed Severus to the door eager to see the werewolf. Harry did not know yet about Remus condition, the adults thought that it would be better to tell him after the full moon, this month would fall around the 27th, perfect timing in between holidays.

Remus was worried about the little one’s reaction to the news, but he also knew that it was necessary for him to know the truth, even though Severus insisted that if he was not comfortable talking about it to Harry it was completely fine to wait, which, in a way, surprised the werewolf, he somehow figured that Severus would be the first one to urge him into talking.

Remus picked Harry up the moment that he saw him “Hey cub, is your Dad struggling with your curls again?” Severus was not amused by the comment after all not everyone had the patience to deal with that mass of hair and Severus’ hair was really straight, so he didn’t have previous experiences, because braiding (badly) Lily’s hair when they were kids did not count. “Can you finish getting him ready while I dress?” Severus was still in his lab clothes because he hadn’t had a chance to take care of himself.

Remus nodded and took Harry to the child’s room “you get ready, we got this,” that’s all Severus needed to basically run to the shower. He desperately needed to get his hair washed and get rid of the potions oils that stained in his skin.

Remus sat Harry down on the chair on his room and started to brush his hair carefully to not hurt the child “What is new, Harry?” Remus asked lightly while concentrating on the little knot on the child’s hair that did not want to come off, making him frown a little.

“Yesterday Dad and I made an experiment, it was in my experiments book, it was really cool!” Harry started to tell everything about this little experiment, which it was just a little volcano, but it was enough to pick Harry’s curiosity on science, especially when he tended to question everything, not always out loud though.

Remus listened carefully to everything that Harry had to say, making sure to ask him some questions about it, he loved the fact that Harry seemed to be comfortable talking to him, that he knew that Remus would listen. It had been a process for Harry to fully open up to him, at first, Harry only talked when Severus was around, then, slowly but surely, he started to make his opinion known when they were alone.

Severus, eventually, came out of his room, fully dressed and ready, just in time to make sure they had everything they needed. He went to check on Remus and Harry who were sitting on Harry’s bed reading one of the child’s books, Harry’s hair was combed and looking like a controlled mess that made the child look even more adorable.

Severus leaned on the doorway looking at them for a second, he was glad that his son had someone else to count on, someone else to be himself with. He was also, deep down, glad that that person was Remus, it gave him a sense of peace, he did not know when this feeling started, after all, a month before he only felt disgusted towards the werewolf, which, thinking back now, it felt so wrong. Before he took Harry, everything seemed so dark and gloomy around him, but now he finally saw the light.

He stepped further into the room, clearing his throat to make his presence known, “everyone ready?” he asked looking at Harry, missing the surprised look followed by a shy smile that Remus sent his way. “We are ready Dad! Let’s go!” Harry was all too eager to go to Draco’s house, he missed his friend a lot and really wanted to play with him.

Remus was in a trance for half a second, looking at the surprisingly beautiful sight that was Severus dressed on his formal robes and freshly washed hair, contrary to popular believe, Severus' hair was rather beautiful, thick and dark that, when it was not oiled up because of potions fumes, had some volume and framed his long face perfectly. Remus shook these thoughts away, what was wrong with him, he just made peace with Severus who was clearly heterosexual, judging by his love for Lily alone, he could not and would not get a crush now.

They traveled by floo, this being the easiest way of traveling, also the safest during winter, no one wanted to walk all the way down to the Hogwarts’ gates under the snowstorm.

“Severus, Harry, Remus! Welcome” Lucius Malfoy greeted them “you arrived just in time” he then looked at Harry and smiled “Draco will be here in a moment, his mother wanted to do his hair”

Harry giggled and nodded “Thank you for inviting me Mr. Malfoy” Remus offered his hand as a greeting, which Lucius shook while saying “call me Lucius, and it’s a pleasure to have you.”

They walked towards the dining room where they found Narcissa and Draco already waiting, Draco ran and hugged Harry the second he saw him, making Harry stiffen for a second before he hugged him back “I missed you, you have to tell me about that experiment that you talked about in your letter.”

During the days that Harry and Draco could not see each other, they took it upon themselves to send letters back and forward, even though they actually only had been apart for two or three days, they needed to tell one another everything they did.

The adults thought that it was a great way for the boys to practice their writing skills and composition skills for school, so they tend to encourage for them to write, as well as, when possible, correct the letters and help out with spelling.

After the meaningless greetings they sat down at the table, the adults already talking about news at work, especially Lucius who had been listening closely to his peers, so he could determine whether or not people saw Harry and wanted to harm him. Thankfully, as for the moment, no one had any recollection of Harry, and those who had seen him were rather supportive and simply beamed at the cuteness of the child.

This did not mean that they were completely safe, after all, there were many people who would not be taken aback by the fact that Harry was still a child to use him to fulfill his own agenda. But it was a relief when the powerful people at the Ministry were unaware of Harry’s presence in the Wizarding World.

The dinner went smoothly, the conversation between the kids filled the room with little giggles that amused the adults to some extent. The houseleves made the best pork roast with rosemary and garlic which the adults accompanied with some Spanish red wine, while the children enjoyed a soda that Remus had bought in the muggle supermarket for them to try, both of them loved the fizziness and novelty of it.

For dessert, they enjoyed some Yule Log which was beautifully presented. Throughout the meal Draco, with some help from the adults, explained Harry the intricate etiquette of a formal dinner and why those kinds of protocols were important. Lucius was instantly aware of the extent of the abuse after hearing little comments from Harry like “before I was not allowed on the table” or “thanks to Dad now I can eat a bit more” even though his portions were still small and had to take a potion before the affair.

After the meal they all sat in the living room, the children talked about the presents that they would get tomorrow and played with a magical chess set, they still did not really fully understand the complexity of the game, but the basic rules were easy enough and their strategy skills got better with each game.

On the other hand, the adults were sited with a glass of their liquor of choice, except for Remus, who, according to Severus, “drinking this much would affect the effects of the potion even if you still have a couple of days before that time,” and submerge themselves in a heavier conversation.

“Millicent Bagnold is a good enough Minister, but in my opinion, he focuses more on the international opinion than what the English population needs” Lucius commented after explaining what he could of his role inside the Ministry to Remus, who really did not know what the other did.

“I have no right to vote, well… I don’t have rights… so, in my opinion, he is rather incompetent…” Remus said in a whisper, not really wanting to cause controversy, but at the same time, valuing his opinion.

“I believe, in that aspect, you are right, he should start thinking about werewolves’ rights, after all, how does he expect you to have enough money to afford the costs of living if he does not allow your kind to have a stable job? There always going to be bad people, but the good people should not suffer because of them” Narcissa said after making sure that the children were not listening, “Lucius, you should try to bring that to his attention, and that’s only scratching the surface.”

Lucius nodded from his seat, not able to verbally agree because he just had a taste of his drink. Remus was taken by surprise, he never really thought that the Malfoys, out of anyone, would actually understand his situation. Severus was silently listening, he really did not understand politics, but understood Remus problem.

“It will be a long process, but it is worth trying to convince him… the other day, I was conversing with Mrs. Perrot and she told me that her little girl was bitten a couple of months ago, thankfully she assured me that her daughter did not transform last month, they were really lucky that St. Mungos could attend her on time.”

Remus was relieved to hear that, after all, no one deserved to be in such pain, “that is really lucky when Fenrir caught me… my mum tried to take me to St. Mungos but it was too late, it had already been more than twelve hours and the bite was too deep”

Severus had the urge to extend his hand to comfort Remus, an urge that took him by surprise, but immediately related it to him comforting Harry many times before.

After a while, they were ready to leave the Manor and sleep, they would be back the next day for lunch to exchange gifts. Severus, Remus, and Harry said their goodbyes and flooed to Hogwarts.

#severus snape #Severitus #Good Severus #remus x severus #Remus Lupin/Severus Snape #Remus Lupin #reverus #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfic #fanfic #FanFic account #fanfiction #good malfoys #Draco Malfoy #lucius malfoy #Narcisa Malfoy #the Malfoy family

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totallyrhettro · 6 years

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Territorial, chapter 25

Word Count: 2389 Rating: This chapter: PG-13. Overall story rating: explicit Warnings: Forced Human Captivity, Torture Summary: After finally realizing their shared love for one another, all internetainers Rhett and Link had to do was live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that’s a lot harder to do in a world of werewolves. Notes: Takes place 1 year after Animalistic began. Still no wives; Rhett and Link are in an established relationship. This is a sequel to that fic. You don’t have to read that first, but it is highly recommended.

Also available on a03

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Night was falling again. Rhett gazed longingly through the bars of the window above him, up at the moon that he could just barely see from his prison in the Lowell’s basement. How he wished he could be out in the field of his home-away-from-home, the farmhouse that he and Link had fixed up together. He would have given anything to be there with his love right now. There, where he and Link had spent so many hours together just to the two of them, where they could well and truly be free. It seemed a lifetime ago. It seemed a dream that such paradise could ever have existed. Maybe it was a dream, a fantasy Rhett had constructed when he was lost and could never profess his love to the man he had known almost his entire life. A time when he could be open and truthful, when Link had loved him back. Had any of it been real? In this dungeon, far away from anything he knew or cared about, Rhett wasn’t so sure.

“I hope you’re awake,” came his torturer’s voice. Rhett didn’t turn from the moon, the only thing of the outside world he had left. He didn’t move a single muscle as he heard Caleb crossed the small room with overly confident steps. All the hope in his heart was quickly fading, hope of rescue, hope of escape. It all seemed to wither and die as the cruel man behind him got closer. “I’d hate for you to miss all the fun.”

“Come to torment me some more?” There was no fear in Rhett’s voice as he asked, no irritation. It was a question, nothing more. Rhett was too tired, emotionally and physically, to offer anything else. If his lack of reaction bothered Caleb, he showed no sign. Instead he ignored the question completely.

“It won’t be long now,” he commented, seeing the moonlight shining through the tiny window. “You must be itching to change.”

“Any sign of Theo?” Rhett asked, with a slight hint of taunt. He was able to feel a meager sense of accomplishment when Caleb didn’t answer for awhile. Another small victory. He flinched when a loud bang echoed through the room, and a sharp vibration shook his cage. Instinctively he turned to see Caleb, folding chair in hand, standing before him. His eyes were filled with rage, his face slightly flush. Rhett was certain he was going to hit the cage again but somehow he was able to contain himself and, instead, tossed the chair aside.

“I’m giving you one last chance, McLaughlin,” he warned, pointing a shaking finger at Rhett’s face. “Tell me where the mutts are or I swear I will personally find your Link friend and flay him alive.” Adrenaline coursed through Rhett’s body anew, waking up his fear response and making his entire body shake. He was afraid, he was furious, and he couldn’t take much more. Caleb was also furious, but his hatred could not hope to match that in Rhett’s heart for anyone that dared hurt his precious Link.

“You will not touch Link,” he growled, quiet but fierce. “If you do you better hope to God I die in here or I swear…” As he spoke he could feel the change happening. It was faster than ever before and it hurt like hell, but he didn’t care. He gripped the bars of his cage as his fingers turned to claws, standing taller as his long legs grew even longer. The long snout of a werewolf jutted from between the bars and he spat out the last of his threat. “I will tear out your throat myself.” His now-golden eyes flashed their fury at his captor who watched on with a very satisfied grin, yet there was hint of fear in his face as well. Rhett was a giant as a man; as a werewolf he was enormous and a sight to behold. Caleb had wanted to push him this far, and he had succeeded. Still, part of him couldn’t help but be terrified.

This was not Rhett. As he came to his full werewolf height, over ten and a half feet tall easy, and his borrowed slacks burst at the seams. His shaggy, sandy-colored fur stood on end, and his huge maw snarled and drooled. Rabid and savage, Rhett was not in control. The wolf inside him wasn’t in control either as his body contorted between human and animal. Neither could hold back their shared contempt of the man before them. Both wanted to hurt him- one wanted to eat him- and together they were a mass of rage and fury. They swiped through the bars, just barely missing Caleb as he jumped back, his own transformation barely beginning. He chuckled, nervously.

“Look at you,” he scoffed. “For all your talk, stubbornness, you’re nothing more than a feral junkyard dog.” With a slight strut, he circled the cage, heading towards the crank. “Put a chain around your neck and you can guard my lawn.” Rhett lashed out at him again as he got close, but the handle on the crank was long enough that Caleb could turn it without worry, even with a werewolf of Rhett’s size. “Maybe you should calm down a bit.” With a grunt he turned the crank hard, lowering the spike-lined roof of the cage unto his prisoner’s head. Rhett howled in pain, but didn’t calm down. He bent down, getting as far away from the spikes as he could, but he continued to snarl violently at his captor. Caleb lowered the roof further until there was no where for the werewolf to hide.

Like a tornado caught in a windtunnel, Rhett tore at the cage- the bars, the floor, even the spikes themselves, desperate and mindless. In his fit he even tried to use his teeth against the cage, but he only managed to hurt himself in the process. Still he continued to thrash about until he was bloodied and tired. Only then did he quiet down. Only then did his form finally meld completely into wolf. Panting, he could only lay down and stare at Caleb who looked far too pleased with himself.

“There,” he smirked. “Isn’t that better?” Stepping away, and with great effort, Caleb changed back into his fully human form. “I’ll be sad when our time together is over,” he added, stepping over to his crucible and the molten silver within. “You’ve been more fun than most.” Taking a large brush, he submerged the bristles in the metallic substance, carefully wiping away the excess onto the sides of the container. Then, walking back to the cage, he carefully began to brush on the silver to each and every spike. It was a light coating, but enough to really hurt the next time the spikes dug into Rhett’s flesh. Enough to kill him if they buried deep enough.

With one last chuckle he left the room to complete his change. Rhett was left to lick his wounds, literally and figuratively. The cuts and bruises would heal quickly, but in the end his fighting at been a fruitless endeavor, his rage had been for naught. There was nothing more he could do but wait.

~ ~ ~

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Grace asked. Link took a deep breath and let it out slowly: his vain attempt at trying not to sigh from hearing Theo’s words echoed by his new friend. Luckily it just looked like he was revving himself up.

“Positive,” he assured her, not losing stride. The two of them crossed Grace��s lawn to the very edges of her property. She was holding a dufflebag and some folded-up woolen fabric, that she had yet to explain to Link, and he had a small, hooded lantern to light their path. It cast an eerie glow on the dirt road before them. “There’s no other way.” Nodding, and holding the fabrics a bit closer to her chest, Grace didn’t ask again. Clearly Link had been asked enough times and his mind was set.

Once they reached the treeline, Link set the lamp on the ground and Grace handed him one of the strange bundles of fabric. He began unfolding it, curious and confused.

“Blankets?” he assumed, recalling how Rhett and he always changed under the full moon.

“Changing clothes,” she explained, unfolding her own. It took Link a few seconds to recognize the brown, square cloth. He made a slightly amused face before turning and raising an eyebrow at his companion.

“A poncho?” Grace giggled.

“It’s perfect for werewolves.” She slipped the fuzzy fabric over her head with a grin. “When the change comes, you don’t tear apart your favorite blouse, and once you’re done you can just take it off.” Fumbling under the poncho, she began to remove her clothes and gently placing them aside.

“Oh! I get it.” The poncho provided a warm modesty screen that wouldn’t get torn to shreds during the change. It was a brilliant idea and for a moment Link thought about telling Rhett as soon as he saw him. Thinking of Rhett, of course, reminded Link that he had to find the man first. The sun was getting low and Grace was almost done undressing. Link made quick of his own clothes to follow suit.

Once they were dressed only in their large ponchos, the two of them sat on the grass side by side. Grace zipped open her bag and pulled out a number of things for tonight’s change. A small tape player, with slow, calming music; an incense burner, which once lit emitted a soothing, herbal scent that didn’t bother Link’s sensitive nose; and finally a small, wooden statue of a wolf lying on its front paws. She set up everything with practiced care, making sure the music was at the perfect volume, that the wolf was perfectly positioned. Once she was certain the meditation area was set up just right, she turned to face Link.

“I know you’re under a lot of stress right now,” she began, knowing that it was understatement to say so. “But if you want to control your wolf under the moonlight, you need to remain calm during the change. Even during the night, if you let your emotions rule you, the wolf can very easily take over.” Link nodded, understanding. “Are you ready to start?”

“I’m ready.” Grace closed her eyes and Link did the same. He didn’t need to see right now; he could feel the entire world around him, sense every movement, hear every sound. The wolf was close to the surface, he could feel it. It made him anxious but it also gave him strength, kept all his senses sharp and keen. This just made him feel on edge, however, like he was constantly in the ‘flight or fight’ response mode. Normally Rhett was with him, keeping him safe and calm. Since his disappearance, Link and his wolf never felt either.

“Aright,” his new friend began. “I want you to focus on your breathing. Feel it being pulled in your lungs, and slowly being released back into the atmosphere. Listen to it flowing through your nose, in and out. In and out.” Link took deep, cleansing breaths, pushing out the noises and the smells that constantly berated his very essence, and thought about nothing but his breathing. He was doing very well- for about thirty seconds. Then his mind snapped back to Rhett; where he was, what was being done to him. As soon as he realized this was counterproductive, he cleared his throat and started again.

“Don’t get frustrated,” Grace instructed, gently. “Relax, and try to calm your heart. I can hear it pounding from here.” Link put a palm to his chest. His heart was racing quite fast, and he didn’t doubt Grace’s keen werewolf ears could hear it clearly.

“I’m trying,” he explained. “I can’t stop thinking about Rhett-”

“I know, but if you want to find him you have to clear your mind of him.” She gave him a very sympathetic look before quipping “If you love him, stop thinking about him.”

‘Easier said than done,’ Link noted, internally. Still, despite his doubts and fears, he did his very best to put them aside and clear his mind of all distractions. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Over and over he did this. When his thoughts turned away from the task at hand, he put them back on track. Soon he did feel calmer, but they weren’t done yet. After about twenty minutes he felt a new distraction. New, but all too familiar; an itch that started on his chest and spread over his entire body. Link tried to ignore the sensation, but things were just getting started.

“As the moon rises, so does the will of the beast,” Grace was saying, keeping her eyes closed. “The wolf is always inside you, Link, but most of the time you are in control. For weeks the wolf is subject to your will, and now he wants to come out. Don’t try to force him down, for his anger is fierce. He is untamed, but he can be coaxed. Breath in the night, drink in the moon.” Leaning his head back, Link could feel the warmth of the full moon on his skin, almost as if it were the bright midday sun. He let the cool night air wrap around him, like a blanket, as the moonlight shone down from above. It was a strange mix of hot and cold, two complete opposites coming together in perfect harmony. He wasn’t sure why he’d never felt them this way before.

His body began to change, but this time he felt no fear. He welcomed the change; the surge in power, the rise of fortitude. He embraced the change completely, letting his body twist and morph to whatever form it desired. As his arms and legs grew longer, as the fur spread across his skin, he didn’t even open his eyes. The feeling of his spine extending and curving into new shapes didn’t scare him. The knowledge that he was becoming more monstrous by the second gave him no pause. He let it happen and within seconds his transformation was complete. The wolf and Link were one.

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#rhett #link #rhink #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #werewolves #territorial

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jonogueirawrites · 6 years

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Fate in our hands, destiny in our hearts.

Notes: ** = Elven language. AO3 I was listening to this.

Chapter summary: Diana and Fáelán meet when Aurora once again decides not to heed her older sister's advice. They spent the night finding their way through the woods, and they learn exciting things about Diana. Fáelán listens and has fun with the humans around... he even gets more than what he wanted.

Chapter 2.

And paths intertwine.

Diana was in the castle’s garden. It was surrounded by a maze made of high walls which were decorated with colorful flowers.

The gazebo provided welcome shade in the hot spring day. The birds fed from the flowers around her and the bees kept buzzing in her ears, taking her concentration away from the book in her hands.

With a loud thud, she closed the book and tossed it away in the pile of other books she had brought with her. Her legs tingled after the many hours sitting in the same position, and she stretched them massaging her skin in the process. Throwing her body back her head fell on the pillows arranged on the floor. With her eyes closed, she welcomed the breeze with a smile.

A loud giggle reached her ears, and she sat straight hiding the book she was reading under her skirt. Her younger sister turned the corner of the maze a few seconds later.

“There you are!” – Aurora exclaimed. The excitement in her voice almost made Diana roll her eyes. – “We’ve been looking for you for ages.”

Tilting her head to the right, she saw Rufus and Brenda right behind her sister. She cleaned her skirt and took the opportunity to let out a heavy sigh.

“How can I help you, Dawn?” – The question had been asked so many times it had become automatic at this point.

“I don’t want anything, Dusk.” – Brenda laughed beside her friend.

Aurora gave her a side glance, and she shrugged turning her laughter into a smile.

The trio sat around Diana, and the group started talking about the uneventful day.

“I know where we can have some fun.” – Rufus exclaimed scratching his boyish stubble while leaning on the gazebo’s rail.

Diana saw her sister’s eyes sparkle and knew where it was going.

“Absolutely not.” – She tried to say, but her words were muffled by her sister squeaks.

Brenda raised her eyes to meet Diana's, and in that brief moment, they understood each other.

“C’mon, sis. You don’t even know what it is.” – Aurora tugged her skirt like she did every time she couldn’t handle her excitement.

“Whatever it is, I will be the one who will suffer the consequences. I always have and always will.” – She readjusted her hair inside her hood.

“Aw, come on Diana! Let’s at least listen, ‘kay?” – She motioned for Rufus to continue.

“There is a party.” – Aurora threw her hands in the air and giggled. – “It is a very distinct kind of party. Only a few individuals know where it is held and when.”

“Elven?” – Diana and Aurora asked at the same time.

Rufus nodded, and Diana waved her hands.

“There is no way you are going to this party, Aurora. You know very well how dangerous it is for humans to be seen with elves! Going to some elven party kilometers away from the castle is definitely the worst idea you have ever had!” – That was one of the rare times Diana was seen with her temper shaken.

“Not every elf hates humans!” – Her voice raised in defiance. – “Many of us attend those parties…” – She never finished her sentence.

“You are royalty!” – Diana yelled.

They had never seen her yelling. It was so surprising that Aurora flinched and looked away.

Her hood was thrown back revealing the scar she hid from everyone. It crossed the left side of her face starting on her forehead and went down to her chin. It marked her cheek and played with the corner of her mouth.

No one besides her knew what happened the day she entered the study looking for her father. Her clothes and face dirty with her dripping blood.

They had access to the best healers, but even they weren’t able to prevent the scarring on her brown skin, they were, however, capable of saving her green grass eye.

Since then she started using a hood to hide her face. Her hair was also used as a shield. Long bangs that descended below her eyebrows and a braid she kept close to the left side of her face.

Diana quickly pulled the hood over her face and took deep breathes to calm herself down.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” – She squeezed her sister’s hand and got a small smile in return. – “You need to understand that you are not only human but royalty.” – She rested her hands on her laps. – “You are right. Not all elves hate us. But when they were expelled from our lands without any time to gather their things… There’s a lot of resentment… grudge.”

She pulled her legs closer and hugged them. They got lost in their own minds before Diana continued without looking at them.

“When grandfather was escorted out of their castle that day, things changed, and the harmony we once shared was broken, and hate filled the void that was left behind. If you go out there, one of the Préia Hinnthel might find you. Do you remember what they are?”

“Human hunters.” – Aurora answered and curled her body.

“I can’t stop you, Aurora.” – She sighed. – “But please consider my words before acting.” – Diana gathered her books and left the place.

She arrived at her room and locked the door behind her. She took the books and placed them on the bookshelf. The one she was reading that morning was hidden in a secret compartment she kept under her bed.

From the darkest part of her wardrobe, Diana retrieved a small broken mirror. She studied her features and touched her scar with her fingertips. Her lips started to tremble, and she shoved the small object back to the place it should never have left.

With a heavy sigh she took the daggers she kept hidden behind her mother’s portrait and left through the window. She headed to the forest outside the kingdom's walls and waited for her friend to come for their training.

Brenda arrived after a few hours, and they trained until the sun started to set. At first, Brenda was just her training partner, but soon Diana noticed she had abilities that went beyond the royal guard and hired her to be Aurora’s personal guard. She never expected that they would become friends but all was perfect in the end.

“Brenda.” – She sheathed her daggers. – “Don’t let her out of your sight tonight. If anything happens to her, I will have you responsible for it.”

“Have I ever failed you, Dusk?” – She asked crossing her arms over her chest.

Diana laughed and patted her shoulder. Together they went to the secret passage leading to the human’s lands.

She asked to have a bath drawn and took the time to undo her braids and brush her hair. She submerged her body in the hot water and dreamed of the hot meal that waited for her in the kitchens.

Her father hated that she never had dinner with them, but she couldn’t stand being in the same room as her grandfather. The man hated her for reasons she gave up trying to understand. Besides, the servants were good company, and she heard the kingdom's news and rumors with them.

The dinner consisted of meat and potatoes. The bread she loved eating still hot with smoke raising out of it.

Her conversation was interrupted when her older brother entered the place and stole some of her food.

“Hey, Apollo!” – She slapped his hand. – “That’s mine.” – She punched his arm.

“Ouch!” – He massaged the spot she had hit. – “Have you seen Aurora?”

“She is probably with Brenda somewhere. Why?” – She filled her mouth with a spoon full of mashed potatoes.

“The guards just spotted Préia Hinnthel lurking around the kingdom’s limits and father wants everyone inside tonight.” – He ate an olive from her plate. – “If you see her tell her not to leave the castle’s grounds.” – He left waving to her.

As soon as Apollo was out of view, she went to her bedroom. The candles were lit, and she saw the full moon on the sky through her window.

She jumped outside her window with daggers in hand and reached the ground without any sound. The stable was not far, and she saddled the first horse she saw.

The secret passage was wide and high enough for a human to pass and she forced the horse through its pitch black darkness until they reached the other side.

The horse neighed when she mounted it, and with a little help from her heels they soon rode inside the dense forest, she knew exactly where to go.

They finally reached the path that led to the nearest elven village, and she breathed a little lighter. Aurora was somewhere inside the place.

Thinking about a way to approach it without being seen, she heard the hooves of horses on the distance. By the volume and pace of their rhythm, they were close enough not to give her time to hide.

She walked in the village’s direction with the horse’s reins tightly around her hands. The group surrounded her, and she saw six elves mounted in beautiful elven horses.

“Good evening, miss…?” – She heard one of them ask and approach to have a good look at her.

“Can I help you?” – She answered turning her face in an angle he wouldn’t be able to see.

“That is a question for us to make. What would a human be doing here tonight?” – The girl’s high pitched voice came from her left.

“I’m going to a party. If there’s nothing I can do for you, please excuse me.” – She tried to walk, but her way was blocked.

“Aren’t you afraid of being alone here, human?”

“If I were I wouldn’t be here.” – She moved the horse forward and heard the elf say something to her in elven.

He tried blocking her way again, but she swerved to the right and walked past him.

A tall elf approached her, and she saw his hair as white as his skin. His horse paired with hers and she felt his intense gaze. She thought he would try to stop her too, but he pulled his horse away from her and let her walk her path.

“What are you doing?” – The elven girl asked.

“She needs to be somewhere else and so do we.”

She heard them moving away and looked over her shoulder. The pale elf watched her for a few more seconds before turning and trotting to his friends’ direction.

Diana reached the place where the party was being thrown and tied her horse in the nearby tree.

“Getting here was the easiest part.” – She whispered to herself.

Pulling her hood lower, she entered the place and got lost in a sea of humans and elves. The god’s names reached her lips, and she prayed to find Aurora soon. The longer they were out, the more dangerous to go back.

She spent over an hour looking for her younger sister and was giving up her search when she saw Rufus kissing another guy in a corner of the place. She went in his direction and pulled his arm to have his full attention.

“Where is Dawn?” – She had to yell to be heard. The music deafening even her thoughts.

He pointed to a place in the far right, and she saw her dancing with Brenda. She pulled him with her and when he protested she just whispered two words in his ears.

“Préia Hinnthel.” – The color of his face was drained by terror.

The trio was found, and she led them outside only to discover her horse had been stolen.

“Where are your horses?”

“Stolen too.” – Brenda was the one who answered.

“We need to walk home then.” – She looked at the sky. – “We have more than enough time to go back. Brenda, you know what to do.”

Brenda positioned herself behind Rufus and Diana was in front of Aurora.

“Wait a minute!” – Her sister started, and she rolled her eyes. – “We are walking home? Like… on foot?”

“None of us has wings so answering your questions, yes, walking with our own feet.” – She started walking in the forest direction.

“I can’t do this.”

“Listen carefully, Aurora. We are here because you never think before you act. You are not a child anymore so stop acting like one. Do you want to be caught by the Préia Hinnthel?” – Her sister shook her head. – “Didn’t think so. Now be quiet and follow me. Do whatever Brenda or I say.”

They were walking for quite some time when Aurora asked to rest, so they sat for a couple of minutes.

Diana had the uneasy feeling they were being followed and afraid they were being hunted she restarted walking. When her sister complained, she simply told her goodbye and left her behind. Aurora ran to reach them.

Some more minutes walking and she heard a low noise nearby.

“Brenda, keep Dawn close.”

Her friend pulled Aurora and Rufus closer, and the group was attacked by a giant creature she had never seen.

Its horns pointed in her direction when it charged her. She miraculously dodged to the right. The creature was too fast, but when it had its back to her she threw her dagger, and it barely penetrated the skin.

“Brenda!” – She shouted. – “Take them out of here now.” – She rolled out of the way.

With them safe, she analyzed the situation.

The creature was fast when charging forward, but it was slow when turning. Its eyes were located on the sides of its huge head, so she had the advantage of sight. Next time it charged, she had a plan.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. The creature they were supposed to slain was nowhere to be found.

He said his farewells to his friends and started his journey home.

The moonlight lit his way between the trees, but still, his eyes were capable of seeing the corners the light couldn’t reach.

He caressed the neck of his horse and heard a loud noise coming further inside the forest. A smile found its way to his lips.

*Found you.*

Diana climbed a tree and threw a rock on the creature’s back legs. It let out a loud screech and charged her again, when it missed its target, she closed the distance between them and sliced its belly from the side.

It started to limp and lost its speed. She smiled when it attacked her once again.

“You’re dead.” – There was sadness in her voice.

She readied her daggers, but an arrow flew past her head and hit the animal right in the eye. It struggled and suddenly changed its path. In one last desperate movement, it swung its head both ways, and she noticed a weak spot on its neck. Her dagger penetrated deep into its skin, and the animal fell dead on the forest ground. She took the dagger from its neck and closed her cape close to her body.

“Brenda?” – She called, but instead of her friend, a tall, pale elf dropped from a nearby tree, his feet didn’t make a sound when they touched the ground.

They stared at each other for long seconds until Aurora came running and laughing in her direction.

“By the gods!” – She hugged her sister. – “I didn’t know you knew how to fight like that? When did you…”

“Are you alright?” – Brenda asked cutting her friend off. After a nod from Diana, she turned to the elf who watched them silently.

Aurora finally noticed the man standing a few steps away from them and hid behind her sister. Rufus stood by Brenda’s side.

*Are you one of the Préia Hinnthel?* – Diana asked in elvish for everyone’s surprise.

He raised his eyebrow and studied her from her head to her toes as he leaned on his bow and heard her ask again.

“No.” – He said in the human’s tongue. – “You don’t need to fear me. I mean you no harm.”

She watched him for a few seconds and took her sister’s hand in hers.

“Let’s go.” – She ordered and started to leave.

The elf followed them, and she kept looking over her shoulder to see how close he was.

“If you are not one of the Préia Hinnthel what is it you want from us?”

“You fought well against that creature. Most elves can’t face one alone. I never imagined I would see a human survive an encounter.” – He said honestly.

“What do you want?” – She repeated her question. Her hands itching to pick her daggers up.

He gave her a smile with one raised eyebrow.

“I can take you home. I know a faster way to the human’s kingdom.” – He leaned on a tree.

Aurora took a step forward and started talking to him.

“Oh, please! We would be very grateful for the help…”

“No.” – Diana pulled her closer.

“But Dusk…”

“Elves never give anything for humans for free.” – She saw him flash her that smile again. – “We can still…”

“You are going through the marsh aren’t you?” – She was quiet. – “It’s a fast and safe path… if the Préia Hinnthel haven’t set camp there already.”

Diana felt her sister squeezing her arm.

“We continue on our way.” – When Aurora tried to protest she stated. – “No discussion.”

The elf still followed them, and Aurora engaged him in conversation.

Diana was afraid she was going to reveal any information that could give away who they were, but apparently, her sister wasn’t as careless as she thought.

“So… what’s your name?” – She asked in a sing-song voice.

“You can call me Fáelán.”

Aurora saw Diana look over her shoulder and slow down her speed.

“What does it mean?” – She asked earnest.

“Little Wolf.” – Diana answered for him. – “A predator after all.”

He laughed, and she halted.

“You are talking about my name when yours are roughly translated to morning and evening, am I right?” – He laughed again when Aurora smiled at him, and Diana narrowed her eyes. – “Fitting.”

“Pardon?” – He heard the younger sister ask.

“You are happy and warm like the first rays of sunlight and your sister is…” – He studied her face. – “She’s the opposite. I see sadness in her eyes but also a…”

“Let’s just focus on our way, okay?”

They resumed walking.

“Say Fáelán… do you have a girlfriend?”

Diana tripped and almost fell.

“Dawn!” – She reprimanded her sister.

“It’s just a question.” – She defended herself. – “So…” – Aurora waited for his answer.

“No. I don’t, why?” – He saw Diana shaking her head and chuckled.

“Nothing.” – Aurora saw Diana let out a deep breath. – “I mean…” – She heard her sister sigh. – “Your name means wolf… a nocturnal animal… and talking about fitting names, my sister’s name means night…”

This time Diana fell but quickly got back to her feet.

“Absolutely not, Dawn.” – She walked in her sister's direction and held her hand pulling her away from him.

“What? It’s past time you got a boyfriend, and he is so gorgeous.” – She looked at him. – “And hot!”

He laughed, and Diana groaned.

“This is… no… there’s no way you will… I can find a boyfriend alone.” – She stammered an answer in the end.

“Have you ever kissed before?” – Aurora crossed her arms over her chest.

Diana didn’t know what to do. She wanted to disappear or rather drop dead.

“Good question, Dawn.” – Rufus said. – “Have you, Dusk?”

She gave the elf a quick glance before addressing them.

“We are not talking about that. Not now nor ever!” – She raised her voice. – “If you insist on the topic, I will walk away, and you will have to go with him.” – She started walking again.

Aurora laughed loud, and even Fáelán frowned at her.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” – She wiped away a tear. – “This is the fattest lie I have ever heard, Dusk. You would never leave me behind like that.” – Diana sighed. – “And as you haven’t answered the question I will take it as a no.”

The group fell silent for the next minutes. It was broken when Aurora asked him another question.

“What would you want in exchange for taking us home, Fáelán?”

He noticed Diana started to pay attention.

“Nothing that would harm you guys or humans in general.” – Diana huffed. – “Something small but important. Something that will make you remember me forever.”

She noticed he didn’t use the word 'guys' in his last sentence and turned to stare at him. If he thought, she was letting him touch her sister in any kind of way, she preferred cutting her arms off before that happened. And when she finished turning she caught him staring intensely at her.

The next half kilometer was walked in complete silence until Diana leaned on a tree and addressed Fáelán directly for the first time.

“How long would it take us to reach home if you led us?” – She didn’t turn to ask him.

The rest of the group sat on the ground, and he looked around to study the surroundings.

“One more hour if we make one stop and forty to fifty minutes if we keep the pace without stopping. Why?”

“And what do you want in return?” – She took a deep breath and walked in his direction. – “It can only be asked of me.” – She gave him an intense glare.

He laughed at her words.

“Only you can give me what I want.”

Aurora, Brenda, and Rufus stared at them. They didn’t dare to move.

“What would it be?” – She felt the muscles in her body tense.

Fáelán walked slowly and stopped less than an arm’s reach of her. He leaned on his bow and looked into her eyes.

*A kiss.* – He said in elven only for her to understand.

He saw her eyes narrow at him, and he tried to caress her cheek, but she closed her hands in tight fists, and he gave up the gesture.

Diana gave him the slightest of nods and saw his eyes widen in surprise. He took the final step that separated them and tried to take her hood away, but she held his hands and squeezed them.

He wanted to tell her that he had already seen the scar and that he didn’t care about it but decided to caress the other side of her face with the tips of his fingers instead.

The moonlight lit his face, and she finally saw how beautiful his smile was. She also noticed the small freckles on his pale skin, and when she looked up, she got lost in his onyx eyes. She could see her silhouette on them and marveled with their beauty. His long white hair reached his back and she stopped herself from running her fingers over it.

He cupped her face, and she felt the warmth radiating from his hands. She tried to keep her eyes open, but they didn’t obey her.

His soft lips touched hers, and in that brief second, she felt her body tremble. She didn’t understand what was happening. But before she could get hold of her thoughts, he parted the kiss, and she opened her eyes to see his beautiful smile one more time.

He caressed her cheek once again with his thumb and took a step back. Her skin under his touch and her breath on his skin sent waves of pleasure over his body.

They stared at each other and the moment was broken with one simple question.

“Does it mean you two are a couple now?” – Aurora asked from a distance.

Diana closed her eyes and pulled her hood even lower.

“Show us the way.”

The formation had changed, and Fáelán was at the head of the group while Diana stayed behind.

“How long before we arrive?” – Diana asked after they walked in silence for about thirty minutes.

“Not much farther, now. Probably more ten or fifteen minutes.”

“I need… I need to stop.” – She said, and they turned to look at her.

The color of her face had been drained, and her lips were white. She leaned on a tree and still almost fell.

Brenda and Aurora ran to her side and tried to help.

“Dusk? What’s wrong?” – She heard the worry in her sister’s words.

“Nothing. I’m just tired. I need a two-minute rest. That’s all.” – She gave them a small smile and sat on the ground.

Not believing in her words he approached her and raised the coat that hid her body. Her hand clenched a wound, and her clothes were soaked in blood.

Aurora gasped and kneeled beside her sister. Brenda squeezed her hand and Rufus covered his mouth with his hand.

“What happened?” – Fáelán asked worriedly.

“You were right. No human is capable of facing that creature.” – She placed her hand on the wound again.

He narrowed his eyes at her and took her in his arms without a second thought.

“Put me down.” – She protested.

“You need to go to a healer right now. It is faster if I carry you and there is no way you’ll talk me out of it.”

Diana was too tired to argue, and she rested her head on the crook of his neck.

They were near home now, and Brenda showed him their secret entrance. He carried her inside and couldn’t stop thinking about how fragile that strong woman was, and how much he wanted to see her again.

They were inside the walls, and Brenda fetched a horse to take her to a healer. Rufus went to his house, and Diana told Aurora to go directly home and not tell anyone what happened.

Her sister gave her a kiss on the cheek and started crying. Brenda arrived with the horse, and he helped her to mount it.

Brenda took her to a trusted healer, and as soon as her head touched the pillow, she fell asleep.

Fáelán found his way outside again and prayed for the elven gods to keep her alive. He leaned his back on the wall, closed his eyes and felt her sultry lips on his again.

There was no doubt in his mind they would see each other one more time.

#fate in our hands destiny in our hearts #fiohdioh #fate #destiny #diana #fáelán #faelan #chapter 2 #and paths intertwine

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umbraastaff · 6 years

Text

I Saw Seven Bounties, chapter 5

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[Ao3]

It isn’t hard to track Barry down again, what with all the magic sparking off him after that emotional storm. It only takes a few days to pinpoint a solid location that he’s sticking around at, so he must be having trouble with the concealing spells that usually keep him off the radar. The place he’s at now, for some reason, is under the ocean.

Frankly, it’s a relief to find him so easily this time. Kravitz might be put in a good mood by the luck if he wasn’t still feeling insulted about the stunt Barry pulled in the bar, just walking right the hell up to him, eating an egg salad sandwich. But at least Kravitz is feeling optimistic about this one. The lich is likely still emotionally tired, which will make his magic weaker- not that Kravitz will make the mistake of letting his guard down.

Kravitz will, however, give Barry a show. It’s the least he can do after all he’s been put through.

He sheds his physical form at the shore, skin and then bones dissipating to leave him as a ball of light. It’s not that he can’t breathe underwater, but this form allows a lot more stealth. He floats out over the water and lets a wave overtake him, and lets himself become it.

Being water is tricky, but it’s invisible in the ocean, and his form is endlessly malleable. It’s also constantly trying to fall apart if he isn’t careful to hold himself together. He knows people who can let the water flow through them and traverse it as only energy, but he doesn’t have that sort of skill, so he hangs on to what he’s got.

He finds Barry hunched over the ocean floor, tracing a line in the sand with a phalange. He stops as Kravitz gets close, but he doesn’t do anything else in time. Kravitz fills himself with energy and flies right through Barry’s chest.

The lich doubles over in some magical approximation of coughing. “OW- shit--”

Kravitz spins and does it again, slamming through his back this time. Barry shrieks, the sound distorted through magic but sharpened underwater. This time, before Kravitz can turn again, he’s caught with an electric pulse Barry shoots after him. It surges through his entire being and hurts like hell. He’s not going to get away with a third hit, so it’s time for plan B.

Kravitz sinks to the ocean floor and lets himself seep outwards, latching onto rocks scattered across the sand. Then, with considerable effort, he pulls them together into a makeshift body. Barry floats back warily from the rising rocks, twitching and emitting sparks of energy as he tries to expel the foreign magic Kravitz hurled through him.

Barry starts making stuttery sounds, and Kravitz waits a few moments for them to become words before he realizes they are words- just not in Common. He steps back, cautious of falling victim to a chanted spell, and trying to figure out exactly what it is. Barry puts his hands up in response but keeps speaking, stuttering even more now. It’s Primordial, Kravitz realizes. He doesn’t know the language, but he can understand a few words- Barry enunciates carefully and slowly, despite tripping over some parts.

Within longer phrases he doesn’t know, Kravitz picks out: “earth and- no, water and earth,” (that’s right, elements have a formal order when listed in Primordial); “sorry;” some verb form of a word like “magic,” and what might be Barry’s own name, awkwardly pronounced with Primordial phonetics.

Barry stops talking and just stands there a moment. Kravitz realizes that the last part had an inquisitive intonation, but he has no idea what the question was. He could just attack now, but he’s curious about what’s happening here. What’s Barry doing in the ocean, and why the hell does a (former) human know Primordial, of all languages?

He disguises his voice, mixing words with the sound of scraping rocks and flowing water: “Common is fine.”

Barry perks up instantly. “Oh. Ohhh, yeah, okay, gotcha. No problem, sorry if I-- sorry to assume, uh, the language. Are you-- were you conjured up, maybe? By someone who- who speaks Common?”

Kravitz… nods. Sure, that works. It’s partially true, too. Not that he actually needs any amount of honesty here.

“Huh,” Barry says, then tenses up in an anxious way. “Uh. Are you here to- to guard the, uh, the ley line? Also, did you shoot me? Because-- look, no hard feelings if that’s-- I mean, I know it’s your job, probably, but-- I promise you, I’m not- nothing I’m doing is gonna hurt it.”

“Yes,” Kravitz decides. If he pretends he’s a guard golem rather than a reaper, Barry might see him as an annoyance rather than a threat. Then he might let useful information slip. “Prove it.”

Barry thinks for a moment. “How about, uh, info for info? You tell me how- how you shot me with all-- with that volume of magic, and- and- and I’ll tell you how-- what I’m doing.”

“Alright,” Kravitz says. It’s really cocky, he thinks, to try bargaining with information he would owe a guard anyway, but fine. He can fulfill his own half after Barry’s locked up. “Go ahead.”

Barry sinks back down to what he was doing on the ground, now with intermittent glances up at the rock golem. “Yeah, uh, okay. So I’m sure you can tell, but I’m, I’m a lich. Which is-- I’m made of energy. And, uh, not being constantly volatile is- it’s, uh, it’s because I have strong emotional connections. Um, positive ones. To people that I am trying v-very hard to find.”

“Get to the point,” Kravitz says. He knows Barry’s biding time, but whatever he does will be fit to escape a golem and not a reaper, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem if he slips away for a moment.

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Barry’s voice cracks. Then he puts one hand all the way into the ground. “This part’s gonna be tricky to explain to, uh, to you. No offense.”

“You think,” Kravitz says, “That because I’m- I’m a golem, I won’t understand?”

“Understand? No, look,” Barry says, now up to his elbow in sand, “You- you came down here and shot me with the- with your essence, or whatever the hell, and- and- and you don’t think, you didn’t think I’d notice that it was the same guy who- who walked right into the storm I made, literally a few days ago, Kravitz?” He’s contorting oddly at this point, in all the wrong ways for normal water distortion. His head ripples sideways, threatening to twist backwards, while the hand that isn’t underground has begun what looks like an alphabet recital in Common sign language.

Kravitz is not dealing with another goddamn breakdown from Barry of all liches. He lunges forward immediately and is met with a translucent wall that rises up from the ground.

“No. Uh-uh,” Barry says, his non-submerged hand now standing still to keep the shield in place. “Don’t wanna rush this. Sor- sorry for that outburst, I’m- I’m still, uh--”

Kravitz punches one rocky arm into the barrier and makes a substantial crack. Barry flinches like it hurt. “H-hey, okay, just- just a--” Kravitz swings again, this time shattering it. “Fuck! Just- just a minute, okay--”

Kravitz conjures his scythe and steps forward, walking right out of the makeshift rock body with his own form. Barry almost entirely comes apart in panic, but he doesn’t move away, his arm seemingly stuck in the ground. He’s cornered, finally. “Too late,” Kravitz says, raising his weapon.

“Almost!” Barry says in a tone that’s concerningly triumphant, and then he disappears. Kravitz doesn’t have time to react before he’s struck in the back, hard. He spins around as he flies forward, only to see-- the golem? The golem that he is decidedly not possessing anymore??

“Barry,” he realizes with a hiss. The rocks respond with a strange series of sounds, which are more easily recognizable as Primordial (but less understandable) than Barry’s human-vocals butchering of the language. Is it Barry? Kravitz kicks off the ground, rushing back towards it with his scythe raised once more.

It’s not. It doesn’t even have a soul, as the scythe swing reveals by doing absolutely nothing to the golem. It was probably brought to life by a spark of ley energy as Barry did whatever the hell it was he came for. So where’s Barry?

Kravitz drops his physical form again and starts to sink into the ground, but he’s interrupted again. The golem kicks him. It kicks Kravitz’s glowing orb form, and it actually makes an impact, too. “Oh, screw off!” It makes those grumbling sounds again. The sand beneath Kravitz pulses with white light that radiates such an intensity that it nearly burns him through indirect contact with the water. And he shouldn’t be able to feel heat in this form, but he supposes Barry’s already established his ability to burn the unburnable.

“Fine! You want a fight, we’re going by my rules!” He shouts, and then he slams right into the golem. As expected, a battle of willpower is not something a soulless pseudo-consciousness can win; it has a mind full of stopping Kravitz, but that doesn’t work as well inside its own body. It manages to punch itself in the head before fizzling out entirely-- the energy was going to wear off soon anyway.

With that nuisance out of the way, Kravitz puts his arm on the ground where Barry was, using the rocks to attune to the ground’s magic. Just like Barry implied, it seems like a ley line is closer to the surface than usual in this place. If Barry used it to escape, maybe he can still be detected.

Kravitz extends his senses outwards along the line, and sure enough, there are traces of Barry’s soul signature all along it, going westwards. And as he follows those traces with his senses, he feels everything else: the hollow of underground caverns, the heat reaching up from just below and far above the vibrations of metal and stone embedded deep within solid soil.

And then, at the end of the trail, a clean cut that stops in just the way that ley lines don’t: black glass, smooth and cold. The destruction of a city broke a major connection point for this line.

And Barry must be somewhere beyond it. He could be anywhere.

#the adventure zone #barry bluejeans #kravitz #i saw seven bounties

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tallmansions · 6 years

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Siren Song

“They’ll hear you at the bottom of the Deep,” her mother used to complain, emphasizing her complaint with a snap of a wet rag over the windowsill. When she was small, this threat could shut Shira up, songs drying up in her mouth in a heartbeat. She’d seen the fishers and divers bringing in their haul from the Deep. Eyeless, gelatinous things that gasped with no lungs. Slick violet lumps somehow baring sharp teeth. “Eat it,” her mother would insist, shoving in front of her a bowl of freshly-caught critters with tubers like fingers, folding and unfolding in the steaming tin. And there were bigger creatures in the Deep, creatures that ate people instead of the other way around. If they heard Shira singing, leaning over the railing of their shack hugging the east cliff of Weepingfort, what would stop them from swimming, climbing up and plucking her off, into the depths from which they came?

The thought didn’t scare her anymore. She didn’t feel that icepick-like skitter up her shoulders when she thought of what awaited her below. Her stomach didn’t clench and contort itself in tight little coils when she stared down at the inky waves, as if trying to squirm away from the Deep. Some dawns, Shira would stroll along the metal walkways of the Chimer District with her boots clanking against the steel and her songs jangling through the streets, ignoring those who shook their head. Everyone had heard her mother’s scolding while she was growing up. Now that her mother was gone, no one seemed willing to take up the complaining.

Shira sometimes wondered if her mother could hear her singing, now that she was at the bottom of the Deep herself.

The fisher was the first to tell her about them.

“They’re lurking again,” he warned her, scratching his chin through his beard. “Out. Listening. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came closer inna next few days.”

“I’ve never seen a maid-o’-the-depths before,” Shira shrugged. “Wouldn’t know what to watch out for.”

He pointed then, out over the rickety guardrail separating this part of Weepingfort from the plunge into the Deep. “There’s a ripple. Little thing, see?”

And she did. The Deep was flat and consistent, except for the occasional bursts of steam rocketing from a malfunctioning Drowning Tube. But everyone knew where the Tubes tended to break down underneath, and even if they didn’t, plumes of steam were different from a steady fluttering of waves, circling, visible in the distance if nothing else but for its unusualness.

High up above the cliffs, above Weepingfort’s clambering buildings, a Watcher rang the sixteenth bell. Shira said goodbye to the fisher, but he held up a grease-stained hand.

“We all hear you and your carousing at night. The maid-o’-the-depths will, too.”

The cautionary advice made her nostalgic, almost. Shira thanked him. It was only polite.

But she’d heard maids-o’-the-depths had lovely songs of their own for entertainment.

It pulled at her like a hook, a few nights after her first warning. It came to her slowly, in snippets, almost echoes of her own singing voice, she’d thought. But when she stopped singing, freezing still by the Chimer descent entrance, the song kept humming too long for an echo. But it did stop, self-consciously, moments after she knew it was not her melody. It was a harmony.

Shira’s boots clicked on the walkway, close, closer to the railing. She tucked her laundry under her arm and gripped the damp metal, looking down at the Floodsea from high above. The ripple had grown since she’d last seen it. As she watched, two angular heads poked above the surface.

Too high to see their features, Shira gaped nonetheless. Maids-o’-the-depths visited either alone or in pods, but never in couples or small groups. And any sighting was rare. The old folks in the Caves had a saying about banquets: As many guests as maids-o’-the-depths makes for dull distraction or dangerous diversion.

Some fanatics at the School insisted they had their own civilizations, cultures, languages, but the maids submerged themselves into the most unfathomable of the depths, where few divers or others even briefly considered exploring. So enraptured by the creatures were these pseudo-intellectuals while few had ever seen any themselves. Such claims and essays were promptly dismissed and mocked. But here, on the Chimer walkway, feeling without seeing the maids’ unblinking gaze on her, Shira understood the fascination.

While she stared, one of the maids splashed back underwater, perhaps satisfying its curiosity. But the other remained. Across the flat black surface of the Deep, the harmony to Shira’s song floated to her.

It compelled her. She had no say in the decision. The uncompleted song hung in the air, lonely and haunted, only seconds before Shira launched into the lyrics. The remaining maid-o’-the-depths had no words from which to choose, but its song swelled in richness and in volume once Shira joined in.

“Every dawn when the sky is glowing, dark in the Deep with the undertow and ghosts of the drowned reaching pallid fingers towards the sun they once had known.” It was imagined by her childhood best friend, who claimed the words and melody had come to her in a dream. Shira didn’t know what had become of her, what sort of life she grew up to lead, but the tune had remained in her head for years. She wasn’t sure she had the words right anymore. “Rays of sunlight hit the water, light so bright they want to follow, I know a girl crying into the kelp, or maybe it’s just her waterlogged mother.”

No, those weren’t the words her friend had sung, but the maid-o’-the-depths didn’t seem to mind. Its mournful voice wove around hers, coiling around her highs and lows, never quite matching the note, always changing.

The railing was slippery, cold and slightly wet under Shira’s white-knuckled grasp. The Deep was inky and inviting below. Was the maid looking at her still? She released her grip and moved back, and just like that, she forgot the rest of the tune. Shira’s voice trailed off, mid-lyric, and a moment later, the maid-o’-the-depths fell silent as well. The air rang with the last chord of their duet, vibrating, taut, spellbinding.

A splash, and the maid-o’-the-depths’s head vanished under the water.

Shira shook her head, hugging the laundry tight to her chest. Her hands left damp indentations on the fabric. The maid-loving scholars at the School, for all their awe of the creatures’ majesty, didn’t believe they had the capacity for magic. Not the technology nor the ability to teach it, they said.

But Shira couldn’t help feel there was something enchanting about the sleek denizens of the Deep, something spellbinding in their voices thrumming across the water under a moonless night sky.

“Someone catch your eye?” the most blunt of the other washers asked her in the morning, scrubbing a jacket with almost violent energy. “You’re making mistakes today.”

Shira whipped her head back to face the washer, abashed. She’d sewn the legs of the pants shut, and while trying to stab out the stitches, had heard a splash from outside. The Chimer Washery was higher up on the cliff than her shack, so that the steam from the irons could rise, but every sound from outside the open door convinced her of something moving beneath the Deep.

“Out late,” she grunted, picking apart the stitches and bowing her head over her work. She sensed rather than saw the other washers give each other knowing looks.

Shira liked to hum while she sewed buttons, while she ground stains out of dresses with soap, while she re-carved runes onto bellows to make the stove flames rise. It didn’t bother the other washers most days. Shira wondered how many of them she’d woken up by her singing last night; many of them lived near each other, where the shacks were affordable and just sturdy enough to avoid tumbling off the cliffs and into the Deep.

As soon as the Watchers rang the fifteenth bell, Shira slipped out the Washery door before any of her fellows could interrogate her or shake botched orders at her face. The walkways were packed already, full of divers pouring out of the Drowning Tubes and into the streets, a little depressurized and sickly-looking. They had no patience for Shira’s futile pushing against their current, steadily trudging home without the energy to speak.

But no one was headed back to the Tubes. Shira made it to the first descent entrance she could find, waiting for the last and unluckiest of the divers to exit. One ashen-faced diver half-dragged another from the descent. The other diver clutched a clumsily-bandaged stump of an arm, moaning continuously as she shambled behind her friend. A bored-looking healer followed, rattling off instructions to which neither diver paid attention.

“Clocked out already?” the descent operator asked Shira once she shuffled inside the empty descent. The steel enclosure reeked of fish and blood. Shira shook her head.

“Civilian. I just want to go to the Loch.”

“At this hour?” the operator’s eyes bugged out a little.

“Soon, please.”

The surprise faded from the operator’s face, back into routine apathy. “Descent’s not very full. You might have to wait.” Shira fished a nickel out of her pocket, but the operator rolled her eyes. “Just be patient. My post’s worth more than a nickel. What’s so important about the Loch, eh? Place is dead this hour.”

The operator didn’t look suspicious, but that would change the more Shira talked. Without saying another word, she clanked up the steel mesh stairs and back onto the now-empty streets. The air was fresher, at least, but still too high up to hope for a glimpse of a ripple.

Her dinner was cold by the time she made it home, but her husband didn’t ask questions. It helped that he was already asleep by the time she got the door to latch closed behind her. The fish was rubbery and hard to swallow, congealed in its stew.

Two inhuman voices lilted through the cracks in her shack’s metal slats.

Shira dropped her spoon in her bowl, wiped her fingers on the worn tablecloth, and dashed outside. The door barely closed behind her.

She could see the maids more clearly, now that she was home and a little closer to the lapping edges of the Deep. Large, glassy purple eyes fixed themselves on her face the moment she slipped to the ramp leading further down the cliff just outside her shack. They kept their scaly chests above the water now, not just their heads poking out. When she opened her mouth, their voices rose in volume, clanging just so against each other like metal bells.

It was her turn to supply the harmony, Shira knew. She didn’t know their songs. They didn’t have words. But she guessed where their melodies were going and tried to follow along.

It was still quite a drop to the Deep, so Shira didn’t see the ripple at first. But when a third voice, then a fourth, joined the chorus, she started out of her singing to see two more maids-o’-the-depths with their heads peeking out, mystical music pouring out from their mouths.

She tried to pick up the tune again, as the first two maids-o’-the-depths were beginning to falter, perhaps surprised by her own pause. Could they feel surprise? But it was too late. She had hesitated too long. One by one, the maids stopped their song, and Shira, embarrassed in front of the better singers, expected them to retreat once again.

But they just stared in silence.

The door to Shira’s shack banged open. “Shira?” Her husband’s voice was thick with sleep above her. Shira twisted her head around and heard a splash behind her. She didn’t have to look to know the maids were nothing but ripples again.

“I’m coming,” she called back, gathering herself.

He was bleary-eyed and unfocused when she reluctantly joined him. “Were you singing?” he managed to ask, holding the door open for her.

“I always sing,” she answered vaguely. But he seemed to accept it.

“You’d still be singing in the grave,” he agreed, and while there was a certain fondness in his tone, the words rankled her. He’d collapsed back on the bed before she could offer him frosty silence, and so Shira settled for finishing her rubbery fish instead.

She nodded at the fisher on her way home from the market as she usually did, but he only grimaced. Shira paused, but his expression was conspiratorial rather than accusatory. Shifting her metal basket full of produce onto her shoulder, she approached him.

“I’ve been setting traps,” he told her once she was within earshot. “My usual traps. Nothing.”

Shira raised her eyebrows. “It’s harvesting season,” she stated, coming out less like a question than she’d meant.

The fisher shook his head. “Not quite, although we’re close. But I am used to a bigger haul this time of year, sure. Even a small haul wouldn’t be unusual. But nothing.”

“The divers are having an easier time,” she remembered, the image of the diver with the amputated—or bitten—arm surfacing in her mind. “They seem to be having better luck, finding more.”

“They’re finding more troubles, more like,” he snorted. “They’re not paid enough to fight off winelurks, and if they come back, they’ll come back without a catch. ’S unfair.”

Shira wasn’t in the mood for politics, but the fisher’s empty traps tickled something in the back of her mind, some yearning for a logical connection unfulfilled. “There are plenty of hungry things in the Deep,” she said instead. “Maybe they’re getting hungrier, eating more and leaving less.”

The fisher snorted again, and Shira instantly felt chastised. “I know my business, I know the Floodsea. I went to the School once, you know, for a time. The Floodsea takes care of its own. It’s us the Deep isn’t so careful about.”

The laundry had been folded, scrubbed clean at work and brought home. Her husband was asleep early again, hoping to beat the rush to the Drowning Tubes in the morning. Their stew bowls she had washed and left out to dry on the tablecloth. Shira folded her hands in her lap, humming quietly, listening.

There was no singing tonight. Just the quiet of night and the smell of salt in the air.

Shira waited, humming a little louder, hopefully. Her husband jerked in his sleep, and she shut up until he was still once more. She hummed her way through her childhood friend’s song, two ballads she’d heard at an inn once, and four lullabies she’d thought forgotten before she gave up on expecting the whisper of a splash or ghost of a monster’s song.

Her husband snored lightly on the bed in the corner. It was still too loud for the small space, covering up any hint of music. Shira pushed her chair back as softly as she could manage, brushing the door closed behind her with the same gentleness. She didn’t look down at the Deep as she made her way through the sleeping streets.

“The Loch, please,” she told the operator. His tired eyes didn’t blink or stare suspicious questions, and he let her into the descent without a word.

These were not the Tubes of the Caves. She had been in one of those descents, once, when her childhood best friend had brought her to see her new home. But the girl’s parents hadn’t wanted Shira there, not her grubby steel-toed shoes on their gleaming stone floor. So she had run to the closest Drowning Tube, trying to find her way home, shame sparkling wet and hot in her eyes.

That descent had cushions, she’d remembered. Out of place and smelling of mildew in the thick steel descent, but a comfortable place to curl up and cry. There were straps in addition to safety bars, and a single window in the top so that the Cave citizens could look up and watch Weepingfort vanish as they plummeted.

Shira held onto the handrails in the dark now. With a warning bell and a decisive slam, the gates closed. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on as the descent battered itself against the Drowning Tubes. Some people never got used to the Tubes. Shira was one of them. Her ears popped when the gate cranked open once more.

This operator gave her a puzzled look when she hurried out of the descent, scratching the inside of her painful ear with a finger, but didn’t stop her as Shira barreled outside and through the streets.

They were waiting where she’d hoped, in the Loch itself, just out of sight of the view from her shack. There were eight of them now, and now, only a short distance below, they were terrifying and beautiful. Shira couldn’t read their expressions. They had no expressions. Only purple eyes like marbles, a shimmery sheen on their dun-colored skin, curling and waving tendrils for hair.

One maid-o’-the-depths, the one closest to her, opened its mouth, and only now did Shira notice their mouths couldn’t quite close, so jagged and protruding were their rows of teeth. But the maid’s song was so sweet, and when the others joined in, weaving harmonies and counterpoints and choruses, Shira forgot their inhumanity and reveled in song, ecstatic.

“Sweet breath, give life, give air to the gasping. Remember their love and forget that they’re passing. Return them despairing to hardship and strife, but for now they crave life, they crave life, they crave life.”

The maids-o’-the-depths didn’t mind her language, the intrusion on their song. Their voices mingled, surrounding her own melody. Chests rising out of the Loch, water from the Deep splattering drops on their scales and skin, they basked in the music. Shira pressed herself against the railing, calling out to them.

“Dear air, give breath, give life to the drowning. Remember their moments, the first point of crowning. Return them repaired with maladies rife, but for now they crave life, they crave life, they crave life.”

Shira knelt on the metal, the cool brush of steel and gritty edge of ground shell leaving imprints on her legs. One maid tilted its head at her movement but continued swimming and singing, long tapered fingers trailing along the flat black surface of the water. The closest maid reached up towards her cautiously, and Shira smiled, skimming her fingertips against its own. Its skin was hot, slippery and solid, no give to the muscle.

“Return us all fearing to the edge of the knife, but for now we crave life, we crave life, we crave life.”

Their finned hands stuck to the cliffside, one wet palm after another. Spines extended from their fingertips, helping them grip, slick tails curling around their bodies to help them climb.The maid-o’-the-depths closest to her reached out again, still singing even as Shira withdrew her hand, tingles of alarm clawing at the edges of her instincts. The maid’s voice was soothing, soporific, almost, and Shira’s fear warred with the song’s effect.

She scampered backwards, eyes wide and mouth shut, casting her eyes about for the Drowning Tube entrance, scrabbling for purchase on the steel walkway and clumsy with fear. But the maids-o’-the-depths were singing, their chorus like the tenderest of lullabies, their arms long and comforting, their skin so warm and thrumming like a heart, their smiles so bright and as sharp as a kiss, and the Deep was cold and heavy and full of song, song like she’d never heard and had never imagined.

And the Deep was full of beauty, gasping for music, holding its treasure with love face-down in the water.

#original work #original fiction #dark fantasy #deep sea #original fantasy #drowned shores #my stories #yayyyyyyyyy I wrote a thing for it!#2018

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