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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Note

Confusion for the one word prompt!

CW: Some inadvertent, non-hostile ableism

Ronnie’s got her pen in her mouth, chewing idly on the cap, sitting on a little bench in the ‘storytime’ section of the bookstore while she flips through a magazine full of recipes, discarding this one or that one as she makes her grocery lis for next week.

Tris isn’t the pickiest eater as long as the food isn’t “mixed up” - she cooks all the pieces separately, puts them on a plate, and then mixes them up for she and Paul afterward. It’s just that Paul has always had a weirdly specific taste in food, and it’s easy to narrow down what she can make and can’t if she wants her husband to eat, too.

Not that he wouldn’t happily make himself dinner separately, he’s a grown-ass man, but she still tries to make things that include him.

Nearby, seven-year-old Tris sits on the rough carpeting, humming to himself as he carefully lines up a series of books that, as far as she can tell, are about cats. She has no idea what he is using as a criteria for which books go where - clearly he’s not what number in the series they actually represent, she can see from here that they’re lined up all out of order - but he is deeply and seriously involved in his work, and his humming is soft-pitched, low and quiet.

“You good, Tris?” Ronnie asks, writing the word ‘apples’ down on her grocery list.

“Mmmn, mmmmn, mmmmn,” He says, and she decides to take that as a ‘yes’ and goes back to looking at the apple crumble recipe.

He’s been wearing that dinosaur shirt for four days, but he agreed this morning to put something else on his afternoon, if she would wash it so he can wear it clean tomorrow again. At least he agrees to clean underwear and pants, right? She has friends in her parents-group whose kids are Tristan’s age and still can’t dress themselves. Or maybe they just feel better without the weight and scratch of clothes on their skin.

Sometimes, she thinks she should really just buy seven sets of the same damn shirt, and let Tristan be happy.

That morning he had climbed into bed with she and Paul, snuggling up under her chin, and hummed and tapped and hummed and tapped in happiness until Ronnie had pulled him up and half-carried him out, just to let her poor husband get a few hours of sleep after work.

He’ll go to daytime work hours soon, he promises, and Ronnie can’t fucking wait until she can stop trying to keep her son silent while his father sleeps, because that’s one particular mountain she is fucking tired of climbing.

Rather than deal with it today, she took Tris to the bookstore, and Tristan is safely ensconced in a routine he loves - bookstore at 9 AM when they open the doors, Mommy gets her breakfast and coffee and Tris gets to pick a snack and the chocolate milk in the red box with a cow on the front, stay through storytime at 11:30, and then get a chicken nugget happy meal with ranch dressing for dipping on the way home.

Every bookstore day is the same. He wraps himself in the schedule like it’s a warm blanket, and Ronnie can’t say she doesn’t love mornings out with him when he’s not overwhelmed.

When he pulls down the books and lines them up, or stacks them, or just holds four or five while looking at them. Her favorite days are when he brings them to her and explains, in his halting, soft stammer, every single goddamn detail of what happens. She sets her expression to fascination and listens and thinks that there was a time, before gymnastics and therapy and IEPs and everything she’s fought for, where she worried that she would lose her son to his own mind, that he would stop coming out of it to find her.

“Mommy, that weird boy is making a funny noise,” A high-pitched voice says, and Ronnie glances up from her grocery list to see a harried woman with ash-blonde hair, carrying a pink backpack with a unicorn on it over one arm, a little girl with blonde hair on one side and a toddler with red hair on the other. The woman’s eyes meet Ronnie’s, briefly, and Ronnie sets her jaw, ready for the fight.

Tristan doesn’t seem to even hear them. If he does, he doesn’t care. He goes on smiling, picking between two books with a deep seriousness, before choosing one to set down. He never cares what anyone says who isn’t one of his gymnastics friends, who take him as he is. It’s Ronnie who always feels the need to defend his brain. Tris just goes on living.

“Mommy, why is that boy-”

“Ssshhhh, that’s very rude to talk about people,” The woman says, looking away from her then, and Ronnie’s fingers tighten around her pen, digging a black dot into the paper until she’s worried she’ll tear it.

She knows what comes next. People like that, kids like him, she’s heard it all, more of it from Tristan’s own teachers than she’d ever admit to him. Not that he would care, really.

There’s a moment where she opens her mouth, ready to say something, to build the wall around Tristan as she has always done, when the woman adds, “He’s just enjoying himself, honey. Some kids make sounds when they’re happy, just like when you sing at home and in the car, right? He’s just in a good mood. He’s just singing here, instead.”

Ronnie stares at her. She didn’t expect that. Her mouth stays open, the sharper words still harsh on her tongue, unspoken.

“Oh.” The girl thinks it over. She’s blonde, too, and looks just like the woman. She wears a white shirt with a unicorn made out of glitter on the front and pink leggings, plus pink shoes. Ronnie wonders, for just a second, what it might have been like to have a second child, a girl, to buy those kinds of things for.

Not that Tristan didn’t love glitter, too, to be honest. Honestly he probably wouldn’t mind pink, either, as long as it had a fucking velociraptor on it. No, wait, the big ones weren’t really velociraptors, Tris and Paul said that was some other one... Having your son and husband care so much about dinosaurs is sort of exhausting.

She should see if there were pink glitter dinosaur shirts... he might like those.

“Hey.” The girl marches over to Tristan, and he looks up after a second, as if broken out of his internal spell, looking at her. The last hum dies on his lips. The woman and Ronnie both redden, neither looking at the other. “Hey, kid.”

Tristan looks at her, blinking. Then he holds out the last book, in his hands. “Dark River,” He says, simply.

The girl looks down, looking at the painting of a cat on the cover, and then nods, solemnly. “I read that one,” She says, head tilted. “It’s good.”

Tristan nods, and lays the book down with all the others.

“Why are you doing that?” The girl asks, and Ronnie tenses again.

“I, I, I want to,” Tristan says without looking up.

“Huh.” The girl pauses, for a second, and then says, “I like to make my books like that, too.” Then she turns and walks away, and her mother takes the toddler by the hand and follows.

Ronnie hears the girl’s mother say, “Wait, that’s why you always make a mess with your books?”

Ronnie watches them go, staring, wondering what she just witnessed. If it means something, if it means nothing, if it means the woman will get her daughter evaluated, if if if if.

“Done,” Tristan says, breaking her out of her stupor. She watches him rearrange the books back into the order they were originally shelved in and place them carefully back. “Better, better now.”

Better than what? Her son is a mystery, and she safeguards him like a dragon guarding treasure it cannot understand but knows it would give its life for.

He looks at her, still comically solemn. “Snack?”

“Uh... yeah,” Ronnie says, voice slightly raspy. “Yeah, baby. Snacktime.”

“Story, storytime after?”

“Yep, we have...” Ronnie checks her phone. “Twenty minutes until storytime, so that’s perfect.”

Tristan smiles in her general direction and waits as Ronnie gathers her things back up. He doesn’t look back at the girl as he leaves the kids’ section and heads for the front, where the café is.

Ronnie wonders if the girl looks back at him.

#ronnie higgs #tristan higgs #ableism tw #chris the strawberry blond romantic

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thesleepysphinx · 3 years

Text

chp. 1: Whatever, hi

A/N: Here’s chapter 1! Let me know if I made any mistakes, I am super new to this! <3

Masterlist • Next

As you pull up to the historic university, you can’t help but gawk at the architecture and greenery surrounding it. Sure, you had visited her before on tours when deciding which university to attend, but you will never get over the beauty of the campus. You pull your car into the parking lot designated for students moving in and turn it off, draping the lanyard for your keys over the back of your neck to make sure you didn’t lose them. Before you even think about unloading anything from your car, you text your soon to be roommate, Mina.

Hey, I just pulled up! Are you here yet?

You shove the phone in the pocket of your shorts immediately as you get out of the car, grabbing your backpack from the passenger seat. You get the bag situated on your shoulders and peer over towards your new dorm building. It was four stories tall and extremely wide, meant to house quite a number of the upperclassmen on campus. You sighed in relief knowing that you wouldn’t have to deal with 18 year olds who were being let loose for the first time in their lives. But you also sighed in annoyance remembering the dorm is co-op and you may have to deal with boisterous boys at all hours of the night. This should be interesting…

As you get lost in thought, still staring at the dorm and consequently the huge crowd of people forming in front of it, a buzz goes off in your pocket. You reach down and pull it out to see a response from Mina.

Yeah I’m here!!!! There’s so many people! I’ll meet you at your car what does it look like??? Where are you parked???

After giving her a detailed description of your location and car, you lean against the back of it, observing the crowd. You notice there are a few other people hanging back, not wanting to get involved in the frenzy. So many people were so eager to move in all their belongings, but you just wanted to relax. After the two hour drive there, it felt good to just stand. But you wouldn’t be standing for long… Without warning, you’re tackled from the side and nearly fall to the ground, but you steady yourself with your sturdy car. Now draped over you is a pink haired and pink bodied girl in a similar outfit to yours, a black tank top with jean shorts. You recognize her from the selfies you’d sent back and forth.

“Mina! You can’t kill me yet, we haven’t even moved in!” You laugh in feigned annoyance as you embrace her back. Though this is your first time meeting in person, the two of you had bonded a lot over text. She basically told you her entire life story, but it was all too much to digest. The most important details were that she was from Japan and came to the university with some friends from high school in a prestigious exchange student program. Apparently, she and her friends all excelled in different aspects of STEM fields and had worked on a large project together back in high school that earned them country-wide recognition. After she told you about all that, she wanted to add you into her group chat with her friends, but you declined, saying you’d rather meet them in person with her. She had responded to this with an “awww,” saying you were so sentimental and thoughtful. You were basically under the impression that she never has a negative thought at any moment of the day.

After a few moments of squeezing the life out of you, Mina let’s go and excitedly starts talking. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! And you’re even more adorable in person! And look! We have the same style, even!” She gestures to your basically matching outfits.

You blush at her rushed compliment as you respond, “Normally I prefer leggings, but I didn’t want to be dying of heat stroke and drenched in sweat while we move our stuff in! Speaking of, where’s all your stuff?”

She points in a direction, and you follow her finger to a group of cars quite a ways out in the parking lot. There are five total cars all parked next to each other, with four people standing with them, the trunks of the cars open.

“Oh, are those your friends?”

“You bet’cha! Come on! Come meet them!” She starts to pull you by the hand with all the might she can muster. You follow along, letting her drag you to the group. As you get closer, you can see that all of her friends are boys, with three of them standing while one sits on the tailgate of a truck. Mina yells out to them, “Hey, guys! This is her! This is Y/N!”

Three of the boys wave, waiting till you get closer to actually say anything. Meanwhile the fourth one just glances at you, keeping one hand in his pocket while his other hand holds his phone, an earbud resting in one ear. Finally, Mina stops right in front of them and you come to a halt beside her, trying to catch your breath.

As you wait to breathe normally, Mina speaks for you, “Everyone, this is my new roommate!” She presents you to them with enthusiasm, so much so that you almost feel like you’re supposed to be putting on some sort of show.

You nervously lift a hand to wave to them and say, “Hey, guys! I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet all of you! Mina told me a lot about you guys!” You can recognize their faces from pictures Mina sent of all of them together, but you were having a hard time remembering the names. You rub the back of your neck in embarrassment. “Sorry, but I didn’t learn your names from the pictures she sent very well!”

“Don’t worry about it!” A boy with spiked red hair pipes up. He scoots himself off the tailgate of the truck and walks straight up to you. He holds a hand out for you to shake as he says, “I’m Kirishima! But since we’re in America, you can call me by my first name Eijiro!”

His positive vibes rival Mina’s! You think to yourself. You take his hand and shake it enthusiastically. Before you can say anything, a boy with black hair steps up as well.

“And I’m Hanta! It’s nice t-.” Before he can finish, he’s lightly shoved by a golden blond boy.

The boy points to himself with a thumbs up as he says, “Denki Kaminari! Y’know, Mina never mentioned how cute you are!” He leans in closer, as if to get a better look. You shrink back a little bit at having your personal space invaded.

Mina speaks up for you once again. “I never mentioned it cause I didn’t want you bein’ creepy! Cut it out before you scare her and she never talks to me again!”

You giggle at Mina’s overdramatic nature. If there was one thing you were sure about, it was that you and Mina would get along very well as roommates. But as you surveyed the new friends standing in front of you, you noticed someone was missing. You look over Hanta’s shoulder to see the boy with ash blond spiky hair still has one hand in his pocket and is acting like you don’t exist.

Eijiro notices your gaze and follows it. “Oi, get over here Bakubro, stop being such a downer!”

The boy responds in an angry growl, “Don’t call me that, Shitty Hair.” Though his voice is angry, he doesn’t even look up from his phone.

Eijiro crosses his arms at him. “Dude, come on, you know you’re being an asshole. Just say hi.”

He sighs and finally tears his eyes away from his screen, locking eyes with you. “Whatever, hi, name’s Bakugo.” His eyes instantly move back to his phone. “There, happy?”

You move your hand to cover your mouth a bit to whisper to Mina, “Is he like this all the time?”

Mina basically deflates at this question as she answers, “Everyday since the first day of high school… It grows on you…”

You seriously doubt that, but you take her word for it. You’re broken out of your thoughts as Bakugo speaks up with annoyance, “Are we gonna check in or what?”

You look behind you to see that at this point the check in area is much less crowded. “Yeah, it looks a lot less chaotic now!” You turn over to Mina once again. “So, um… Do we grab our stuff right now or do we grab it later?” You feel stupid asking that question, but you’ve never moved into a dorm before. Before today, you’d always lived at home with your family.

The boys stare at you a little dumbfounded. But out of all the people to speak up, it’s the one that you deem the resident asshole. “Aren’t you a third-year? Haven’t you done this shit before?”

You look down at the asphalt in front of your feet as you explain, “I am, but I just transferred here from another school that doesn’t have dorms, so this is all new to me… Sorry if my stupidness gets in your way.”

You’re instantly met with different phrases of reassurance, all of them melding together so you couldn’t decipher a single one. The only one to not provide reassurance is Bakugo… How the hell are all these positive people friends with him?

“Jeez, Mina, did you pack a damn dumbbell in here? The box is heavier than all hell!” You strain out through your teeth.

She strains to speak as well as she jokes, “Haha! Kiri would be the one packing dumbbells! But no, all of this is - is makeup!” She grunts as the two of you set the box down finally in the center of your shared dorm room. You have to admit that it is much larger than you expected. You each have a full size bed and full sized dresser and desk, all supplied by the university. All you were really expecting was a twin sized bed with little to no closet space. This was more than a pleasant surprise.

You and Mina had worked together to get all of your stuff up to your second floor dorm. Unfortunately, the building didn’t have an elevator. You really didn’t envy those living on the fourth floor. With the last box finally set in the room you step back outside the door to observe your new home. You look to the side of the door to see “Room 226” on a plaque above a whiteboard meant for you and Mina to draw on as you pleased. You were lucky to get a corner room, so you would only have one neighbor. But, lucky you, that neighbor happened to be an asshole.

As you stood there marvelling, a gruff voice took you out of your trance. “What’s with the dumbass look, extra?”

You don’t even have to look to know who it is. Instead, you cross your arms and respond, “What does it take for you to not be an ass?”

Mina looks up from her unpacking to see you standing in the doorway and you listen to her desperate attempt to get you out of his line of fire. “Hey! Y/N, come help me figure out how to organize all this!”

You clench your jaw before making any other move. As you start to walk back into your dorm, you glance at Bakugo to find that he’s glistening in sweat from carrying his belongings up and down stairs in the heat. You only see his face for half a second, but you almost think you see amusement in his grin. How the hell am I supposed to stand living next to a smug asshole like him? Finally inside, you shut the door behind you with a loud slam.

“How in the hell are you friends with that gremlin?!”

Mina obviously tries to hold in a laugh, but fails miserably as she erupts into laughter. You look on in confusion, trying to wrap your head around why this is so funny. Eventually, her laughs subside a bit to answer you.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that normally when people meet him they just avoid him instead of calling him out. He’s pretty rough around the edges, but he’s a good friend.” She starts to organize her makeup onto a shelf as she continues on. “Honestly, the rest of us are pretty eccentric and make a lot of bad decisions. Bakugo is the one to chew us out when we fuck up and set us on the right track.”

You start to rummage through your own belongings, hanging up some shirts in the closet. “Well if you ask me, he doesn’t have to be an asshole about everything. I knew him for all of five seconds and he was a dick!”

Mina giggles at your words, finishing up her display of makeup. “To be honest, so far he’s been pretty tame. You should have seen the guy back in high school. Hell, even last semester he was worse! Maybe something happened over summer to mellow him out.” She reaches for another box of her belongings as you finish up putting all your clothes in the closet and dresser.

You reach for your own box and find it’s the one containing your sheets and comforter for your new bed. As you uncrumple the fitted sheet and turn to the bed, you realize something pretty significant.

“Oh crap, I might have to share a wall with him… Ugh, whatever.”

“I can always switch with you if you like?” Mina suggests.

“It’s fine, I can deal with it.” You fit your fitted sheet to the bed and throw your regular sheet on top of it, smoothing it out. “Besides, maybe I can subtly annoy him if he happens to share the wall. I don’t mind being petty.”

After going back and forth between boxes and in-dorm storage for an hour or two, you and Mina had completed your move in. You both sit carefully deconstructing the boxes for your eventual move out of the dorms. Might as well save the boxes to save the trouble later! With the last boxes folded and tucked underneath your beds, you both step back to the doorway to observe the now decorated room. Luckily, this dorm building allows things to be mounted to the wall.

You are more than impressed. “I still can’t believe the dorm is this big! Are all the dorm buildings like this?”

“Most of them are a lot smaller, but upperclassmen are given bigger spaces. With all this room for activities, we could have huge sleepovers!” Mina reaches her arms up towards the ceiling in excitement as her smile beams.

Just as Mina let her arms down, a knock comes at the door behind you, making you jump a bit in surprise. Mina opens it immediately and comes to face Eijiro. His smile is so big that it matches Mina’s almost exactly.

“Hey girls! We’re gonna go grab some of the free food they have over in the quad, you wanna come?”

Even though you didn’t think it was possible, Mina’s smile grows even bigger. “Hell yeah, perfect timing! We just finished up here! Come on, Y/N!”

You swiftly grab your keys from your desk and clip them onto your lanyard before walking out the door to join Mina and Eijiro in the hallway. As you do, you see he is also waiting in the hallway. You avoid eye contact with him, instead opting to keep your attention on Mina as you walk down the hall towards the stairs. But as your attention stays on her as you walk down the stairs, you feel eye burning holes in the back of your head. You ignore it for now, knowing that Bakugo is trying to get under your skin. Instead of looking back, you allow your pettiness to show.

“I can’t believe how fun today already is, Mina! All of your friends have been so nice to me! Well, almost all of them!” You make sure your voice is projecting enough for Bakugo to hear.

It sounds like you succeeded as you hear a soft, “Tch,” comes from behind you. But another sound catches your attention.

Eijiro starts laughing uncontrollably at the comment, tears clouding his eyesight. He starts to stumble on the steps, unable to fully see where he is. He looks back at Bakugo and says, “She’s calling you out, bro! That’s rare!”

“Shut the hell up, Shitty Hair. Like I give a shit.” He continues walking down the steps past everyone. As he steps past you, the space is tight so he has to brush against you. The skin of his arm is warm, but no longer sweaty from moving in like it was earlier. You also notice the rippling muscle under the warm skin, his form fitting tank top leaving them completely exposed. You scold yourself in your head. Why do the assholes have to be so hot?

You continue after him with Eijiro finally catching his breath and recovering his eyesight. Mina grabs your arm and loops her own through it. “Damn, you really don’t mind petty! I must admit, it’s funny to see someone get Bakugo pissed off like that. And the best part is that he’s stuck with you since you’re our friend!”

You laugh at her point, countering it with, “Well, if he kills me one of these days, he won’t be stuck with me anymore!”

Bakugo continues walking, reaching the bottom of the stairs, as he mumbles back just loud enough for you to hear, “Don’t push your luck, dumbass.”

With a plate of free pizza in hand, you walk towards a nearby empty table. The tables are all round and have a white tablecloth on them. As you sit down, Mina sits on your other side, filling up another one of the 6 chairs around the table. Then next to her is Eijiro… then Denki… and Hanta… until there is just one seat left next to you. Bakugo sits down without hesitation with a plate of grilled chicken and a salad. As you look around, you notice everyone else has followed your lead and gotten pizza. Bakugo notices this too, it seems.

“What the hell are you doing eating that crap?” he says to no one in particular.

Eijiro is the first to answer. “Come on man, you know I’m a health nut, but I can’t turn down pizza!”

Next to you, you hear a, “Tch,” no doubt that it is once again Bakugo. “Health nut my ass, you’ve never even touched a stove to make your own food.”

“That’s a great idea!” Mina yells immediately as she stands from her seat, hands planted on the table. “We should all cook our food together! It’ll be so much fun!”

Once again, Mina’s enthusiasm triumphs over all.

Hanta speaks up to add to Mina’s vague plan. “It’ll be cheaper too. Might as well!”

Everyone nods in agreement, mouths full of their food. Except Bakugo. He just keeps eating with no response towards your friend. How apathetic can one person be?

#learning experience #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha #mha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #collegeau

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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Alone in the Ashes {10}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I figured two chapters in one night is okay since, you know, it’s short....and everyone should go to bed sad.

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“He left bloody fingerprints on the rock, but there was something satisfying about that. I was here. I exist. I’m alive, because I bleed.” ― Maggie Stiefvater, Blue Lily, Lily Blue

Rhysand sat in the quiet interrogation room.

At least they had uncuffed him.

He’d been sitting there, in the silence, running on pure adrenaline for at least forty minutes. He wanted to call Feyre, but even if he had his phone, they would have taken it from him.

On the ride to the station, no one answered his questions. And he had asked a lot of them. Eventually, he had given up and let the nature of things take its course.

The door to the white, nearly empty room opened and Beron Vanserra walked in. Rhysand said nothing as he sat in the chair opposite of him.

“Rhysand,” Beron began, and cleared his throat. “Tell me why you’re here.”

Rhysand blinked. “Surely you’re aware, because I sure as hell am not.”

Beron nodded, face grave. “Look, Rhys,” he began, using that old, familiar nickname. “We got a call-”

“From Tamlin?” Rhysand guessed. “Beron, you’ve known me since I was five. Alright? You know my character. I’m not some dumbass teenager who gets high in his mom’s basement then thinks it’s fun to go spraypaint dicks on historical landmarks.”

Beron rubbed his temples. “Rhysand-”

“For fuck’s sake!” he said, unable to keep his cool. “I just get home from work, get handcuffed and dragged out of my fucking apartment - while my girlfriend and the entire fucking neighborhood watches, might I add - for what?” Rhysand shook his head. “Because Tamlin’s rich and his daddy has a lot of power? Because that’s my fucking guess.”

“Rh-”

“If you’re going to interrogate me, I have nothing to say. I was at work all day, every day, and when I’m not at work, I’m at home with Feyre-”

“Rhys, if you do not stop talking, I will have an actual reason to throw you in jail,” Beron snapped.

Rhysand blinked, and closed his mouth.

“Thank you,” Beron hissed. “Now, I’ve talked with the officers that picked you up.”

Beron hesitated, and Rhysand was certain it was the only time he had ever seen the man hesitate.

“You were always a good friend to Lucien before he moved away,” Beron said, voice quiet, “and because of that, I won’t lie to you, but if you tell anyone what I’m about to tell you, and I lose my job, I will find a reason to lock you up.”

Rhysand’s jaw went stiff.

He nodded.

“You and Tamlin have never gotten along, I understand that,” Beron went on, and Rhysand stilled. “And as you said, he hails from a powerful family - one that owns this force and half of everything else in this city. Unfortunately, Rhys, whatever you’ve done recently to piss Tamlin off, he’s vengeful. As far as the police go, I’ll do what I can to set matters straight, but this isn’t the only thing he’ll try.”

With a muttered curse, Rhysand shook his head.

“Now,” Beron said, tossing a plastic bag on the table with Rhysand’s wallet in it that was taken from him when he entered the station, “go home.”

He snatched the bag from the table and pushed back the metal chair, which screeched along the tile.

“Thanks,” Rhysand said, as he and Beron walked toward the door.

Beron gave him a curt nod. He’d always been a hard man, unreadable, but Rhysand appreciated his honesty.

“Need a ride home?” Beron asked.

Rhysand shook his head. “I’ll take the bus, thanks. Can I use the phone, though?”

He made a quick call to Feyre before he left, promising to be home soon and to explain everything when he got there.

Beron said nothing more as he and Rhysand parted ways. He exited into the station lobby before ending up in the steps out front. The streetlights were on as the sun had completely disappeared.

He was so fucking tired as he slumped down the steps and down the sidewalk, towards the bus stop.

He couldn’t wait to get home.

But he didn’t even make it to the bus stop before someone grabbed him by the elbow.

Rhysand didn’t have the chance to turn around before he was knocked in the back of the head, and everything went black.

~~~~~

Feyre paced back and forth as Mor, Azriel, and Amren sat on her couch, Mila asleep on Mor’s lap. Rhysand had called Feyre from the police station, telling her he’d be home in thirty minutes, tops, and he’d explain when he arrived, but that had been over an hour and a half ago.

“I don’t understand,” Feyre said, shaking her head. “I don’t fucking understand.” She had googled for news stories after Rhysand left. There was nothing on any vandalism done to the chapel. Amren had even stopped there on her way over and confirmed it.

“I wish you’d at least try to relax,” Amren said, calmly. “It won’t do Rhys any good if you have a panic attack.”

She had already cried and gotten pissed off. Now, Feyre was just worried.

“At least let me get you something to drink,” Mor said, patting Mila softly on the back.

Azriel was the only one who hadn’t said a word since he’d arrived.

“He doesn’t have his phone?” Mor asked, for the third time, when Feyre didn’t answer.

Feyre shook her head. “It’s in the kitchen.”

The front door burst open and everyone’s eyes shot to the entryway.

Cassian strode in.

Nesta at his heels.

Feyre froze.

“Sorry,” Cassian said, walking to Feyre and taking her face into his hands. “I came as soon as I got the message. You alright?”

Feyre shook her head before stepping back and looking at Nesta. “Why are you here?”

Nesta didn’t answer. She showed no emotion as she sat in the armchair in the corner.

“She was with me at the garage,” Cassian said, softly. “What happened?”

“Cops came in,” Amren began, “arrested Rhys for vandalism that never happened.”

Cassian’s brows scrunched together. “That makes no sense.”

“Obviously,” Mor said, sighing, “which is why we’re all sitting here looking confused as shit. Doesn’t help that he said he’d be here an hour ago and, as you can see, he’s not.”

Amren was looking back and forth between Cassian and Nesta, but as she opened her mouth to say something, Cassian shot her a look and shook his head.

Feyre’s hands raked through her tangled hair. She kept going back to the same thought, the same man. Rhysand didn’t have enemies, just one. “It was Tamlin. I know it was Tamlin.”

Azriel looked up at this, and Feyre saw the wheels moving inside of his mind. Feyre had sounded certain, and Azriel had never doubted her. “What’s his number?”

“What?” Feyre breathed. “No, you’re not calling-”

“No, I’m not,” Azriel said, words clipped, “but give me his number.”

She did so, and Azriel fiddled on his phone for a few minutes. As he concentrated on whatever it was he was doing, Feyre felt like she was going to puke. The rest of the room sat in tense silence.

Nesta included.

As the minutes passed, which Feyre felt lasted far too long, Azriel didn’t give much away, but then he froze. “Fuck.”

Cassian was instantly turning around. “What?”

But Azriel was already on his feet. He looked to Mor. “Take Mila home, put her to bed.”

Mor nodded, no questions asked.

“What’s going on?” Feyre asked, that panic returning in the pit of her stomach.

“Stay here, keep your phone on,” Azriel said. “Cass and I are going for a drive.”

“Azriel,” Feyre begged, hurrying after him.

He stopped at the door to pull on his shoes. “He’s sitting in the middle of nowhere, near the forest on the other side of town. Either he’s looking for a fight or he’s fucking some poor girl in the backseat of his car.”

Feyre froze, and paled.

“Cass and I are going,” Azriel repeated, his voice calm. Cassian was already throwing open the door. “I’ll call.”

Feyre nodded, but by the time she had, they were already gone.

~~~~~

Rhysand woke up to nothing but darkness.

His head hurt like shit. He was dizzy. He was stuck in a compact compartment, the world moving around him.

He was in the trunk of a car.

A small one, he imagined. He couldn’t move, at all, his body, tall and lean, scrunched together and lying awkwardly.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out.

Didn’t know where he was.

Didn’t know who had him.

He didn’t have to wait for long, though, because the car came to a screeching halt.

Rhysand jolted in the trunk, hitting every inch of his body against something.

Didn’t help his headache.

A minute later, the trunk opened and Rhysand was staring into the eyes of Eris Vanserra.

He took Rhysand by the collar and dragged him out of the trunk. The second Rhysand’s feet hit the grass, he felt like he was going to fall over.

His head.

His vision was blurry.

“It’s been a while, Lunasa, hasn’t it?” Eris crooned, forcing Rhysand down on his knees before jamming something hard into Rhysand’s side.

He grunted, trying to keep his vision steady.

Rhyasnd saw a gleam in the side of his eye, the moonlight reflecting off metal.

He’d been hit with the hilt of a knife.

Let’s hope I don’t get the other end.

The driver’s side door opened and he got out, his hair cut shorter than Rhysand remembered, but still that bright, golden hue. He could be seen from a mile, even in the darkness.

Tamlin said nothing as he walked, slowly, to where Eris had Rhysand.

He stopped in front of them and tilted his head. “Second time I’ve seen you get your ass kicked recently.”

Rhysand said nothing.

Instead, he fought to get up, but didn’t get far.

A long blade snuck up beneath Rhysand’s chin, against his neck.

Rhysand stilled.

Tamlin shook his head. “Did you enjoy your run in with the law?”

Rhysand stayed quiet.

“I thought it’d be pretty funny,” Tamlin grinned. “Turns out, I was right. Anyway, I won’t keep you long. Just wanted to talk.”

Rhysand scoffed. “I have a phone.”

“This is much more interesting,” Eris said, from over his shoulder. “For us, anyway.”

Prick.

Tamlin went closer to Rhysand before he said, “Feyre promised me you two weren’t together, that you weren’t the reason she left, but she forgets that I know a lot of people in this city, as does my father. It seems you two are closer than ever lately.”

Rhysand grinned. “Stalking us? Surely you have better things to do.”

Tamlin’s eyes hardened. “How long has she been whoring around in your bed, Rhys?”

Rhyasnd didn’t answer, but his eyes flared. The minute Rhysand tried to move toward Tamlin, the blade pressed into his neck.

Rhysand could feel a streak of blood trailing down his neck as he spat at Tamlin’s feet.

Tamlin didn’t seem bothered, though, as he said, “You didn’t answer my question. Has it been a few months? A year? Has it been going on all along and I’ve just been there to get her nice things and take her nice places, because you sure as hell can’t on a waiter’s salary.”

“Fuck you,” Rhysand said, lifting his chin, his vision blurring, once more, as the pounding in his head returned at the faint movement.

“Tell me!” Tamlin screamed, his voice echoing in the silence of the abandoned street. “Feyre has been mine since high school, and then she leaves without feeling any sort of guilt and goes straight to you, her lowlife lover, and that’s not a coincidence.”

Rhysand, despite feeling the need to pass out, laughed. “She left you because you’re a fucking cunt, Tamlin! You’re possessive, and manipulative, and make her feel like shit about herself. She didn’t feel guilty because she was so fucking tired of your bullshit!”

Rhyand screamed the words so violently that the blade Eris was holding pressed tighter against his skin.

Tamlin didn’t react, though. He simply looked at Eris, and nodded.

The blade was removed from Rhysand’s neck, but the moment Rhysand let out a breath, Tamlin had kicked him in the abdomen.

Clutching his stomach, Rhysand fell forward as Tamlin’s boot met Rhysand’s knee, then his side, his back. He could hear his nose break, but couldn’t convince his hands to reach up, to try and stop the blood. Tamlin’s boots made contact over, and over, and over again.

Rhysand didn’t bother to fight.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t move.

For the second time in a matter of months, Tamlin had caught him off guard and weakened him - the only way Tamlin knew how to win was to play dirty, and he was good at it.

His eyes fluttered shut as he heard the car engine turn on.

Rhysand’s world was dark before they even drove away.

~~~~~

Cassian and Azriel were driving with their windows down, speeding down the road where Azriel had tracked Tamlin’s phone.

They hadn’t seen a car in a while, but that didn’t mean anything. If anything at all, it meant that it was the perfect place to kick somebody’s ass.

“Anything?” Azriel called from behind the wheel, eyes scanning the road.

Just as Cassian was about to say no, he stopped himself. “Fuck- stop!”

Azriel slammed on the breaks, his truck sliding before it came to a complete stop. Cassian was already unbuckled and throwing open the door, though, before Azriel had even put it in park. He hurried to the shoulder, at the limp body that laid there.

Azriel came up behind them, face paled. “Fuck.”

Cassian was on his knees, rolling Rhysand over. He pressed his cheek against his chest, felt his pulse. “Breathing is okay. Come on, let’s get him up.”

With Azriel on one side and Rhysand on the other, they carried Rhysand into the backseat of Azriel’s truck. He was completely unconscious. In the light, he hardly looked like himself. His nose was bloody, definitely broken, his eyes swollen, his neck cut. A dark, black and blue bruise covered the faint one that had just about healed, on his cheekbone.

“Shit,” Cassian breathed, and met Azriel’s gaze.

There were very few times Cassian had seen Azriel’s murderous gaze.

This was one of them.

“Let’s get him to the hospital,” Azriel said, pulling up the hem of Rhysand’s torn shirt, his eyes hardening at the discoloration. “Make sure he doesn’t have any internal bleeding.”

Cassian nodded before hopping back into the truck. The minute Azriel sped off, Cassian pulled out his phone.

Calling Feyre, hearing her heartbreak, was the last thing he wanted to do.

~~~~~

Feyre couldn’t stop herself from crying. “Okay, I’m-I’m on my way, I’ll meet you there.”

She hung up the phone, turned to the others.

Amren and Nesta were already on their feet, Mor clung to Mila, still asleep, on the couch.

“They’re taking him to the hospital. He…...They’re taking him to the hospital. I have-I have to go to the hospital.”

“Give me your keys,” Nesta said, instantly.

Feyre shot her a glare. “Why.”

“Because you’re in no condition to drive,” she explained. “I will bring you.”

Feyre hesitated, but nodded.

“I’ll come, too,” Amren said, then looked to Mor. “Go home, put her to sleep, we’ll call as soon as we hear anything.”

Eyes weary and lined with silver, Mor nodded.

The three of them piled into Feyre’s little car, Nesta behind the wheel. She wasted no time starting it up and pulling out of the parking lot.

Feyre couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop panicking, couldn’t stop sobbing.

Amren reached up from the back seat and put her hand on Feyre’s shoulder.

“It’s my fault,” Feyre sobbed. “It’s my fucking fault.”

“It’s not your fault that Tamiln’s a hateful prick,” Amren said.

Nesta stayed quiet, but she drove, quickly, through the city.

Feyre screamed, loudly, deafening.

No one stopped her.

They couldn’t go to the police, couldn’t say anything. It would just be brushed under the rug. Feyre felt helpless. Feyre felt sick. Feyre was terrified of getting to the hospital, terrified of seeing Rhysand in pain because of her faults.

Because of her past.

By the time Nesta pulled into the hospital’s parking lot, Feyre could hardly breath. Nesta looked in the rearview mirror and caught Amren’s eye. “I’ll drop you both off at the door?”

Amren nodded, and when Nesta pulled up to the doors, Amren got out, and waited for Feyre, but Feyre couldn’t move.

She looked at Nesta.

Her oldest sister was already watching her. For once, her eyes were not hard, emotionless. She gave Feyre a nod of encouragement.

Feyre got out of the car.

Hand in Amren’s, they walked into the hospital.

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

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

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Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #nessian #feysand #elriel #tacmc aita

224 notes · View notes

theatresweetheart · 5 years

Text

Thorns and Arrows

Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, G/t

Prompt: “I’ll take real good care of you, I promise.” With prinxiety? Maybe with big Roman and tiny Virgil? — Asked by @arc852

Summary: Virgil, after narrowly escaping capture by humans who believe his witchcraft is demonic, ends up getting caught by Roman instead.

Warnings: Brief mention of Remus, brief mention of Deceit (Darien), multiple descriptions of blood, disturbing use of language, talk of death, character being treated inhumanely, fear, fainting, crying, swearing, fire. (I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything!)

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Logince

Word Count: 4140 words.

A/n: So, I actually had a lot of fun writing this and getting to play around with different perspectives and such. Also, a huge thank you to the ever lovely @hiddendreamer67 for being a fantastic beta and helping me edit!

(Also, as a side note, I decided not to add this into the ask with the prompt, only because it had gotten so long. Adding “Read More” into my asks has been problematic for now, so I might do every long story like this and the shorter ones answered in asks. That is still to be decided.)

Anyhow, enjoy!

Taglist: @isle-of-gold (Feel free to let me know if you ever want to be tagged in future works!)

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

Life is a cruel mistress, some would say.

She taunts and giggles and gifts more misfortune to the already unfortunate.

To those that had been born into a life with little to no chance of success or survival, she can be loving and kind and extend assistance and a caring hand. Or, she would sit by, watch and grin at the suffering she caused.

Virgil didn’t want to be ungrateful, but as he stumbled through the overgrown underbrush of the forest in a panicked escape from the king’s knights close behind him—with swords and shields and bows and arrows ready—he felt as though he had every right to be sour about his life.

“Halt in the name of the King, witch!”‌ One knight shouted, causing the witch himself to reel and press on forward faster. “You will cease your useless attempt and repent in the Halls of the King before the Royal Court!”

If he had wanted to repent and be dragged back to the court to either be hung or drowned, he would have already turned himself in.

The sounds of his own breathing got loud enough that it was the only thing he could focus on. The blood rushing in his ears, the adrenaline pounding through his veins.

His coven had already been ravaged by fire and death and destruction, his familiar was nowhere to be seen—which worried him greatly—and now he was running blindly through a forest he didn’t know his way out of.

He was in an area of the forest that he had never had the chance to see. A place he had never been taken to, or shown around. He was completely on his own when it came to navigating his way out.

To put it lightly, Virgil was terrified.

The sound of an arrow whizzing by his head, nearly nicking his cheek, made him recoil and duck to the other side, catapulting himself over a fallen log and continuing his sprint.

There was just so much that had gone wrong in such little time. This morning had been like any other morning, quiet, relatively peaceful. He was going to try and spend most of his day perfecting his potions, only for that to have changed within the hour.

How had the knights figured out his coven existed?‌ A false accusation by one of the paranoid townspeople, claiming they had seen another of Virgil’s coven commit a heinous act of witchcraft.

It hadn’t been hard to figure out that the townsfolk were bluffing. It also wasn’t hard to understand that the townspeople didn’t like him or his coven in the first place. They were isolated and kept to themselves a lot, only entering the town square when absolutely necessary. To an outsider, they almost did look a tad too much like witches, but they had never been accused of it before.

There had been rumors, Virgil remembered, when he was little. He remembered staying close to Darien, a hand latched onto the older witch’s jacket as they navigated the town. People would whisper to each other, point and stare, but nothing had ever come of it. It remained only as if it were a whisper on the wind.

There had always been paranoia within the town about the forest and what lurked inside of it, which was understandable.

There were terrible creatures that lurked in the night, searching and stalking for an easy meal. If you didn’t know how to fight back, it would be far too easy to lose. Sometimes, even if you did know how to defend yourself, you just weren’t strong enough.

Some of the animals that did haunt the night were wolves and bats and coyotes and such, but then there were mystical creatures as well; the fae, werewolves, and vampires, which were rare, but there. They mostly lived among the people and not so much in the heart of the woods. It was easier to feed that way.

There were even creatures that were so big they’d be able to swallow a human whole if they so desired.

Now those were the encounters that would strike fear into anyone’s being. Anyone that had a rational head on their shoulders would avoid a giant at all costs.

Then there were the so called “giant hunters”‌ who decided it would be a good idea to go after these massive beings and try to claim fame and fortune.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely anyone would return from such a quest.

Not that Virgil felt a shred of pity for them. They had made their choice—no matter how stupid—and it had cost them their lives. So, the only way to go about that was to learn from their mistakes and never make the same choice himself.

The twang of another arrow being loosed caught his attention, but the searing hot agonizing pain that rose from his left shoulder was the thing that shattered every coherent thought in his head. The yelp of pain that came sharply from his mouth made the knights behind him cheer in glee; they had hit their mark!‌ It was only a matter of time now before the witch stumbled and dropped.

While his vision was hazy, Virgil wasn’t letting the arrow get the better of him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find– to find… find what exactly? What was left for him? His coven was nothing but ashes, his familiar was possibly dead and he was being hunted. It really was only a matter of time before he stumbled to his knees and let the knights have their way with him.

But there was also the sharp resilience that said this isn’t what his family would want for him. The fact that giving up meant losing immediately. The moment one gave up was the moment one lost.

Chancing a glance down at the wound, Virgil saw a steady stream of crimson blood oozing down his left arm, dripping off of his fingertips before it had the chance to dry. He needed to dislodge the arrow, find some way to heal the wound before he bled out…but without a safe place to stop and rest, it was pointless.

Without his eyes on the escape route, he had failed to notice the steep drop down the bank in front of him. Just as his foot caught on a stray root, a sharp cry was ripped from his throat and he stumbled and slid to his knees. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed to the ground and rolled onto his uninjured side just enough to see the knights approaching him quickly.

The sounds of the armour and weapons clattering got closer and closer, until Virgil could see the three knights standing over him. Looking red in the face and furious, but almost mixed with a horrible look of glee. They got to take what they wanted of him. Torture him, kill him.‌ Anything they so desired.

His chest rose in panting breaths, unsteady but in an almost recognizable pattern. Hazily, his eyes slid over each and every knight, taking in what they looked like. Burning their images into his brain as the last thing he would probably see before they ran him through. He memorized every little detail, including their unbearable grins, sneers and sharp looks that said so much more than words could.

“Absolutely pitiful,”‌ the one to his right said, voice dangerously low. He crouched down, prodding Virgil roughly in the injured shoulder and grinning as the witch hissed at the unwanted and painful touch. “A single arrow takes down the last witch of that disgusting coven. You’d think it’d have more fight. At least a will to live.”

Of course Virgil had a will to live, but surrounded like this, too weak to even try and utter a simple spell?‌ His odds weren’t looking great. But that knight could go and take what little knowledge his fat head carried and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

“I almost feel bad,”‌ a second voice piped up, cruel and unrelenting. “Get it up boys. Bring it back to the King.”

The first knight got down lower, so low that Virgil could feel his breath against his neck. It was a vulnerable section of skin for someone’s mouth to be hovering over and he was half afraid that the knight would take the advantage to sink his teeth into his jugular. Of course it wasn’t a human move, but it didn’t stop Virgil from worrying about it. He even tried to writhe away to the best of his ability but was stuck in place by the third’s heavy grasp. “The King ain’t gonna be happy with you,”‌ he snarled, “I‌ like to think that your coven got off easy.”

The thought that being burned alive in your own home was getting off easy, made Virgil feel so unbelievably sick that he felt bile rising.

There was no way that Darien and Remus had gotten off easy. Buried under rubble with heat from all sides, heat that you couldn’t escape, that you choked on and eventually made your suffering so unbearable—

Virgil coughed, blood painting his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling heat prickling the back of his eyes. The water threatened to spill, but he fought back the urge. The knights already had enough reason to mock him; he didn’t want crying in front of them to be another.

The first knight grinned wider. He pushed himself away from the curled up form on the ground and circled around to the other side of him. He grabbed Virgil under the shoulder where the arrow was still implanted into it, before seemingly like he had a better idea. “Hold the witch down,”‌ he said to the other two. “Roll it over onto its back.”

As he was pushed onto his back, Virgil’s eyes snapped back open, blurred as they were, and they locked on the first knight. They widened as he noticed the knight’s hand wrapping around the shaft of the arrow.

He’s going to pull it out. It’s going to get ripped out without care or precision.

Doing that, could ruin his shoulder for life. There was only so much healing magic could do when you weren’t skilled enough in the practice. The fact that the arrow itself was going to be ripped out the opposite way it had been shot in made his stomach churn.

“N-no!”‌ Virgil had finally found his voice, but the demand came out weaker than he had anticipated it. The three men above him didn’t seem to care about his protest as the arrow was grabbed half a moment later. “W-wait, please! Don’t— don’t do this!‌ I’ll go back willingly…ju-just leave the arrow alone!”

“So, it talks,”‌ The second knight snarked, his hands tightening on his good shoulder. Virgil’s eyes frantically searched the features above him, the world beginning to darken in his terror. “It’ll only hurt for a few days.”

“Don’t worry though,” the knight said, giving an experimental tug on the arrow shaft, watching Virgil’s pained expressions carefully. “I’m sure you won’t live that long anyhow. So, perhaps, it’ll only hurt for the rest of your miserable life.”

Virgil tried to prepare himself for the feeling of something being torn out of his body, but nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating feeling that rippled through his entirety.

The arrow head had been so far embedded into his shoulder that it had nearly been poking out the other side. It had torn through layers of skin and had caused the wound to enlarge. More blood spilled from the gash and Virgil almost felt numb. So much agony was flushing through his body that he could hardly put two and two together.

He choked on his breathing, blood made another reappearance as he coughed, gagging at the unbelievable amount of torment.

It only made the knights howl with laughter, looking down at the witch. He wasn’t a big kid, in fact Virgil was actually remarkably small for someone his age. His short stature only made it easier for the knights to keep him trapped.

Virgil gasped, trying to find a way to steady himself enough to process just what exactly was happening to him.

Die.

The word was so sudden and startling that he almost couldn’t fathom the meaning of it.

You are going to die.

Everything that had happened in his life was going to be rendered meaningless. As if he had never done anything at all. There was no one left to remember him.

They’re going to kill you right here, right now so the King will reward them as heroes.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally spilling over. He choked on a sob and shook his head, trying to get them off. Trying to get them to let him go. Trying to do something that could possibly save his life. Anything.

You’re going to die and there is nothing you can do about it.

His mind was alive and buzzing, but numb and everything was confusing and he couldn’t see straight, he could hardly breathe. There was so much assault happening to him that his senses couldn’t comprehend everything. From the sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder that was going to kill him if he didn’t get it treated to the electric buzzing going on inside his head from the constant movement and chatter, or even when it came to noticing the quaking in the ground that hadn’t been there before.

Wait.‌‌ What the holy hell was that?

“I didn’t think witches understood human emotions,” the first knight said, snapping the arrow between his two hands and tossing it to the side idly.

He seemed to be the only knight that hadn’t honed in on the difference in the air around them. The way the ground kept shaking in a steady and oddly familiar pattern. It was timed and paced, but shook with a passion. It felt like…like… oh.

Oh no.

No, no no no!

Virgil was too scared to open his eyes, knowing that his consciousness was just barely holding on. It was only a matter of time before it was over for all of them. Seeing through the blood loss and tears wouldn’t help either, but he knew what was coming. He knew that it was way worse than what the knights had in store for him.

“L-let me go!” He grit out, almost trying harder but with his strength failing him, he sounded pathetic.

“Now, why would we do something like that?” The knight crooned. “We caught you and now we’re going to fulfill our duty to the King.”

“No!”‌ Virgil’s voice verged on shrill. “You— you don’t get it!”

The footsteps were getting closer, more prominent. The earth shook with every footfall and the force rattled through him as he was laying flat on the ground.

It was then that the knight seemed to realize what was happening. The first knight was turning to see something he did not want to see.

“What?” The knight barked in surprise, immediately on his feet with his sword drawn. The other two followed suit leaving Virgil on his back, heaving with gasps and anguish.

Just as the knight had gotten the word out, the darkness slid over them, casting the four humans into its shadow.

Virgil knew that it wasn’t a cloud blocking the sun; it was something far worse.‌ Far more dangerous.‌ Something that made him want to be dragged away by the knights and thrown in front of the king. He’d rather that then suffer a death at the hands of a giant.

“Now isn’t this quite the sight,”‌ the rumbling voice from overhead made Virgil flinch further into himself, keeping his eyes screwed shut. He had already memorized the faces of his other tormentors, he didn’t need to see this one too. “The King’s men, supposedly meant to protect the citizens of the Kingdom, attacking one of their own.”

“A‌ witch!”‌ The knight barked, his hold on his sword wavering, terror eating away at his insides. It was obvious how frightened he was, but the stubbornness within him refused to let it show. “It is no member of our society!”

Roman scoffed, his eyes locked on the quivering little form on the ground. “I don’t want to assume, but I‌ would believe the witch would prefer to be addressed as a he not an it.”

The knight threatened to take a step towards the witch again, but Roman moved forward more, to match in confidence and challenge the knight. Giving more of a protective loom over the group of three knights.

“Witch or not, he is still a person,” The giant said, a growl just under the tone of his voice. “Or is that too hard for your bitty human brains to understand?”

The second knight reeled back from that, looking white in the face. His terror was clear to read. The third knight was harder, but the quivering of the blade showed real fear. The knight that was still talking back just seemed to be an idiot.

The first knight met the giant’s eyes, fearless and stupid. “I suppose that means monsters stick together.”

A sharper look filled Roman’s eyes, almost immediately the aura darkened, and he leaned down so much so that they were nearly at eye-level. He hovered just over them to assert his dominance in the situation. To further assert himself, he planted his hands on both sides of the group of knights—even though he was carefully aware of where the little witch was cowering, sobbing, bleeding out and shit I‌ have to deal with these fools quick.

So, he focused all of that irritation and frustration into staring, unwavering, at the knights in front of him. Their swords were nothing compared to him. Humans were absolutely nothing compared to him. “Keep using language like that and I will scrape you across the forest floor like old gum.”

Finally, that got the reaction he had been wanting. He wanted fear, and he wanted them to regret stepping into his part of the woods and torturing an innocent person—witch or not—as if they could get away with it. As unbelievably angry as he was, he knew that he would have to treat the little human and his injuries.

“I’m going to give you a single chance to leave without getting hurt,” he said, voice dangerously low. ‌A menacing snarl that reverberated through his chest and rumbled around them like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. “Get out of here. Now.”

The two other knights had no problem sticking their swords into their sheathes and bolting in the same way they came, their armour clanging together as they escaped. The first knight held his ground, but when chocolate brown eyes stayed locked on him, unrelenting and cold and unsympathetic, the knight felt his heart jump into his throat for the first time. He took an unsteady breath and his resolve shattered when he watched Roman bare his teeth in a sneer at him.

It took nothing for him to scamper off in the same direction as his colleagues.

Now, with the threats gone, he could pay some attention to the witch that was still bleeding out on the ground.

His hands moved from their defensive position, that he had been using to keep himself upright, to one that was encompassing the little human. Curled around the tiny shivering form as if to protect him and ward off any further predators that intended to harm.

“Hey,” his voice was softer, as quiet as he could get it to be without causing more alarm. Perhaps after everything though, Roman would still be registered as a threat because of what the witch had just witnessed. He watched the tiny form flinch away from the sound, one hand moving to cover the gaping wound on his shoulder. “This might not sound all that…reassuring, but you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

The witch gave the tiniest shake of his head in a clear and obvious distrusting “no,” but his eyes remained screwed shut. The human’s hands were smeared in his own blood, the ripped white shirt he was wearing had been stained crimson with the thick liquid.

Biting into his lower lip, Roman let his gaze flicker. The creature was obviously in a great amount of pain and he seemed to be losing consciousness. “I‌ know you have no reason to trust me, but would it help if you knew my name?” Without an answer, he was sure the human was starting to doze but he needed him awake. So, talking to him was the only rational thing that came to mind. “My name’s Roman. I know this is an odd way to meet someone, but it makes for an interesting origin story, don’t you think?”

The witch groaned up at him and for a moment, he thought they were actually communicating, only to be let down—unsurprisingly—when the human didn’t react anymore than that.

While he wanted to get him patched up as soon as possible without moving him, as that could agitate the wound further (or so Logan said), Roman needed to get the human back to his home. There, he had medicines and remedies that would help begin the healing process. And, if the knights were right and the human was a witch, he should know some healing spells himself, too.

Quickly making up his mind, knowing that he couldn’t leave the half-conscious human here by himself to go and retrieve medical supplies, he began to close his hands around the tiny form before pausing. The human hadn’t even looked at him once and Roman didn’t want to startle him by just suddenly grabbing him and hefting him high into the air.

“I’m gonna have to move you, alright?‌ That way I‌ can take you back to my place and my friend and I‌ can get you all fixed up,”‌ Roman chattered at him quietly, explaining his plan while also asking for permission. “That way you’ll be right as rain in a couple days. Will you let me do that?”

The witch made a small noise and Roman was ready to roll with that, when instead it opened its mouth. He held his breath, wanting to make sure he didn’t miss anything important.

“…nuh.”

It sounded like a no but even knowing that the creature didn’t want to be moved, Roman couldn’t just leave it here to die. At least, not in good conscience.

His shoulders drooped and he couldn’t do it. “Sorry little buddy,” he said quietly, the apology doubled as a warning.

It seemed the witch understood that much as the eyes fluttered open lazily. The brown eyes were glazed over, that much was obvious to tell. The little one was watching but Roman didn’t think he was actually seeing. Or if he was even able to connect what was happening right now to reality. The little thing had to be inches away from death and, if worse came to worse and Roman couldn’t save him, at least the human would be in safe company when he passed.

Refusing to let that thought rule his motivations, he carefully scooped his palms underneath the tiny being, incredibly savvy to how he cried out with such a heartbreaking noise. The little one was absolutely petrified.

Heart crawling up into his throat, Roman cupped the human between his two hands and lifted the little one off of the ground and out of its puddle of blood, into the cupped bowl of his palms.

The human groaned in agony and Roman was quick to coo to him, making small comforting noises in the back of his throat. Trying to make the awful situation better as he rose to his feet. “Shh, shh. I know, little one, I‌ know,” he soothed, “I know it hurts but I’m going to get you back home and I’m going to get you all patched up. I’m not gonna hurt you, you’ll be okay.”‌

He felt so horribly guilty that he hadn’t heard the commotion earlier. He knew it wasn’t right to blame himself for this, but he couldn’t help it. Not with how the witch was trying to focus on him, only to let his eyes slip closed.

It looked as though he was ready to accept his fate.

Roman couldn’t let him do that—not without at least trying first.

“You’re okay,”‌ he hushed the tiny human, “no one’s gonna hurt you again. You’re safe with me, I‌ swear it.”‌

Roman looked up briefly to make sure he was heading in the direction that would lead him home, before focusing back down on the form in his hands.

“I’ll take real good care of you.” His voice was nearly a whisper, a silent vow as the human began to drift off into full unconsciousness. “I‌ promise.”

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typicalmidnightsoul · 4 years

Text

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼- Chapter 1

ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕥 -

Nesta Archeron has a past. A past that affects everyone. She has a legacy to protect. Her story started before she was even born... She wasn't meant to become fae. And as faces from that past return. she realizes that her job isn't done. Her mother's legacy is in danger.

You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains.”

A pause. She wanted to laugh so badly.

“No.”

She stormed out.

Feyre started running after her,

“Nesta, wait! Nesta!”

She kept on walking into the busy market. As she sifted her way through the crowd someone bumped into her, on purpose.

“Ow!” The stranger passed her and in a glimpse she met his eyes.

Those-Those eyes. She knew him. But he can’t be-

His scent- he. What the actual fuck?

She turned trying to follow him… “Wait! Wait! STOP” the current of people coming in and out of the market were pushing Nesta back, away from him. His scent…it was the smell of the forest near the village. The same forest where Feyre hunted. She looked around frantically, where was he?

A hand came on her shoulder; she whirled round to see- Feyre.

What was he doing here? Was it actually him? Of course it was! Which other fae would have the scent of the human lands on them.

“Nesta, I understand what’s going through-”

She stopped her midway, “We need to speak in private.”

Feyre looked baffled, “Um of course… I’ll winnow us to the townhouse…”

The second they got there Nesta started pacing. Feyre looked worried.

This couldn’t be a coincidence, Feyre exiling her, him showing up, God how many years had it been? 13 years… she thought he was dead for 13 years.

She turned to Feyre. “I will do anything you tell me too, the males, the drinking it will all stop, I’ll even go to the Illyrian Mountains, I won’t object to anything…on one condition.”

Feyre raised a brow.

“I want to go to the human lands, no questions asked. Then when I come back I will do anything you tell me too.”

Feyre, for the second time today looked confused, “Nesta I don’t want to control you…but for your own well-being if it means that much to you then… if it means us going to the human lands, then we will go there with you.”

Nesta nodded. It was so unusual, Feyre thought to see her so quiet and compliant.

“Could we leave as earliest as possible?” she only asked.

Feyre considered, “Tomorrow morning, we come back at nightfall is that okay?”

Nesta didn't speak and as she turned to leave Feyre asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me-“

“I can’t.” Nesta left.

---------

She was quiet. The whole day, while the inner circle save for Morrigan dined in the band of Exiles’ manor. Then it happened. If Feyre could’ve gone back to this day she would’ve not even let Nesta step into the mortal lands.

Her eyes widened as she looked out the window.

“I need some air,” She said to no-one in particular.

She stepped out, launching into a brisk walk over the hill, as she got on the top, she slowed down. The lake at the bottom was huge; clear…it took Nesta back to a time where… she shook her head.

She was about to leave, when she saw a shadowed figure in the woods. She turned around, scanning the expanse of trees. Maybe she had mistaken it.

But no, there stepping out of the woods was....a wolf.

Even from this distance she could feel the blue eyes with flecks of emerald green boring into her. Tear started slipping on their own accord down her face. Someone was calling her from behind.

She couldn’t go back, not when he was in front of her. She heard distant footsteps.

Go, go, go the dark curling thing inside of her whispered. She obeyed.

She ran down the hill, gravity taking hold of her. She wanted to laugh like she used to. Let this be the dream she wastes away with for the rest of eternity. She reached the edge of the lake.

“Nesta!!” Feyre and her family were at the top of the hill.

He was on the other side of the lake.

What now? She asked herself.

Go! They whispered back.

She took a step on the lake. It solidified. Not into ice, but more like… dark sand. She started running across the lake, as she was halfway through she could feel a power pulling her back. The monster inside snarled. Night and stars tried to pull her back instead her knees gave way. She could defeat it but she’d have to release the layer of stone she put on her power. That kind of unleashing… no. She panted her power raging inside her begging to be let out. How would she get to him? She pressed a brow to the dark sand. In the corner of her eye, stark white paws padded towards her she shot up…only to regret it for the pain in her back.

She framed his hands around his face, the sun kissed skin striking against the ivory fur. She smiled as he nuzzled his nose against her neck, pushing closer. She pulled him back to confirm what she already knew.

“Ollie?” She whispered. She felt a tear fall on her hands. She pressed their foreheads together.

He was alive, he was here

Thank you, she whispered to that power. She could feel it bow in answer.

A savage growl ripped out of him so sudenly that Nesta flinched back. But he wasn't growling at her, he was growling at the court of dreams on the banks on the lake. He realized that Nesta had misinterpreted him and whined but...too late Nesta's flinch was already seen, by her sister, he growling was already seen...

"NESTA! Get away from it!" Twin shadows with wings were now flying across the expanse of the lake. And Nesta?

The person that she was holding so close, in his absence there was just air. her whole body caved in as he disappeared. Gone, he was...

She wouldn't hear anyone anymore, not her sister's friends not...

"NO NO NO, where is, WHERE" Her lungs did not seem to be working properly, not again. She would not lose it again.

She stood up, the dark ash lifting into the wind wrapping around each other in an aggressive assault. Lightning flickered in her eyes. The most devastating thing about this scene however was that Nesta was shattering in the midst of this, the monster in her was angry because she was weeping, her demons protected her from the world but now... she had lost everyone. Everyone she loved. She didn't want a new family she wanted them. Everything halted, the wind stopped.

Cassian and Azriel halted their flight, Feyre stopped calling out, Rhys let go of his power. Amren's features softened.

Nesta let out a last sob that echoed through the land and dropped down on her knees. All the dark ash blew out in a deafening cry and splayed itself around the lake and is bank.

Cassian dived with precision towards her sobbing figure in the midst of the hurricanes, the storm. He tried pulling her, but he couldn't focus with the ash blowing in his face. He sputtered trying to grab hold and finally grabbing her arm. He felt Azriel land on the lake with someone in tow.

Nesta felt a hand at the small of her back. "Sleep."

As she felt her body go limp involuntarily and the last thing she saw before was Amren's silver eyes filled with pity as she stroked a hand down her temple.

#nessian #nesta archeron #nessian fanfic #cassain #rhys #amren #feyre #elain #azriel #morrigan #helion #acotar #thesan #orginal character #original characters

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sayhitoforever · 4 years

Text

Burn Season - Malcolm Bright x Reader - PT (7/?)

A little holiday gift for all you lovely people. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6- Thanks for all the love and support for this series. You guys are wonderful, your feedback makes my heart feel so full. I am playing around with the idea of making this it’s own fic, with an OC protagonist instead of a reader insert. If I go through with that, you guys will be the first to know and I’ll post any links here, most likely for AO3. Thank you, as always, for reading. This will be the last update for 2019! GIF credit to diver5ion because Malcolm is serving LOOKS 👌 .

Even with the meticulously neat organization of the evidence, it had taken Malcolm well into the evening to get through the boxes. The pictures were spread across his island and the floor as he’d tried to set up the scene the way it had been when it was first photographed. He poured over each report and lab and all the testimony that had been gathered before starting in on Y/N’s notes, usually left on sticky notes stuck to the reports. Some of them were incomprehensible, clearly pulling facts and forming theories around evidence he’d yet to read through.

It was strange, he thought. Y/N had said it wasn’t personal, that she hadn’t cared about her father, but all the hard work in front of him said otherwise. It could be that he was misinterpreting it, that the dedication to all the evidence spread around him was just part of her job. It was stranger even that her father wasn’t among any of the victims contained in the boxes, not that he could tell at least. Why, he wondered, would she tell him what she had but leave out any information that corroborated her story?

Six crime scenes, six charred buildings, corpses into the double digits, the timeline spanning over eight years. It had grounds to qualify as a serial killer by the modus alone. Always an abandoned factory or warehouse, some condemned and dilapidated building. Planned, intentional, where no one but the intended victims could be hurt. It was an act of empathy, an act of restraint, and that ruled out any theory involving a sociopath.

Malcolm found that all of the victims in the boxes had some kind of mafia affiliation. It was a dawning sort of dread that fell over him as he realized that the manner in which they’d been tied up, every last one of them, reflected crimes they’d been alleged of committing. The two handcuffed to old piping were infamous sex traffickers, known for keeping women chained up in basements to be abused. Another with remnants of his shattered kneecaps found in the ash, both ankles broken, known for crippling his enemies before executing them with a bullet between the eyes.

We will make you sorry.

Retribution then, like paying it forward in the cruelest way possible. Forcing them to suffer that which they’d done to others before they died. It was the fire though; the fire didn't seem to fit. It was the odd piece of the puzzle. Why burn them? What was that a reflection of?

Malcolm was reaching for his phone to text Y/N when it chimed with a message from Gil. ID on the victims from the other night that they were able to pull from their dental records. More mafia thugs, he noted as he scrolled through the reports Gil had sent, before stopping at the list of their alleged crimes. And there at the bottom of all three was the answer to his developing theory. Alleged murder, charges that never struck, involving bodies out in the wilderness, tied to posts with rope and shot at like an execution by firing squad.

The next chime was a phone call and Malcolm brought the phone to his ear.

“Gil,” he said by greeting.

“You got anything for me, Bright?”

“I…” Malcolm hesitated, looking at the spread of evidence all over his loft. “I don’t know. There’s a lot here, Gil. Years of evidence.”

“Any of it you can bring in? We could try to help, offer a fresh pair of eyes?” Gil offered and Malcolm could hear the sound of a coffee pot being returned to its stand. He smiled tiredly; so they were all depending on caffeine to get through the day now.

“There’s too much here to bring.” Malcolm stared at photos of the fourth crime scene, recalling testimony of a nearby vagrant. Something about overhearing someone a short while before the old factory had gone up in flames:

We will make you sorry.

Malcolm sighed, knowing that a fresh pair of eyes might actually be of some help. “But, let me grab what is most important and I’ll head over. Is Y/N there? I had a couple questions for her.”

“I saw her about a half hour ago, so I would imagine she’s around here somewhere,” Gil replied.

“I’ll be there soon,” Malcolm promised and pocketed his phone again as Gil confirmed.

What precisely to bring with him out of the mountain of evidence before him was another beast entirely. Should he rebox it and bring it all with him? Should he even keep reflecting on old evidence when he had a new case with fresh evidence that might even have more reliable results to focus on? Photos at the very least would help, and he made quick work of returning them all to their properly labeled envelopes and slipping them under his arm after donning his coat.

The chill in the evening air was like a sigh of relief as it washed over him. He’d been cooped up for so long, so focused, that he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been feeling a little claustrophobic. When he entered the precinct for the second time that day, Gil was on a heated, closed-door phone call with someone in his office, Dani had left to chase down the owner of the warehouse, and JT was on his way back with food for them all. With a sigh, envelopes full of old crime scene photos still tucked under his arm, he made his way to Edrisa’s lab where he was greeted with the sound of her pealing laugh as he opened the door.

“Mr. Bright!” Edrisa greeted him, face lighting up as he entered her lab.

Y/N was sprawled in Edrisa’s chair, booted feet kicked up onto her desk. The look she gave him across the room was a little haggard, but sharp nonetheless. He’d never asked her what business had called her away so quickly earlier, but it was clear now that sleep hadn’t been involved. It was the most comfortable he’d seen her around another person, and he wondered what specifically it was about Edrisa that maybe put her at ease.

“You two aren’t drinking again, are you?” he asked, eyeing Edrisa closely.

“Oh, no, no, it’s too early for that,” Edrisa laughed, looking back at Y/N who nodded with emphasis. “We were swapping stories of the worst dead bodies we’ve seen.”

Malcolm shot Y/N a critical look. The grin he received in return was nothing short of sardonic. “You have a laundry list of dead body stories?”

“More than I’ll ever let on,” Y/N said with a casual shrug, grin nearly splitting her face in half as she heard Edrisa’s groan of defeat.

“I knew you were holding out on me,” Edrisa lamented, hanging her head. “I even told you about the bog body.” Malcolm couldn’t help but chuckle at the hang-dog look on her face.

“C’mon, E. I gotta save the good ones. Can’t spill all my good stories at the same time.” Her eyes glittered as she looked over Edrisa’s sagging frame with another laugh, before she pinned Malcolm in place again.

“Oh, where are my manners? Have you two met already?” Edrisa exclaimed, glancing between the two.

Malcolm blanched for a moment, having forgotten that Y/N had left the crime scene while Edrisa was caught in traffic the other night. And again after the Baby Stout incident, she’d yet to discover that they were already well-acquainted.

“We are familiar,” Malcolm replied, slowly and awkwardly.

Edrisa blinked up at him, the word ‘familiar’ seeming to strike a chord with her. “Has she told you any of her good stories?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Bright and I haven’t had the opportunity to share our best case stories,” Y/N piped in, moving her hands to settle them atop her stomach as she lounged even further down into the chair. “But this case is squaring up to be a pretty good one.”

“That’s true!” Edrisa said enthusiastically. “I might even submit this case to the review board if we close it. Carbonization of tissue is such a fascinating subject, very open to debate about how it…”

When both Y/N and Malcolm stared owlishly at her as she trailed off, clearly lost in her own thought, she gathered herself just a little. “I could use more coffee. Do either of you—”

“Yes, please,” Y/N and Malcolm said in stereo. Edrisa’s eyes flitted between the two of them like she was watching a ping-pong match before she pointed at Y/N and laughed like they’d shared a joke Malcolm hadn’t quite caught. She continued to chuckle as she exited the lab.

Y/N remained where she was, feet still propped up, hands folded on top of her stomach, eyes studying him where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes darting around the room.

“Spit it out,” she said suddenly. “Unless the question is meant for Edrisa.”

He winced, visibly, beginning to hate just how transparent Y/N made him feel. He couldn’t be that obvious, right? He was a trained professional after all. “It’s a sensitive question,” Malcolm said instead, holding back more questions. Always questions. Questions he was sure might never get answered. Not when the person he needed to ask evaded them like a pro, not when the questions entered a territory too personal, too private, too dark.

“Ok, I’ll bite,” she said simply.

Malcolm hesitated, his own racing train of thought coming to a screeching halt. “It’s regarding your father,” he said, giving her the leeway to refuse his request.

She stared at him impassively, cocking her head to the side slightly. “I’m still listening.”

He swallowed reflexively, trying to push out one coherent question at a time. “Was there anything that stood out in his autopsy report, anything weird, anything violently particular?”

“Clever.” Was the only thing Y/N said for a moment, eyes glazing over a little in contemplation, her silence leaving Malcolm prickling with anticipation. “Can’t believe I never thought about this, but yeah. His mouth had been stapled shut. Surgical steel.”

Malcolm’s pulse thundered in his ears as her gaze focused on him once more. She'd said it so easily, effortlessly, like the act of recalling that her father’s body had been mutilated while he was still alive, that he’d been silenced, before being burned alive meant nothing to her. Maybe it really wasn’t personal for her. Maybe it was just one of those cases you got fixated on because it had gone unsolved for so long. Maybe Malcolm was just projecting something onto her. His own need to understand everything that effected him in some way. The way she was looking at him, calm, exhausted, with no real sadness in her gaze, spoke volumes.

He stared back, too flabbergasted to speak for a moment before swallowing dryly. “So, I have a theory…”

#prodigal son #prodigal son fox #malcolm bright #malcolm whitly #malcolm bright x reader #malcolm whitly x reader #burn season #x reader #x you #x y/n #reader insert #fanfic #gil arroyo #JT Tarmel #dani powell #edrisa tanaka #sayhitoforever #hitowrites

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Title: Robin’s Requirements Summary: The name’s Robin,” the kid said with Dick’s smirk and Jason’s accent. Bruce felt ice crawl up his veins. He was going to throw up.Robin number three wasn’t human and Bruce didn’t know how keep going after Jason’s death. They make it work (after a rough start). AN: I decided to put up all the chapters I’ve posted of this story so far in proper order on tumblr since some people prefer reading here. Here’s the AO3 link to the story! I update weekly!

Chapter 1

Summer in Gotham was almost unbearable. The smoke and ashes lingering in the air mixed with the heat radiated from the asphalt to create an atmosphere that made it difficult to breathe or even just move in. In-between the tall skyscrapers and the houses squished into spaces much too small for them, you got the closest you could be to the experience of boiling to death without actually dying.

Winter may freeze your limbs, break away one finger after another, but summer’s heat, similar to the blast of an explosion, burned away your skin.

The summer nights appeared to be the much kinder, softer counterpart to the day time for the poor creatures who had to make their way through dark alleys.

It was a farce.

Gotham wasn’t kind, she hadn’t been in a long time.

The coolness of the darkness lulled you into a false sense of security. You were exhausted already, scared of the shadows too maybe if you weren’t used to them, or if you knew what lingered beyond them, but at least death didn’t await you in the sun’s divine punishment.

A logical but wrong assumption.

Grim hunters stalked the dark, waiting for you to slip up, to make a mistake.

Or at least, they used to be there to sink their teeth into you.

For the longest time Gotham had been protected by three guardians, predators, but nowadays you only ever spotted one of them, and if you did, you were better off to slice your own throat, or so they said.

Nobody had ever attempted to deny that meetings with the Bat could get bloody, especially if you provoked him. Still, they didn’t used to look like a war zone, entrails spread over the grey asphalt as empty eyes judged you for all the horrors you committed. The Bat used to be kinder, more forgiving, more understanding.

He wasn’t anymore. He had broken like Gotham had so many decades ago.

He still protected the weak, the needy, the helpless, but he no longer fought for the damned.

Instead of being their ferryman, he brought them directly to hell. It wasn’t death, not yet, but by the time he was done, you would wish for it.

People wondered what had changed right up until the Joker nearly choked on his acid laughter in the Bat’s arms, laughing about little songbirds cut up so badly you couldn’t tell the red of their feather coat from their blood.

It made sense then that the Bat would start to lose control. Everybody knew that the little Robin was off-limits. You try to could hurt and maim him, or break him for sure, these were the rules of the streets, and if he wanted to fly through them, he had to acknowledge them, but only ever as long as the Bat was your actual target.

You did not target Robin, Gotham loved him.

(There was a price to be paid for his death.)

“Duke, honey, it’s time for bed!”

“I know, Mom! Just five more minutes!”

Duke Thomas considered himself to be a regular ten-year-old. He loved video games, Star Wars, his Mom’s cooking, his Dad’s jokes, and, above everything, Robin Spotting. It was so much fun to stay up late, hoping to catch a glimpse of that colorful uniform or hear the joyful laughter.

Duke had actually seen Robin once too, on his fire escape. The hero had smiled at him and then put his index finger on his lips, indicating for Duke to be silent. Caught up in his excitement, Duke hadn’t even been able to speak to the hero or do anything but stand at his window, jumping up and down. He had watched as Batman caught up with Robin and the duo had flown away, Robin pretty much glued to Batman’s side.

The alley beneath Duke’s window was dark and dirty, but the heroes had been able to light it up.

And now Robin was gone.

Duke couldn’t believe it.

The police hadn’t said anything about Robin’s disappearance. Duke checked the news every day when his parents weren’t watching him too closely, lest they start thinking he wanted to watch those instead of his cartoons, hoping to hear about something interesting that wasn’t economics. However, the papers had plenty to say about Robin. His Mom called them ‘gossip rags Duke was better off not paying too much attention to’, but he had read them regardless.

The papers claimed Robin was dead, said that the Joker had killed him.

Duke was sure they were lying.

Robin was magical, Robin couldn’t die.

(But the Joker rarely appeared to be human either.)

Maybe somebody just had to remind Robin that he was still needed here. Duke sometimes got so caught up in his thoughts, he forgot to do his homework. It was probably something similar for Robin

“Duke, lights out!” His Dad said when he passed by Duke’s room.

“Just one more minute!” Duke pleaded, not even looking up from his desk.

“Alright, alright.” Dad laughed. “But you have to tell me what you’re writing.”

He entered the room and stepped closer to take a look at the sheet of paper Duke had been writing on, but Duke quickly pulled it to his chest to hide his scribbles.

“No! You can’t see it! It will take away the magic.”

You didn’t show your parents the letter for Santa either, or it wouldn’t get to Santa. Of course, the latter wasn’t real, but Robin was. And honestly, there were rules about this kind of magic – his parents should know them.

Dad just raised his hands in defeat, still smiling in amusement.

“Okay, buddy, but tomorrow you have to share with the class.”

Duke frowned, unsure whether that would be enough time for Robin to get his letter.

“Later,” Duke yielded. “Once I know it worked.”

Dad’s smile softened and he patted Duke’s shoulder.

“Only one more minute, then bedtime. You have school tomorrow and I don’t want to get another call about you falling asleep in class.”

Duke huffed, but couldn’t hide his happy smile. “That was only once!”

“Once enough. Sleep well, kid.”

“Night, Dad.”

Dad walked out of Duke’s room, closing the door behind him so that Duke was staring at the Justice League poster pinned to the wood. Batman needed Robin, so Duke would remind the short hero that he had to come home.

He quickly finished his letter, packed it in transparent cover, and hid it away in his Super Secret Special box. It was actually just a shoebox he had painted yellow and orange and decorated with plastic gemstones, but Duke loved it. Then he turned off the light and crawled into his bed. Duke took his alarm clock from the nightstand and set the alarm for a few minutes before midnight. He wasn’t sure whether twelve o’clock really was the right time, but it seemed very important in a lot of movies, so Duke figured if he had to choose, he might as well go with this time. If he succeeded, he’d maybe write to the police as well, tell them how to contact Robin since the Bat-signal only worked for Batman.

Falling asleep when he was so nervous turned out to be a chore. It felt just like the evenings before his birthday when he could hear the blood rushing through his ears and it kept him awake for as long as possible.

Duke managed to sink into sleep sometime after his parents had gone to bed as well. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d drifted off right until his alarm rang again and Duke woke up startled. Tiredly, Duke crawled out of his bed and put on his socks to minimize the sound he made. He picked put the box and began tonight’s journey.

When he opened the door, he winced at the jarring sound. Even if he tried to be as slow as possible, the door refused to stay silent. Duke halted to listen if his parents still slept. His father’s snoring turned out to be a rather practical way of measuring it. Thankfully, his parents also didn’t wake when Duke stole the house keys out of his mother’s purse. With his box in hand, Duke sneaked out of the apartment and headed towards the stairs leading up to the rooftop.

The air inside the staircase was stuffy, receiving no circulation whatsoever. On tiptoes, Duke walked past the doors of his neighbors, being exceptionally careful when he passed the apartment of Ms. Norrington. She was, in the words of his usually calm and kind mother, a mean old witch, except she hadn’t said witch, but another word starting with a ‘b’ that Duke was too frightful to repeat. The old lady and her ugly little dog always watched Duke and his friend with her mean big blue eyes, especially when they were carrying toys. In Ms. Norrington’s opinion, there was nothing more terrible than children playing and having fun. One of these days, she wouldn’t even wait until Duke had made a sound, she’d just snatch his football away as soon as she would spot him. Therefore Duke needed to pass her without alarming her.

One step, another, a third and a fourth and Duke had done it. Victoriously, he rushed up the remaining staircases to the rooftop. If his parents knew that he was up here, they’d ground him for sure. None of the kids in the apartment block were supposed to go upstairs because the fence surrounding the roof hadn’t been fixed in ages and someone could get hurt or, even worse, fall off the roof when playing.

Duke thought it was stupid. He wouldn’t ever be dumb enough to fall off a house. However, that hadn’t stopped the adults from locking the door between Duke and his goal. But for that purpose, Duke had snatched his mother’s keys. His own keyring only had the keys for the front and backdoor, one for his bike and one for his Cousin’s home. His mother, on the other hand, did possess a key for the top door.

The lock was rusty and the key wouldn’t turn properly when Duke tried to open it. Duke bit on his tongue in concentration as he twisted the key multiple times until finally, after what felt like ages, the door clicked and opened.

Duke slowly closed it behind himself again, as to avoid the wind pushing it into the lock again with a loud BAM! Certainly, old Ms. Norrington would wake from that. Duke would just have to hurry and be finished before she managed to get out of bed, put on her pink shoes, ugly old and gray bathrobe and made it to the door.

Gotham was an ugly city according to the news, but Duke had long since learned not to trust them. Sure, the city could be a bit cleaner, but monuments like the shining WE building or the green Robinson park in the distance were signs that Gotham wasn’t as shitty as people claimed. The breeze here up on the rooftop was quite enjoyable too. They should tell their landlord to repair the fence quickly so that Duke could play Batman and Robin with his friends up here. That would be way cooler than going to the playground. Here they would be up on a real rooftop and didn’t have to pretend the monkey bars were the top of the Crystal Palace. Thinking of his two heroes, Duke reminded himself of his mission.

He looked around for the best spot to put his letter and settled on the water tank. A short ladder was leading up to it and so, with his box secured under his arms, Duke began to climb. He slipped nearly once or twice, but always managed to catch himself at the last second.

Once he reached the top, he allowed himself to sit down just to catch a quick breath. He was working on a schedule after all.

Duke set his box down next to him and took off the cover, revealing his letter to Robin and his most prized possession: a Batarang.

He’d found it in the trash a while ago and ever since he had the supreme right to always play Batman if he wanted to. He hadn’t told his parents about it because he knew they’d take it away, even if Duke didn’t take it outside his room usually. Why would he? He didn’t want it to get stolen by others!

Duke reached for the Batarang and then traced its edges with his fingers. It was still sharp, if he wasn’t careful he’d cut himself.

Duke didn’t have a Bat-signal, but he also didn’t want to attract that much attention. He was sure that if he just scratched something in the wooden surface of the water tank, Robin would spot it sooner or later. With the sharp side of the weapon, Duke began to scratch a big R into the wood. He made sure his carvings were deep enough that they’d be seen from above.

Then, with as much might as Duke could measure up, he rammed the Batarang through his letter into the wood so that it wouldn’t just fly away when left unsupervised.

There, his work was done.

Content with himself, Duke allowed himself to observe Gotham for a little while longer, forgetting Ms. Norrington for a moment. He wouldn’t get a sight as neat as this one again in a long while.

Duke climbed down from the water tank and returned inside. He made it past Ms. Norrington’s door and slipped into his apartment and room, his parents still sound asleep and none the wiser of Duke’s little adventure.

Yawning, Duke pulled his blanket over his head. It was sad that he had to give up his Batarang, but maybe he’d get a new one once Robin returned. And Duke didn’t mind playing other heroes.

After all, now it was really just a question of time.

Beneath him, the city was wide awake, even during such late hours. He should probably return to the Cave for tonight, he didn’t have any supplies besides the one lone Batarang. While he was sure that his wit alone would suffice to support Batman, a utility belt filled with all kinds of tricky equipment would be immense support, never mind much more fun.

He was already on the move, heading home for the first time, when Gotham started screaming for help. Her shouts spoke of fear, of a terrified mother scared for her children’s safety.

Somebody was threatening her - who?

Batman wouldn’t approve of it, he was sure, but generally speaking, it wasn’t his job to listen to Batman. He was there to support the Bat and, more importantly, keep Gotham safe. He couldn’t do that from the Cave.

With a wild grin, he jumped from the rooftop, executing a perfect landing on the balcony of the next house. Quickly he moved forward, making his way through the cold September air to come to Gotham’s aid.

He was Robin.

He had been born for this.

#dc #batman #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Alfred Pennyworth #fanfic #robin's requirements #dc comics

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zach-the-fox · 4 years

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Frostfur Episode 6: Grim Forecast

We’ve put a lot distance between us and the ghost city of Winterhome. Thanks to Emmy, these new sleds make it easier for us to schlep supplies. Of course, I’m not too excited to be pulling it, given the weight of the cargo is heavy, along with the warthog, for most of the journey. Carly has to suffer, too, but she’s carrying less than I’ve got. Just shows how gender really plays a role in an apocalyptic ice age. I just keep pressing onwards with my friends, and not a moment do I ever stop to look back at the city of the dead. We’re bound for New London, now, and we shall not stop. The terrain becomes harder to climb, as the sled of supplies make it difficult to ascend this new slope.

Carly struggles to tug the sleigh, letting out a grunt. “Ugh! This thing is so heavy!”

“Don’t be such a child,” I comment. “Look at me, and all of the stuff I’m hauling. I’ve got more things than you. You’re only carrying half the amount of supplies. You want to carry the rest of this up the mountain?”

“You’re quite the cheeky one. I think I shall suffer with my “half-load” instead.”

“Come on, guys,” Emmy spurts. “Let’s not argue until we’ve made it to our destination.” I pivot my head toward her and ask her how long it would be to reach the city. “We’ve got a while’s journey till we head to New London. We need to be prepared to stop and camp.” A while’s journey? Seems it’ll take longer than I had previously suspected. Then again, where else do we have to go? Our homes are probably buried under mounds of snow, so there’s no going back there, and Winterhome is a lost cause. Does this mean New London will be next?

I turn my head back to the front, only to see a strange silhouette piercing through the fog created by the roaring winds and snow. All my thoughts have shifted from the journey to this new shadow, causing me to stop in the snow.

The cat halts beside me, noticing my mood. “What is it, Zach?” My mind is too fixated on this particular object to give an answer, yet she and Emmy look beyond the misty atmosphere and know what has me at surprise. As the winds slow for a bit, we start to make out the features of this strange shadow; a tall building with some peculiar devices on the roof. It’s most likely a weather station set up by the scientists from Winterhome. “What is that?”

“It looks to be a weather station,” Emmy answers. “A team of scientists have set up here to keep tabs on the weather. Maybe we should check it out.”

“What?!” spurts Carly. “What in God’s name could possibly be in there that we’d stop and delay our arrival in New London?”

“Perhaps some of the contraptions survived, and could help us on our journey,” the warthog explains.

Those devices could actually prove to be useful. Another thought crosses my mind. “There may be some food there, too. It could take us longer to reach New London.”

“I don’t know,” Carly responds. “It doesn’t seem too safe up there.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Lass,” I assure her. “You have a trained soldier at your disposal by your side. I won’t let anything bad happen to you or Emmy, I promise.” The cat lets out a sigh, feeling defeated as her vote has been outnumbered by her two friends. She accepts our encouragement, and the two of us proceed to the weather station.

It’s quite a struggle with the prevailing winds and bombardment of snow pellets, as well as the mountain’s slope with the heavy supplies weighing us back. Yet, all these factors, despite slowing us in every way, do not prevent us from reaching the flat plateau. It takes us probably about a minute and a half to battle the elements and an additional couple of seconds to reach the door, then a few more seconds to knock it with the butt of my rifle and walk inside, after tying our sleds to some support beams outside. Holding my torch up, we begin to comb the entire shelter, seeing anything that could be of use. Up on the roof of the station, we can see the silent city of Winterhome, still standing in the distance as we’re far away from it. As the three of us continue wander around, we check everything and everywhere, searching the area for any signs of life as well, yet we see none. There’s nobody here, but everything seems to be operational. What were these scientists working on?

On the desk nearest to my right, I notice several notebooks, opened and filled with scrawled writings. These must be the notes the scientists were working on. Looking through the already-opened pages, they predict that the great cold is going to get much worse. What’s more troubling is that the observations ended abruptly months ago. They were tracking the weather and knew that it was coming… I wonder what else they recorded. Flipping through the entire book, I scan every written entry and record of knowledge, piecing together what was gathered and how it all happened. Emmy and Carly join my side as we all learn how the eternal cold had started:

The great mountains of Krakatoa and Mount Tambora have been very active, spewing ash up into the skies, creating thick smog. The blackened clouds hovered into the atmosphere, covering about seventy percent of our world’s atmosphere. The large “blanket” was responsible for dimming the sun, causing the temperatures to drop and bring in an early winter. As the writings go on, the scientists have reported hearing news of massive crop failures and the deaths of millions. Many had flocked to churches and places of worship to ask God for forgiveness of their sins in an effort to reverse the catastrophic events, but it was too late. Anarchy and unrest spread among the world, eventually bringing an end to many of the nations. The British Empire and the United States, however, created a pact to develop several installations, known as the “generators”, to act as heating city centers in the north. Their locations were thought out because of the rich coal deposits discovered in the icy artic. This was both nations’ last attempts of saving their populations and rebuilding society.

“This is not a happy story,” comments Carly. “Not one I’d want to read before bed.”

“That’s because it’s not meant to be,” explains a feminine voice from behind. We quickly turn around to see a purple rabbit standing before us, dressed warmly in an attire much similar to Emmy’s, suggesting she’s one of the scientists who was working here. Her wide, emerald eyes and long, smiley mouth with two teeth showing give us an eerie feeling. My arm wraps around to grasp my rifle, which rests firmly on my back. “How interesting for a couple of souls, such as you three, to enter a now-abandoned place.” Emmy and Carly inch closer to me, nearly hiding behind my back, making it more difficult for when I pull my gun out. “Did I frighten you? I did not mean to, for I get that quite frequently. I won’t hurt you, do not fret. My name’s Brook, and I am pretty friendly.”

“Where are the scientists who ran this place?” asks Emmy.

“They’re all gone,” the rabbit says. “Left this place behind as soon as the frost came in, taking everything but the equipment. There’s not a can of spam or even a crumb of bread left. So, if you are looking for food, you will find none. I was part of the research team, but I came back here to salvage anything that could be of benefit to my survival. Who are you three, might I ask?” We formally introduce ourselves to her. “Zach, Emmy, and Carly. Pleasure to meet you three. Any reason you have come here? Perhaps for shelter?”

“Somewhat,” I answer. “We’ve stopped here to see if we could find anything useful to help us with our journey to New London.”

“New London?” Brook repeats. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before. Is this a new settlement being developed?”

“Yes,” Emmy answers, taking a step away from my leg. “It is the location for London’s citizens to evacuate to. You see, we’ve just come from Winterhome, and we’re-”

“Winterhome?!” she interrupts. “You three manage to escape like the others?” Others?! What does she mean by that? There are other survivors? “I’ve heard what had happened there. Everything fell faster than the snow.”

“Actually,” Carly begins. “We weren’t in Winterhome when the chaos happened… We were supposed to be there, but we found everyone was dead.”

“Not everyone,” Brook tells us. “Many have fled the city after the explosion. Some did not survive in the frostland, though. It’s hard to adapt to the change in what nature had switched to.”

My paw relaxes from my rifle and returns to my side. I feel bad for this poor woman, being alone and out to fend for herself. The next thing I say will cause my friends to balk at me. “Hey, why don’t you come with us to New London?” Both the warthog and cat quickly dart their eyes at me. They must think I’m mental, which I was right.

“Accompany you lot?” she asks. “What is there in New London? A chance to survive?”

“A chance to live,” I respond.

“Zach,” Emmy whispers. I lean my head closer to her. “Are you sure you can trust this rabbit? I don’t feel too secure with her.”

“As with I,” adds Carly. “I know she’s out here by herself and I feel bad as well, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Where is your compassion?” I question them both. “The world has plunged into a never-ending winter and many are still struggling to survive. There doesn’t seem to be any hope left in people. When I joined the army, I pledged to my country and the people that I’d help those in need and strengthen their will to fight on. For the Lord’s sake, come with us, Brook, please.”

“You have much heart,” Brook replies. “I shall come with you, then. Lead the way.”

I then turn to Emmy and Carly. “Shall we continue to New London, then?” They nod. We leave the comfort of shelter and ready our sleds. With our new companion, her help is much appreciated, aiding us in pulling the supplies with us as we venture to our destination. I just hope New London is set up and in well-working order, because that city is our last chance any of us have to surviving our new reality.

#Frostpunk #Fox #Warthog #Cat #Rabbit #Fursona #Fanart #Fanfiction #Furry #OC

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nekojitachan · 4 years

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Hmm, got a new story idea the other day (actually, have had a couple in the past couple of weeks, but this one requires world building). I might be playing around with this a little - I never do too close a retelling of canon because... well, I like to shake things up a bit and make them interesting, but it’ll probably start out a little similar to TFC and then the changes will snowball from there.

I think this gives an idea of some of the world building, though.

*******

I Am Fire

******

Nathaniel stood near the old sedan while it burned, while the acrid stench of burnt plastic and rubber didn't quite mask the sickening odor of his mother's body slowly breaking down beneath the flames under his command. For a moment he almost made them burn even hotter, made them reduce her thin, worn body to nothing but ash (like he should, like she'd always told him to do if the worst ever happened... like it had happened) but the thought of losing her so completely made him banish the flames before they finished their job. Some still licked at the metal frame of the car as he reached into its ruined shell to fetch his mother's remains, the heat inconsequential to a Fire as powerful as him (not powerful enough, never powerful enough when it came to his father), to gather her charred remains.

He used a broken piece of metal from the car to help dig a hole in the sand as the waves washed onto the shore, then buried what was left of Mary Jamilyn Wesninski (nee Hartford) in the shallow grave, smoke rising from the remains. Once the sand was hastily smoothed back in place, the cold Pacific water lapping at his heels, Nathaniel used his power to turn it to glass, to seal the unmarked grave and give his mother as peaceful a resting place as possible. He bowed his head for several heartbeats, not so much in memorial as an impromptu breakdown, as despair and bone-deep weariness bore down on him.

Then he forced himself onto his feet and to take a step forward, to take another one and another, to keep moving because that's what his mother had told him to do - to keep running and to never stop. He only paused to gather the backpack he'd assembled from both their supplies before he'd set fire to everything else, which contained what he needed to survive for the foreseeable future (except a phone, which had been reduced to melted parts in the car), should help keep him alive long enough to buy a new ID in Reno. Then he unleashed the flames on the car once more, let them feed until the damn thing would be nothing more than a twisted hunk of metal and walked toward the nearest leyline without another glance.

*******

Andrew hummed in boredom as he rolled the handle of the striker’s racquet (Josten’s) he’d picked up to play with between his hands – bored and hyped-up and oh so done with everything already.

“Put it down before you break it,” Kevin ordered, perched on top of an entertainment center and busy reading through Josten’s stats yet again, as if he hadn’t memorized them in the last few days.

“Oh, what a shame if that happened,” Andrew drawled while he grinned, while he swung the racquet through the air just to annoy the bastard. When Kevin’s green eyes took on a golden cast, his grin widened and ice began to form on the racquet; two could play that game. Mindful of the reason they were in this shithole of a town and their ‘beloved’ coach’s instructions to ‘behave’ while he went off to talk to their quarry, Kevin quickly stifled his power and shook his head.

“Don’t do anything to scare Josten away, Hernandez warned Coach that he’s a bit… squirrely.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” Andrew reminded the arrogant bastard as he resumed spinning the glorified stick between his hands. “And so what? Just find another rookie,” he needled with a faint shrug.

As expected, Kevin took the bait. “Another roo- we were lucky to get Josten’s tape, dammit!” he hissed, mindful to keep his voice pitched low. “You think we’re going to find another striker who’s a fire elemental, any fire elemental out there at this point who’s unsigned, let alone with half his potential?”

“What potential?”

Kevin shook his head at Andrew’s unimpressed scoff.

“No, it’s there, it is,” he swore. “Hernandez said the Dingoes haven’t gotten this far in years, not until Josten showed up. That he hasn’t seen a Fire with his potential in all his time coaching, even if he’s still rough on the court.” Something hungry flashed across Kevin’s face for a moment as he set the papers aside to rub his scarred left hand. “He’s right, too. The way he plays, the way the team comes together whenever he’s out on court… it’s there, that promise. The Foxes need it, while Coach and I will make him better. You’ll see.”

So boring – Andrew had already heard this over a dozen times before, back when Kevin had argued for Wymack to chose Josten to replace poor, poor Smalls (maybe not so ‘poor’ since she didn’t have to suffer the Foxes now) and then as they flew to shithole Millport, Arizona. He already knew that his life was one big joke, but the past week had been a never-ending punchline of ‘oh wait, let’s really rub it in, shall we?’

Oh well, at least he could sit back and watch Gordon’s reaction when the asshole realized that Wymack had recruited a fire elemental more powerful than the homophobic druggie. The senior should have been replaced ages ago, except Fires weren’t easy to find, so any of real talent were scooped up by the many, many better teams out there.

Which made one wonder, why was such a diamond in the rough like Josten just waiting for Kevin to find him like this?

Just a little suspicious, yes?

Mistrust merrily bubbled along with the drug-fueled euphoria and boredom inside of Andrew’s head, which didn’t help with the whole ‘must not start smashing’ things. Oh, Wymack and Kevin owed him for this, yes they did.

He was swinging closer and closer to the racquet stand when there was the pitter patter of swift feet – was the little squirrel pulling a runner? Oh, clever boy, to want to get as far away from Wymack and his do-gooder self as possible, but Andrew had suffered on this fool’s errand for a reason, so that meant squirrelly-boy (or perhaps ‘rabbit’) would suffer, too.

Now things were getting fun.

Andrew braced himself in front of the nearest exit, the door leading out to the parking lot, with the ‘borrowed’ racquet held in both hands ready to lash out, but he literally felt rabbit-boy near – felt a rush of fire from the panicking kid (rabbit indeed). The tingling sense of pulsing heat laced with a simmering anger/threat made his own water magic rise, made the surrounding chill as it prepared to protect him.

A vague, shimmery shape propelled itself forward, toward the door, only to slid to a halt as fire and water slammed into each other; Andrew lashed out with the racquet but their elements, their magic, created enough of a buffer between them that the end of the stupid stick barely brushed against the kid’s chest.

Huh, maybe Kevin was right about Josten being a powerful Fire.

Andrew wavered on his feet from the backlash of their elements smashing together, somewhat inured to it after a year of collegiate Exy, of dealing with Kevin, of being somewhat prepared for the rabbiting Fire rabbit, while Josten ended up falling down hard onto his ass. He stared up at Andrew with dark eyes wide as his power receded, the shimmering effect around him fading away to reveal the lean, underfed kid with overgrown black hair and baggy, worn clothes and too-attractive features in the one picture which Hernandez had sent.

“Water,” Josten choked out as he gazed up at Andrew, as Andrew felt a traitorous flicker of interest overtake the boredom, both over that too-pretty face and the lingering feeling of intoxicating warmth from Josten’s element.

Uh-oh.

“Goddammit, Minyard, this is why we can’t have nice things!” Wymack bellowed as he and Hernandez finally caught up to the little rabbit, his dulcet voice echoing through the lounge as he took in Josten sprawled out on the floor and Andrew leaning against the racquet. “Are you all right, kid?” he asked and held out a hand to help Josten off the floor, which of course was ignored.

“Oh Coach, if he was nice then he wouldn’t be of any use to us.” Andrew ‘grinned’ at Josten, who managed to stand up on his own, his attention focused on Andrew with a wariness which made it clear that he’d an idea of just how powerful Andrew was, even though Andrew had only used a fraction of his talent. Huh, someone wasn’t adding up, not if he sensed Andrew so easily, not if he’d recovered so quickly, not if he made Andrew want to lean forward to soak in that odd, tingling sense of warmth….

“Besides, he looks good as new. Or, well, second-hand new,” Andrew said with an exaggerated grimace as he motioned to the kid’s outfit, as he leaned away instead of closer.

“Fuck off,” Josten muttered as he clutched at the handles of the battered duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. “And what’s with the racquet?” His wary look morphed into a glare after a brief flare of recognition. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“So grouchy,” Andrew complained then once more grinned. “Here you go!” He iced the racquet before he threw it at the kid, and felt a rare spark of amusement over the way that Josten cursed beneath his breath as he fumbled to hold on to the slippery object.

He also noticed how quickly the Fire negated the ice without blasting everyone with steam, which required skill along with power.

“What the hell?” Hernandez demanded as he approached Josten (who skittered out of reach, which was also interesting). “You okay, kid?”

“Andrew’s a bit raw on manners,” Wymack said in an attempt to smooth things over as he got between Josten and Andrew in a clear sign for Andrew to back off and stop with the ‘fun’ tricks. “But he’ll behave from now on. So what about it, Neil?” Over on the entertainment center, Kevin, who had been oddly quiet the entire time, leaned forward in interest.

Josten shook his head and once more clutched at his duffel bag (hmm, security blanket or something more?) while he shoved the racquet at Hernandez. “I’m fine. Just let me go,” he insisted as he shook his head again.

“We’re not done.”

“Coach Wymack.” Hernandez seemed rather protective of a certain rabbit – how odd, especially since he’d ratted him out in the first place.

“Give us a second?” Wymack somehow summoned a measure of charm (and a good dose of his earth magic) to put Hernandez at ease (Andrew sensed a weak amount of air magic in the man) which made the Dingoes coach grumble and agree to leave after giving his precious striker one more look and a promise to be back soon.

As soon as he was gone, the rabbit found his voice again (could a powerful Fire be a rabbit? Something to ponder). “I already gave you my answer, I won’t sign with you,” Josten insisted as he gazed at the door as if desperate to go through it, too.

Sighing as if tired already (Andrew knew that he was, and eager to hit up the pathetic minibar in the hotel), Wymack rubbed along the back of his neck "You didn't listen to my whole offer," he said slowly as if in hopes that the words would sink in that time. "If I paid to fly three people out here to see you then the least you could do is give me five minutes, don't you think?"

There was another flare of fire magic as Josten must have finally realized that it wasn’t just the three of them in the room, as his face paled and ugly dark eyes widened yet again while he searched around the room as he stepped away from Wymack (oh, yet another fascinating and suspicious reaction). “You didn’t bring him here.”

"Is that a problem?" Wymack’s earth magic pulsed out in an obvious attempt to calm the panicked kid (to keep them all from being flambéed – well, Andrew could protect himself, and he supposed Kevin).

"I'm not good enough to play on the same court as a champion." The kid sounded as if he believed that – and about two seconds away from the flambé thing.

"True, but irrelevant.”

Ah, finally, Number Two had spoken, and as usual, didn’t appear impressed with what he saw. Yet he added his earth magic to Wymack’s, though it didn’t appear to calm down Josten at all.

"What are you doing here?" Josten asked while he continued to edge toward the door, which Andrew moved to block once again.

"Why were you leaving?" Kevin countered as he leaned forward, his attention focused on the Fire with an intensity reserved only for Exy.

Josten didn’t seem to care for that intensity – that or for Kevin. "I asked you first." Oh, wasn’t that mature?

"Coach already answered that question.” Kevin sounded a bit testy over having to point that fact out, while Andrew was almost amused over the exchange – almost. He’d need another dose of his medicinal chains soon, judging from the way his skin itched and stomach churned. "We’re waiting for you to sign the contract. Stop wasting our time."

"No.” Both Kevin and Wymack appeared stunned over that flat denial, especially Kevin, Exy’s precious Number Two. "There are a thousand strikers who'd jump at the chance to play with you. Why don't you bother them?" Oh, Andrew might have an iota of respect for the pain in the ass, but he just wanted to go back to the hotel and start drinking instead of suffer through this scintillating wordplay.

“None of them are fire elementals,” Wymack said as he folded his tattooed arms over his chest. “We want you.”

"I won't play with Kevin,” Josten declared as he once more eyed the door. “And you already have a Fire.”

"He’s not good enough, and you will," Kevin shot back without pause, which earned him a brief glare from Wymack.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're not leaving here until you say yes,” Wymack warned Josten once he finished giving Kevin a dirty look for insulting Gordon. “Kevin says we have to have you, and he's right." The kid didn’t look happy about that.

Kevin opened his mouth again, definitely to argue more with the kid, most likely to insult him a good bit (the true Kevin Day way), maybe, just maybe to mention that the rookie striker did have some potential beneath the roughness, had one hell of a drive while out on the court (there was a reason for them to come out after him, after all, and not just because of his element), but Andrew was tired and bored and needed to get away from a certain too-attractive Fire enigma right then.

“Coach is right, he’s not going to let this go, so why don’t you, someone who supposedly plays as if he has everything to lose, save us all a lot of time and jump on the chance to get out of this boring hellhole, hmm?” Agree to sign, and then Andrew could spend the summer figuring out just what Josten was hiding, why a Fire with so much potential was hiding in Millport, of all places, and appeared freaked out by Kevin.

Was this a Moriyama trick? Planted bait?

“But… but I’m not good enough,” the kid tried to lie even as his distasteful magic kept making Andrew’s insides tingle in a disturbing counterpart to the damn drug’s withdrawal.

Kevin jumped onto his feet but one look from Andrew kept him from approaching Josten. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. Give us some time to train you and your talent, and you will get there.”

When Josten stopped eyeing the door to focus on him, Wymack piled it on as well. "It actually works in our favor that you're all the way out here," he argued. "No one outside of our team and school board even knows we're here. We don't want your face all over the news this summer. We've got too much to deal with right now and we don't want to drag you, some unknown Fire, into the mess until you're safe and settled at campus. There's a confidentiality clause in your contract, says you can't tell anyone you're ours until the season starts in August."

Josten was quiet for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped forward, a sign that his defenses were weakening. "It's not a good idea,” he announced after he looked away from Kevin.

"Your opinion has been duly noted and dismissed," Wymack said while Kevin grinned in victory. "Anything else, or are you going to start signing stuff?" Just in case, Wymack ‘pushed’ a little with his talent, gave off soothing waves as if to calm Josten.

The kid was quiet for a few more seconds before he mumbled some bullshit about needing his mother’s permission, even though Hernandez had warned Wymack out how Josten’s parents were never around and might be abusing the striker. When he kept going on about them, Wymack glanced over at Andrew, who gave a quick shake of his head.

The kid was lying – he was interested in the contract, but it was pure bullshit about him needing his parents’ permission, from what Andrew’s magic could sense.

Wymack’s lips thinned before he told Andrew and Kevin to go wait in Hernandez’s SUV, which would take them back to the hotel. Kevin wasn’t happy about the command, but as (almost) always, obeyed their benevolent tyrant which meant that Andrew followed.

“Is he going to sign?” Kevin asked once they were outside.

Andrew cocked his head to the side and ‘thought’ about it for a moment; water elementals weren’t exactly precogs (or the majority of them weren’t), at least not beyond a vague impression of the future and people. His ability lay in knowing if someone was telling him the truth or not, if they were ‘safe’ or not – and the impression he got from one Neil Josten?

LIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIAR…..

Yet he’d felt something toward the end there which led him to believe that the young man would show up at PSU, after all.

Now that he thought about it… it was probably an impending sense of doom.

“He’ll sign,” Andrew sighed as he went to the back door of the SUV to fetch the bottle of water he’d left with his backpack while motioning for Kevin to throw him his bottle of pills, all the while ignoring Hernandez. Josten would show up just to annoy the fuck out of him, he was certain.

He used his talent to chill the water, which was warm from sitting in the vehicle for the past half an hour, then forced himself to take the pill, biological clock all fucked up (ha, more than just that) because of the time difference. After a few minutes and a cigarette, Josten finally left the building with Wymack and Hernandez at his heels, and when Josten made to walk past the SUV, Andrew opened the back door with a wide grin and a slight, mocking bow. "Too good to play with us, too good to ride with us?"

The Fire gave him a cool look (ha!) before breaking into a run; Andrew had to admit he made just as pretty a picture fading off into the distance with that lean form and long legs. Hmm, as much as Exy annoyed Andrew most days, he had to appreciate its effects on the human physique.

“Well?” Kevin snapped at Wymack once they were in the SUV, in what probably was meant to be a demanding tone but contained too much anxiety, considering that they had to sign a new striker or else.

Wymack picked up on it, too, considering how he pushed more of the ‘soothing’ bullshit while he shook out a cigarette. “He’ll be spending the summer with us, as soon as he graduates.” He twisted around in the front passenger seat to glare at Andrew. “No rough shit with the new kid, do you hear me?” Next to him, Hernandez radiated displeasure while he drove. “He’s a Fox now.”

Mindful of the non-Fox in the car, Andrew merely bared his teeth and gave his coach a two-fingered salute before he slumped back into the seat as the drug began to take effect. He hummed a little and closed his eyes while he thought about the alcohol awaiting him in his hotel room, and tuned out Kevin and Wymack arguing about the best way to go about training a rookie Fire.

Wymack could bitch and moan all he liked, but the more Andrew reflected back on his encounter with Neil Josten… oh yes, too many pieces which didn’t fit together. Someone was a too-attractive, too-powerful liar, which meant that Andrew had a new toy to play with that summer. A toy he would poke and prod and twist about until either all the pieces fit, or it was broken badly enough that any danger to him and his was all gone.

As he thought about that sharp-boned face and addicting tingle of magic… he hoped it was the latter.

*******

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg au #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #david wymack #nekojitachanfics #elemental magic #of course it'll be andreil

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ghostflowerdreams · 5 years

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What Did Women Use Before Pads/Tampons?

There’s very little documentation about women’s periods in ancient history, probably due to the fact that most of the scribes were men who chose not to record menstruation. What we do know is that women in ancient times had fewer periods than they do now, due to several reasons such as, malnourishment from a poor diet while also working very hard, they were either pregnant or breastfeeding for much of their lives and menopause began sooner in earlier eras — as in their late thirties. However, there’s little evidence surrounding how ancient women handled their bleeding.

In many parts of the ancient world, menstruating women were often considered holy and mystical, at other times seen cursed and untouchable. For example, in biblical times, ancient Hebrews upheld laws of Niddah, in which menstruating women went into seclusion and had to be separated from the rest of society for seven “clean” days.

No one knows for sure what women used when they had their period in ancient times. Historians do their best to make educated guesses base on what they’ve learned about the time period and from the few hints or indirect hints in ancient text. So far, in Ancient Egypt they believed that it had a healing effect, which is why menstrual blood was incorporated into spell casting and medical treatments (only used for women, though).

In a "Wisdom Text" there's one more indirect hint about menstrual hygiene. The text describes the high social status of a scribe and gives some examples of "negative" careers like that of a laundry worker, who even has to wash the "loincloth of a menstruating woman," which could easily be a pad with straps that tie around the body like a belt or something similar. This story also implies that menstrual blood was impure and was something a respectable man didn't touch.

There are other hints that Ancient Egyptian women might’ve used a pad, made from a compress with a sponge on top. Or even throw-away tampons made of softened papyrus, or other grasses. They were ‘softened’ by soaking it in the Nile, which was also the place where the previous tampons were dumped with the rest of the raw sewage. Poorer groups might’ve even used cheap linen, but during the Roman era cotton probably took the place of these materials.

In Ancient Roman, a philosopher called Pliny the Elder thought women acquire the magical ability to stop hailstorms, whirlwinds, or halt lightning during their monthly periods. That they supposedly had both harming and healing effects on the environment and objects. Such as dulling the edge of a sword or dim mirrors just by looking at them. Or they’re able to save crops from insects if they were to stroll nude through the field.

It was basically viewed as something natural and it was actually concerning when women didn't bleed heavily or regularly. Which is why there were remedies especially created to help “bring out the blood.” This is because they also had the belief that if it doesn't come out, women would become ill, as the blood could rot or could go somewhere in the body and put pressure on vital organs.

As for what they do or used when they bleed, historians don't really know. The biggest myth is that the Greek women would wrap wool around a bit of wood and inserted that. There's no evidence from the ancient world about this, but the myth seem to have originate from an tampon-marketing website. Historians guessed, that if their families could afford it, women would stay home during that time. They most likely just bled on their clothes or used woven cotton cloth (they certainly had the technology to weave cotton) to place between their legs and washed and dried for reuse.

In Ancient Japan, menstruating women were seen as impure during their menstruation. While on their period, they were forbidden from entering shrines and temples. They were also forbidden from climbing certain “sacred” mountains due to their “impurity.” Menstruating women had to seclude themselves in a special hut built in a shady grove of Zelkova trees. They were also compelled to have ceremonies of ritual purification.

Japanese women would make menstrual pads from cloth of fibers such as flax, vine, wisteria, or mulberry paper. Flax was often used by commoners and fashioned as a loincloth. As for the wealthy, they used a crepe-type of wrapper called “Fukusa”, which was made from silk and paper. However, during the Edo era there was a hygiene band similar to a loincloth that was invented. Coarse toilet paper known as “Asakusa paper” was applied inside of it. When cotton became more available in the country many switched over to it. They realized it was very absorbent when used for bandages during the time of the Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War.

In Ancient China, woman used to make period pads by putting sand in a cloth and wrapping it tightly. Once the pad got completely wet, they would throw away the sand, but kept the cloth which they wash and reuse for the next month. This method was also done with dried grass instead of sand, depending on where the women lived and what materials were available in their immediate environment. It’s not confirmed but they may have also used Panda pelts as a sort of sanitary napkin.

Those in the Middle East believed that menstruating women were impure and anything they touched while on their period became unclean. In some religious culture women had to live apart from the family in a separate hut or enclosure during their period. They were also prohibited from doing certain activities or going to places (such as they couldn’t enter any mosque, they couldn’t pray, couldn’t take a bath, nor could they make their own food or eat). They would wear special clothes at the time of menstruation and rely on reusable cloth pads (made from bamboo, wool, cotton, or hemp) which they wash and use again. Some still do this, but slowly the religious taboos on menstruation are being cast away.

As for women who lived in colder climates, they depended on animal fur during those days. Since colder regions are cursed with snow and ice, there were limited commodities available for survival. Thus, women used fur of the animals which they hunted to prevent mensuration blood and fluids from staining their clothes.

The Victorians viewed menstruation as an illness, and it was in fact, taboo to have any discussion or mention that women bled at all. Women that were privileged were usually confined to their private quarters during their periods. While others would go about their business as usual. Victorian women underwear was actually crotchless bloomers. This was to allow women to use the toilet more easily, because dresses were so heavy and comprised of several layers, which kept everything hidden. Unfortunately, this was one of the reasons periods were a nightmare to deal with. Most historians believed that women would bleed freely into their undergarments.

However, Charles Delucena Meigs, an obstetrician advised women to use the T-bandage for the bleeding. It consisted of a napkin, called the guard that was folded like a cravat, which pressed against the genitalia. The ends were strings that would tied around the body and held above the hips. Either way, women would also put on a thicker petticoat as a precaution if they bleed through their clothing. When they were experiencing a heavy flow, they would use a cloth plug (made of linen rag, cotton, or sponge). They would roll the cloth up, and tied the string in the middle of it so that it would be easier to pull it out, just like a tampon.

In the Middle Ages, they believed that if a man’s penis touched menstrual blood, it would burn up, and any child conceived during menstruation would be possessed by the devil, deformed, or red-haired. However, historians don’t have much to work with other than speculation. They believed that medieval women would used rags (hence the term “on the rag”) or other absorbent materials during heavy periods. Otherwise, many women would just freely bleed into their clothes. There is now some archaeological evidence to show us that some women may have worn panty-like garments to hold the menstrual pad. Women could also wrap cotton (or linen if it was available or if they could afford it) fabric around a twig and use it as a proto-tampon.

At this time, there was a lot of religious shame surrounding periods, so women went to insane lengths to hide their cycle from the public. They would carry little pouches of sweet-smelling herbs around their neck or waist to neutralize the smell of blood, and they believed that burning a toad and wearing the ashes in a pouch around your waist would ease cramps and heavy flow.

In many Native American tribes, in particular the Ojibwe women traditionally secluded themselves in a moon lodge during menstruation. In the wigwam, the women would settled over grass mats and bled into them. They spent their time telling stories to other menstruating women, weaving new grass mats, sewing clothing, and resting. They slept separated from their husbands and infants. They refrained from sex, food preparation, and ceremony. They were also very careful not to step over young children, touch babies, men or communal food. Female friends and relatives ensured the menstruating woman was safe and fed, and they helped care for her family in her absence.

If cedar boughs were missing from her front door, it was a sign that she had begun her period and that she retreated to the moon lodge. It also alerted other women to come visit her, bring her food, and to check up on her. To an outsider, most are likely to make assumptions that the Ojibwe people viewed menstruating women as evil or unclean because of their practice. But for Ojibwe women, their moon is healthy and natural. There was no reason to be ashamed of it. They were given time to rest, to regenerate and recognition for their roles as life givers.

As for pioneer women, there’s hardly a single reference to menstruation in the diaries, letters or inventories of wagon-trains. Except there was one source--a diary, in which the writer mentioned how she had nothing to absorb menstrual discharge other than her underwear. She pointed it out to another woman that hers were dark, not white, and advised her to use the same dark colors for her underwear too.

In 18th century America, women held their pads up with suspenders which were worn under the clothes. The napkin was also reusable.

Sometime in the late 19th century Europe, concern grew around the notion of whether bleeding into one’s clothes was healthy and sanitary. One German doctor wrote in the book Health in the House: “It is completely disgusting to bleed into your chemise, and wearing that same chemise for four to eight days can cause infections.”

That was because women living in rural areas in Europe often didn't use any kind of menstrual protection. They would just bleed on their clothes or even drip blood along the floor as they went about their days. In this era, menstrual protection was somewhat of a luxury. Lower class women on farms couldn't really afford extra materials to make sanitary pads.

The very first disposable pads was thought up by nurses, looking for new methods to stop excessive bleeding, particularly on the battlefield. The first pads were made from wood pulp bandages by nurses in France. It was very absorbent, and cheap enough to throw away afterwards. Commercial manufacturers borrowed this idea, and the first disposable pads were available for purchase as early as 1888 – called the Southball pad. In America, Johnson & Johnson developed their own version in 1896 called Lister’s Towel: Sanitary Towel’s for Ladies.

The problem was, women did not feel comfortable asking for this product, so in the early 1920s, the name was changed to Nupak. It was a name that did not describe the product.

Even though sanitary pads were available during this time, they were much too expensive for most women, and they continued using more traditional methods. When they could afford it, women were allowed to place money in a box so that they would not have to speak to the clerk, and take a box of Kotex pads from the counter themselves. It took several years for disposable menstrual pads to become commonplace.

The earliest disposable pads were generally in the form of a cotton wool or similar fibrous rectangle covered with an absorbent liner. The liner ends extended out from the front and back so as to fit through loops in a special girdle or belt worn beneath undergarments. This design was notorious for slipping either forward or back of the intended position.

Around the 1970s an adhesive strip was placed on the bottom of the pad for attachment to the saddle of the panties, and this became a favored method with women. The belted sanitary napkin was quickly phased out once self-adhesive pads were in the market.

#history #writing #writing reference #writing research #women #menstruation #writing fanfiction #fanfiction help #menstrual cycle #mensies #writing references #writing help #period #woman #female characters #people who menstruate #characters

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theriversarebroken · 4 years

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The Wolf (Impaled Palm)

Fourth square for @badthingshappenbingo! Same as before, I finished it a while ago, I am just absolutely awful at posting.

This features characters from my original story, the Covenant that Fell! The character this story focuses on is Nami, a pit fighter on a winning streak. But that winning streak can have consequences, and they tend to end with people trying to kill you due to their massive loss of money against you. How she deals with it? Well... she’s undefeated for a reason. Des belongs to @snakesonawave

Nami had been in fights before, that was a given. She’d been in plenty as a pit fighter, she’d been in plenty as a free woman. Most of them were for money, most of them were started by her, and with all the fights she’d been in, she was always aware they were going to happen.

This fight wasn’t a single one of those.

This masked individual had come at her while she was facing the bar and chatting up a rather cute bartender. Her guard, for the first time in a while, was completely down and that’s exactly why they managed to slice up the center of her back. Nami fell against the solid wood and shouted in pain. As they reared their hand back to bury the blade in her back, Nami turned. She grinned as she caught their wrist, her eyes wide with excitement.

“I was hoping to make it through the rest of the day unscathed, but what a pleasant surprise this is. I never get tired of a good fight.” Nami actually was tired, extremely so. She was in Pit Fights this morning, more than one, and, Gods, did her body ache. But if she had to fight once more, perhaps against someone who was sore that their chosen champion lost, she’d put on a free show for everyone in the bar. Maybe get some free drinks out of it.

A girl could hope.

She slammed her forehead against the bridge of their nose and heard the satisfying crunch as it shattered. When she felt their body begin to fall back, she let them go and watched the blade fall to the floor. They stumbled away and threw out their hand for something to anchor their body. They found a supporting beam and halted their fall. They didn’t halt Nami’s approach.

They blinked a few times, tried to focus on her form, and only tried to scramble away once she was directly in front of them. They shouted and tried to turn, but Nami caught the collar of their shirt and pulled them back to her. She opened her mouth to speak, and watched their eyes grow intrigued, but instead sent her boot into their belly. They stumbled backwards, their legs hitting a table and causing them to tumble over it. Glass and drinks fell around and on them. Their palms, already slick with sweat, were now slick with blood as the shattered glass sliced their hand open.

As they stood, they tried to back away only to find a wall. Nami couldn’t help but grin.

She didn’t bother to walk around the table, or over it. She simply placed her foot on it and pushed it against the individual. She had her path, she wouldn’t deviate from it. They were pinned now, against the wall, and tried to the best of their ability to push the table away. Nami laughed.

“How pathetically weak of you.” she tilted her head to the side and chuckled some more. “Here’s a lesson to learn.” she pushed the table even harder now. The individual groaned and clutched their leg as the pain grew more important than the table now. “If you’re going to kill someone, especially me,” she gave the table a shove and heard a whimper leave the person’s lips. “You should aim for the base of the skull. They can’t fight if they’re dead.”

Nami took her foot off the table and gripped the edge. She threw it aside and stepped forward.

“Please--” “No.” She already knew their question. Nami wrapped her hand around their throat and squeezed. She squeezed so hard that her knuckles turned white. Cuts from the individual’s panicked hand decorated her unarmored hand, but it didn’t stop her. She was tired, more so than when this fight started, and wanted it over.

Actually, now that she thought about it she was exhausted. Abnormally so. Her stamina in all things was something she boasted about, it was why she was able to do so many Pit Fights today. Maybe it was because she overexerted herself earlier in the day, but using this little of energy shouldn’t have her… this tired.

Her head suddenly felt heavy and like a fog had rolled through it. Her grip began to fail and, with a little shove from the individual, she stumbled backwards and fell onto her back. They fell to all fours, coughing and wheezing and gasping as they clutched their throat. It was already covered in vibrant bruises. Nami felt heat lick her skin ashe ceiling had doubled. She saw the masked individual stumble past her, somewhere she couldn’t spot. The bartender she’d spoken to earlier was coming to her side.

“Do… don’t!!” Nami shouted. She raised her hand to stop her, and found it took everything in her just to do so. Her arms felt tied to the floor. The bartender stopped and her eyes focused on someone else as she backed away. Just as she was going to follow her gaze, a hand grabbed onto her shirt and dragged her up.

“Come now, Nami.” they spoke and held Nami’s shoulders as she stood. They steadied her, made sure she was stable before they slammed the back of a jeweled hand to her cheek. Nami stumbled and held out her hands. Though she tried to stop the movement, her ribs hit the nearby table hard. She gasped and stared down in disbelief at what was happening. Her hands blurred and doubled, as if there was water in her eyes. She blinked more than once to try and pull herself from this haze.

A fistful of her hair was grabbed and as they were about to yank her head back, Nami moved her hands to their own. She had to fight back, she wouldn’t die like this. Easily.

Her fingers dug into their hand and once she felt them break through skin, she did her best to pull. She felt the skin come with her nails and heard a shrieking scream come from behind her. Her hair was released, so Nami let their hand go. She turned, used the table for support, and watched the masked assailant. They clutched their hand and screamed.

“M..must hurt pretty badly.” Nami laughed, despite the sickening heaviness in her head. Being tired never made it hard to talk or laugh. It also didn’t make her vision blur like this. “Listen. You can go… I’ll forget all about this.” She was out of breath, her lungs feeling like they were filled with fire. Something was very wrong.

“Are you joking?” they suddenly couldn’t care about the pain in their hand. They cared more about Nami’s attempts at getting them to leave. “Judging by how you move, and the blood coming from your nose, you’re as good as dead.” Nami brought a finger up to her nose and found it dripping like a spigot. The next thing she knew, her vision was a bright white and her body hit the ground. Even when she blinked it stayed a blinding white.

She felt someone straddle her back and she swung her elbow back. It was caught and her palm was slammed to the ground now.

“How pathetically weak of you.” they laughed and only then did Nami’s vision come back. A blade went through the center of the back of her hand. It buried itself in the wooden floor so deeply the hilt pinched her skin. Nami screamed, but it did not reach her ears. Any and all sound was gone, drowned out by the pain from her hand. She dropped her head down and felt tears fall from her eyes. She’d had pain before, that was a given. But this felt like every punch and stab and cut multiplied into one single wound.

She brought her free hand to the blade and tried, with all the strength she had left, to pull it free. But she could tell from the pain and the shaking that it was a fruitless effort. Once she gave up, a fistful of her hair was grabbed once more and her head was pulled back. She winced at the pain it caused her hand, but did little to stop it. When their lips touched her ear, sound returned. Focused and final, she heard the words clearly.

“What did you say? Aim for the base of the skull?” Nami felt a sharp object poke at her skin at the area they spoke of. “Do you recognize the poison in your body?”

“That’s…” Nami gasped, her lungs feeling so small. “That’s what it is.” now she knew why she felt this way.

“The Stockman says hello.” Just as the blade was going to bury itself deep, she felt the weight on her back get pulled off. A chunk of her hair went with them, but it was of no problem to her. She hit the ground hard again and turned her head to see who was her savior.

If her little body wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the way she fought was. Quick and jittery movements. Des had saved her. She ducked and moved out of each of the masked assailants attacks so quickly, she looked like a specter. Nami watched in awe for just a moment before she saw Des get slammed to the ground and a glass slammed against her head.

“Two for the price of one!” The assailant hooted in joy. “I wonder what Stockman will give me for two heads.” Nami’s heartbeat picked up as she saw the individual kneel down next to an unconscious Des.

“Des!!!” it took forever for the words to leave her mouth but Nami got them out. Her friend didn’t answer. Nami tried again to pull the blade from her hand but found it stubborn. So… she did something very stupid. She got up onto her knees and pulled. It took forever, and the pain almost made her pass out, but she cut through her hand and got it loose. She didn’t have time to care about the repercussions.

The blade remained buried in the ground as Nami stumbled over to her enemy. Just as they were to carve into Des, Nami placed her only working hand on their shoulder. They jumped and turned, the blade finding a home in Nami’s belly. She took it with only a grunt.

“I… am going to kill you.” Nami grabbed a fistful of their hair. She dragged them off of Des and brought their face to the beam they once steadied themselves with. “This is your grave.” they whimpered once before she slammed their face into the beam.

Again. And again. And again. Whatever tiredness or pain hit, Nami ignored it. She would collapse later, after she got Des to a healer. She didn’t know how long she went at it, but eventually their face was nothing but mush. Nami let their hair go, and heard their body land with a thunk. It wasn’t satisfying. It just gave her a sense of relief.

She clutched her side as she walked over to Des and shook her shoulder. The woman woke slowly, but once her eyes focused on Nami she scrambled up. She held both of Nami’s shoulders and widened her eyes.

“I’m okay.” Nami had to sign with one hand and it was barely accurate. Des shook her head and wrapped a hand around Nami’s waist. She didn’t even bother to sign back. Nami tried again. “Sorry.”

Des sighed and shook her head. She brought her hand up and responded.

“Does the wolf apologize?” She asked as she dragged Nami out of the tavern. Nami laughed.

“No she does not.”

#nami sasaki #des salazar #the covenant that fell #bad things happen bingo #original story #fantasy #fictional writing #My writing

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illusioned · 5 years

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𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 for @alniiyat .

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐆𝐄 , normalcy is an understatement. with beings from other worlds and galaxies beyond, to supposed myths brought to life from pages of a story book, to people turning into ashes before one’s very eyes without rhyme or reason. nothing about this world is normal. normal is having a job dedicated to your life’s work, where someone appreciates your viewpoints and outlook on the future. normal is forming a relationship who is able to strip you down to your coded core till you’re nothing but ones and zeroes. normal is strenuously swallowing down tablets that swear it guarantees to keep the six foot tall bunny rabbit at bay. normal is being upstaged by the one person you trusted your whole livelihood with, ending with a “it’s not you, it’s me, but it’s actually you” and a pink slip. normal is getting a dog, twice the size of an average one but with soft brown eyes that could do no harm. normal is checking the news, day after day for any results after millions of people suddenly vanish, clinging to a fading hope that one name will surface. if this is the normal, then quentin is used to it by now.

the barking of his saint bernard from the foyer causes for him to be shaken out of his thoughts. it hasn’t been the first time he’s zoned out while doing menial tasks such as making breakfast, and it certainly won’t be the last. sleep has been avoiding him like the plague, and it just so happened to be his luck that both his doctor and his pharmacist got “dusted” into oblivion. he’s doesn’t blame the staff for him being off his meds for a couple months, he just hates waking up to the menacing figure of frank tapping against the other side of the mirror when he checks his reflection. swallowing hard, he flips the bacon over with a smooth sizzle. “ tony, quiet please ! ” he calls over the incessant barking. it stops, but only for a few seconds before resuming, leaving quentin to sigh heavily and march through his house to the front entrance.

however, once he gets there, creaking hardwood flooring come to a halt as quentin stares at the scene before him. tony the dog sits with his tail wagging and tongue lolling out like the good boy that he is, but his attention was directed towards the figure that stood by the entrance. tony stark himself, looking a little weary and a bit more grey, but in one piece nonetheless. quentin’s throat locks up, a momentary look of panic, but the second is short lived as he shakes his head, long tendrils of stray hair swaying slightly in front of his face. “ t o n y , ” he playfully chastises his dog, who looks over his shoulder at quentin with a look that could very well be of blissful happiness. “ how many times have i told you not to play in my lab. now, i gotta figure out which machine you put on. ” quentin hadn’t remembered programming his illusion of tony to look quite like that. but he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep for weeks, so perhaps his memory wasn’t exactly up to par. nevertheless, he waves his arm to beckon them forward into his house. “ you too, stark. come on. ” and quentin had already turned around, oblivious to his dog brushing up against the image of tony stark instead of going through it.

#alniiyat #◦ ○ ◯ 001. verse. ❛ born with tragedy in their blood. ❜ / DARKO.#( yee haw here we go )

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minteyeddemon · 5 years

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“A Different Path” Pt. 4

(This one has a lot of filler to it, and is more descriptive of the story lead in, so hope it’s not too wordy ;v;)

***

“Looks like this is where the wheels stop, y’all.”

The van had come to a screeching halt as Nico slammed on the breaks, teetering slightly before a giant, gaping hole in the road. Police tape surrounded it, as Nero and Liah climbed out of the van to look down into the chasm.

“Guess we’re hoofin’ it,” Nero sighed, returning the van to retrieve his gear.

Liah followed with her own sigh, picking up her sword and tucking it to her side.

They managed to climb around the chasm, taking the route that was set to lead them to their meet up point with V.

Walking around the desolate streets felt eerie and cold, and seeing the dried up bodies still standing in the places they were when the calamity hit made her heart sink into her stomach. Several hordes of demons crossed their path as they trekked on, but thankfully they were able to handle them without much issue as they went.

The path seemed to come to a stop when they came to the front of a grand hotel, the outside still looking almost completely intact, save for the giant tentacle branches springing forth from the roof. Nero looked towards her, motioning with his head for her to follow him inside.

Clearly, the inside of the building had seen all the damage, as they made their way up the demolished stairs, and out onto a balcony that gave way underneath them almost as soon as their feet touched it.

“You alright?” Nero asked her, helping her to her feet.

She gave a small nod, dusting off her jeans as she made to follow him further.

“You sure this is the way to where V asked to meet?” she finally spoke up, after they had made their way out of the falling-apart hotel.

He gave a shrug in return, not bothering to look back at her. “We’ll find out once we see him.”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, but patted at the book in her coat pocket.

They better actually be meeting up soon...

***

Things only seemed to get more hectic, as the further they got, the bigger the demons seemed to be getting. They were stuck to the roofs of several buildings at this point, fighting off demons that got way too close for comfort. A stop finally occurred, however, when they reached to roof of what seemed to be a church cathedral.

A deep, barreling voice rang from the high tower, making them both cast their eyes up to see a giant demon jump from above, landing right before them.

“Humans...” it breathed, its multiple eyes glaring down, “I thought there were no more survivors.”

“Yeah, well, you though wrong big guy,” Nero chided, stepping closer to the demon.

Liah kept her distance, hand at the hilt of her sword as she addressed the colossus. “We’re look for another human, walks with cane,” she attempted to ask, before Nero interrupted her.

“You didn’t happen to eat him, did ya?”

She swallowed, not wanting to think about that.

Instead, the giant bellowed at them, snarling its giant fangs. “Your blood is a precious resource. I would not consume it, for it will help me achieve my goals.”

“Yeah, yeah, we don’t care about your goals,” the younger demon hunter dismissed. “If you don’t have any info for us, might as well put ya out of your misery.”

The demon flared, standing at its full length, and displayed the massive jaws it held at its stomach. It picked up giant pieces of debris, crammed it into its gut, and launched it at them as a giant fire ball of lava. Liah moved to dodge it, while it passed right by Nero, making him turn to the demon with a smirk across his face.

“Nice trick! Do you do parties?”

“Yes, antagonize it more,” she mumbled, getting to her feet and bringing her sword forward.

“You will both face the wrath of Goliath!” it roared, “You will be sorry!”

And with that, it lunged forward, making Nero and Liah divide sides, running around to avoid it’s giant claws.

“You take front, I got back!” she called towards her fellow demon hunter, turning on her heal to bolt towards it’s backside.

“On it!”

He shot several bullets into the Goliath’s face, pulling its attention towards him, as she made for its back, digging her blade in to drag it down. The monster reeled back, snarling, and as it turned, demolished an opening into the upper levels of the church. The two of them followed it, she going for its legs, while Nero revved his blade and swung at the upper half.

The monster swung out its arms suddenly, its maw at its stomach gaping open, and a whirlwind blew around them, sucking them towards the giant sets of teeth.

Nero dug in his blade as Liah gripped to a pillar, her boots skidding along the floor as she tried to keep her hold. The pressure of the whirlwind seemed to make the floor give, and they dropped down to the bottom story of the church, knocking the monster over, and thankfully stopping the inhale of its lower mouth.

They took the opportunity and lunged for the demon, slashing at its limbs as much as they could before being swung away by its massive arms. Before long, they were in the courtyard of the church, riddling the demon down, til it finally collapsed, making the ground beneath them quake.

Liah slumped to her knees, breathing heavily, as Nero stepped forward, his gun pointed between the demons eyes.

“Any last words?” he remarked, cocking his gun.

“The fruit...is mine...I am supposed to rule the underworld...”

Nero made a ‘tsk’ noise, readying to pull the trigger, when a shadow above his head made him halt.

A feathered demon swooped down at the Goliath, pecking away at its face, and from behind where Liah stood, a familiar voice spoke.

“I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe, that made my love so high, and me, so low.”

She watched as he held up his cane, and from his being launched his large panther familiar. It lunged for the Goliath, cleaving its chest, making it fall prone to the ground. She watched him walk up to it, and noted the look that came across its face when it saw him.

“Little Wanderer...hie thee home.”

He pressed the end of his cane into the forehead of the demon, causing it to snarl out before slowly disintegrating into ashes.

She and Nero both stayed frozen for a moment, before he stepped up to him, nudging him slightly.

“Bought time you showed up, V. Thought I was gonna have to pick you out of his, ugh, tummy teeth.”

He hummed, turning to face them both. “Pardon my delay,” he sighed, holding up a book, “but I was catching up on some reading.”

Nero scoffed slightly, smirking at the ‘poet’. “Right.”

Liah finally made herself move, stepping up to the two men as he eyes glanced between the two men. V finally looked at her, though, and she froze once more.

“Glad to see you in such good standing,” he remarked, nodding his head towards her.

“You too,” she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

“That’s all you’re gonna say to the guy?” Nero chimed in, and her eyes widened as she looked at him.

“Least you can do is thank him for the book you obsess over so much.”

This brought a smirk to V’s face, as his green eyes laid on her once more. “Ah, so you kept it. I’m glad.”

Above their heads, the winged familiar gave an annoyed squawk. “She better had, you put a lotta work in-”

The handle of his cane made contact with his beak, pulling him down to ground level. There was a glare set on his face; but Liah wasn’t letting this one go. It was beyond obvious.

“And by that, he means?”

He cleared his throat, removing his book from his coat once more. “While you were...unconscious, I simply made a copy of a few poems from this book.”

He said it so matter-of-factly it took her a moment to realize that he had literally hand-written everything in that little book she had.

Were they the poems he had been reading to her while she was out?

But before she could ask anything further, Nero held up an annoyed hand.

“Before you guys start talking poetry, we really should keep moving,” he mentioned, pointing towards the giant tree in the practical center of the town.

A returning sense of worry fell over him and Liah, as they both stood there staring at it.

“Think Dante’s still alive in there?” Nero asked, turning to look back at V.

Before he answered, he glanced towards Liah. “There is the hope that he is,” he said, “but if he was defeated by Urizen...”

He decided not to finish the sentence.

“He’s alive.”

Liah turned on him, the anger from before returning to her chest. She stood toe to toe with him for a moment, her eyes glaring daggers into him; but she didn’t say anything more.

Instead, they all turned towards the sound of a roaring engine and tires screeching. Nico’s van came barreling towards them, stopping as she turned the wheel hard, the driver’s side window now facing them.

“Woo, finally got through! Those streets were clogged to hell,” she mumbled, leaning out the window to address them. She noted the leather-clad poet, and smirked a bit.

“Ah, you must be V, huh?” she asked, motioning towards him. “You’re the one Liah’s been chimin’ on about!”

And, right back to being embarrassed by her companions.

“I’m...receiving mixed signals,” V mumbled, “perhaps we should focus on the task at hand.”

“Agreed,” Nero sighed, glaring up at Nico as he moved to get into the van.

“And we,” V mumbled, putting out his cane to stop Liah from getting away, “need to talk soon.”

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc v #dmc nero #dmc nico #oc liah #fanfiction #fanfic #a different path #dmc 5

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ashenious · 5 years

Text

Some Grand Affairs Amongst the Normality - Chapter 1 of ??? (Dante/Reader)

Overall Story Rating: Mature Overall Story Tags: Alcohol, Big Snake, (Like literally a big snake), Blood, Body Horror, Dead Body Mention, Fluff, Gore Mention, Depressive Thoughts, Drugging, IV Mention, Nausea, Nightmares, Reader is regular boring Human, Reader likes to clean, Reader is also a troublemaker, Slow Burn, Suicide Mention, There was only one bed,

For This Chapter: Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Depressive Thoughts, Suicide Mention Additional: Blood and body mention Word Count: 5053 A/N: “Hey Ashe, didn’t you already post this?” So, this is a re-write of this story I guess. I wasn't happy with the direction I was taking it, so I went back and changed a few things to kind of help me feel better about it. A good chunk is the same as before, but there is also new stuff added.

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/ Part 10/Part 11/Part 12

AO3 Link: Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/Part 10/Part 11/Part 12

Books always held comfort in them for you, feeling the pages turn and reading the words on them was always something that was welcome. But today what was not welcome, however, were some of the quotes that were printed on the outside cover of some books.

You knew the saying of “Don’t judge a book by its cover”, a quote which you recently learned was originally “You can’t judge a book by its binding”, but sometimes the quotes and covers on the outsides of books made it hard to pick up a book without feeling judgement toward it when you were at work.

There were over 800 books that sat on the carts at the end of your shift, 800 books that someone could stumble upon the next day and pick up to read, and yet there they were, just sitting there waiting to be put back. It had already been a long day, you had been at work since noon, and then, at 8 p.m. you were about to head out and head home, only to repeat the day tomorrow when you also worked at noon.

But tomorrow could’ve been a busy day; you never knew when more people than normal would come in. You had the regulars who would come in everyday or sometimes on specific days of the week, but there were always people who’d come in you had never seen before; those were the people who you wanted to make sure you’d help them find what they needed as maybe they could be overwhelmed by the vast choices in the library.

Maybe that’s what motivated you to re-stock all the books after hours, the thought of maybe being able to help someone who came in and, since you always had to look at each book you put away, you’d know exactly where to find a book that that person was looking for.

You knew that wasn’t 100% the case though, as much as you enjoyed helping people who came into the library, the actual reason was that the library was all you had now-a-day, and all you were going to do when you got home was start the cycle of your day all over again.

Every few books that you put away, you’d read a quote on them that bothered you, the ones specifically saying things about excitement within the pages of the book they were on. You weren’t sure why, usually those were the quotes that would draw you to a book, but you couldn’t find the care you needed to write down the book title and author to read it later like you usually do.

You knew that at some point in the future, there was a good chance you’d have to re-shelf that book again, but today wasn’t a day where you wanted to start a new book, even if it did sound interesting, so you hoped that you’d come across the interesting sounding books in the near future.

Maybe it had been a week since you had lost interest in reading new things. A month maybe? It had been a long time, and you weren’t sure when it had started, but the feeling persisted. Normally, you’d be able to read a decent sized book every 2 days, a long list of them you had made while re-shelving waiting for you to pick up after you finished the one you were currently on. There was a lot of down time between helping people find books within the shelves, so you often spent your time reading something but you had been stuck on the same book for at least a week, its bookmark having not moved since the day you started it.

It was a persistent feeling, one that was terribly annoying as well, and one you wished would go away soon. But this wasn’t the first time you had felt like this, as this happened quite often actually. You had wondered what caused this feeling, what took your motivation away to do what you loved, but the thoughts that came to you about why you felt this way were less than pleasant.

They often circled back around on themselves, the thoughts focusing on how mundane everything was, how unhappy you were with what you were doing. The thoughts were as persistent and annoying as the feeling of no motivation and unhappiness, and as they stuck in your head, they often found their way to thinking about death.

It was horrible to think about death, you knew it, but sometimes your brain would find its own way there, it lingering on what you could do instead of doing the same thing over and over. You knew this wasn’t what you wanted, death or remaining in the same boring cycle, but still the cycle of horrible feelings continued, the months drawing on with no change in your routine and the horrible feeling coming and going with unpredictability.

When you had left at 3 a.m., all the books had been placed back in their homes, every single one now waiting for someone new to pick it up possibly the next day. You weren’t happy, but you were content with yourself, having wanted to quit shelving books when midnight came around, but still you persisted, wanting to change the day up a little to see what would happen.

Your thoughts still remained the same however, the circle of unhappiness and death still finding their way into your mind where they had been simmering the entire time you put books away and then as you walked home.

It was exhausting staying up so late, your body and mind exhausted from the events of the day. Nothing new had happened on your shift, and even though you stayed late to try to shake things up, you had just continued to do your same job for an extra 7 hours.

It was infuriating, knowing that nothing had changed even when you tried to make change happen, you sighing at the idea that this was going to be your routine forever as you walked your way home, the path you took being the same that you had taken every day since you started at the library.

You hoped that tomorrow would something different, the morning jobs already done ahead of schedule. There would be plenty of free time to do anything when you walked in tomorrow, a thought that gave you no hope in something new happening the next day as that free time only meant more time for you to sit and stare at the book you hadn’t touched in a week, the thoughts and feelings in your head halting you from opening it.

But, unbeknownst to you, the world wanted to take you seriously for once, your need for change something that the world felt like it could help with as it hadn’t taken you too seriously before because it never really needed to. You were only just one person amongst the rest, someone who you considered to be less than extraordinary, and yet, the world decided to grant you this one small wish for change this one time, it feeling like you were ready for the shakeup. But why in the hell was the change a completely new and bizarre looking creature staring you down just a short way from your home right now? Was the world really a world of sick humor and terrible games it wanted people to play? Apparently, it was and so as you froze in place in the middle of the alleyway, you wished you could forfeit your ticket to play whatever game you were in now.

Hesitantly flicking your eyes from the monster’s persistent eyes to different parts of its body, you slowly pieced together what you were looking at. At first you could only see its eyes staring, the darkness of night and the never lit up alley way had made it hard to see more. But as you stood frozen and in a stare down with the beast, your pupils grew and more of the monster became visible.

It was massive, probably the height of one of those enhanced trucks that speed down the road on their extra tall wheels, but length wise it was hard to see as its head lay on the ground while it stared and it’s body rounded off above it so that you were unable to see down the alley at all. You assumed it was pretty long but considering that the alley went on for quite a ways down, you were unsure just how long it could be.

But all it was doing was staring, no blinking, no moving, just…watching. And as you returned the gaze back to it, you could only hear your heart beat in your ears, your blood pressure higher than it’s probably ever been before and clouding any chance you had at catching someone before they snuck up on you. Which was absolutely the worst thought right now, but you’d definitely rather take on an alleyway thief than whatever it was you were staring at right now.

It was impossible to see any colour on the beast either, as the darkness wasn’t allowing your eyes the ability to see that detail. But once your eyes were able to see more detail, you noticed something odd sitting in the front of its mouth: a little foot sticking out.

Covering your mouth quickly, you couldn’t help but feel a small chuckle leave you at the sight. Reminding you of a cat that forgot it had its tongue out, you did your best to not laugh out more the more you stared at the creature. Maybe it was because you were so scared and disgusted, but as you failed to keep yourself from chuckling, you just let yourself laugh out loud.

It was as you were laughing that the creature retracted the foot into its mouth and gave you a new look, probably one of confusion as you couldn’t really tell from its lack of eyebrows. And as your laughing died down, you slowly wiped away a small tear in your eye as you looked over the monster again, with only a single thought coming to mind as you got another good look at it.

“Tsu…Tsuchinoko?”

“How DARE you! I’ll eat you for dessert for such disrespect!!”

“Fuck.”

It had been a long time since you had to run, probably since gym class your last year of high school when they wanted everyone to run a mile in under 10 minutes, but it was just as terrible feeling as you remembered. And as you threw your arm out to grab the pole on the corner to help you turn as you bolted out of the alley, you cursed yourself and your dumb knowledge of random cryptids. You swore that after today you would no longer read the random folklore books you found at work sometimes.

You knew the monster was behind you, you could hear it smash through the alley as it came after you, but you had already stared at the thing long enough, so there was no way you were going to turn around to look at it.

Rounding around the corner of the corner market, you began to follow your path to work for some reason, probably defaulting to it by habit. Running over the bridge where you saw no other people, you glanced over the guard rail lining the sides, momentarily wondering if the fat snake monster could swim.

Hearing a loud hiss from behind you, you threw your gaze forward again to watch the path you were on, deciding now wasn’t the time to find out if you could out swim a snake while in a deep river.

Throwing yourself over the railing of the bridge to gain more distance in front of the beast, you yelped as your bag caught on the decorative edge of the railing and slammed your back into the bridge.

Panic beginning to rise to levels you’ve never felt before, you threw your torso forward and slid yourself free from your bag, and as you took off again, you felt a bit sad at the idea of losing all your things. But when you looked back to where your bag hung and you saw the monster sliding over the railing toward you, that feeling quickly disappeared completely.

Thinking about where you could go, the thought of running to the other bridge that crosses the river and then trying to run back to the alleyway to go home to hide came to mind. Cursing loudly when you realized your keys were still in your bag, you tried to think of another place to go. Work? You’d definitely lose your job if you brought in a snake monster right now as it definitely not be gentle on the books. The police station? What the hell could they do, there was a 10 foot tall snake hot on your trail and they’re barely able to stop petty thieves on most days.

While deep in your thoughts, you began to feel the pain coursing through your body at all the running and jump you were doing, and cursing yourself for being lazy and never exercising, you tried to steady your breathe as you continued on, adrenaline probably the only thing keeping you going at this point.

It was as you entered the river side park did you finally enter an area full of lights, and as you landed on pavement that ran parallel to the water, you threw your head back to look at the very persistent creature.

Illuminated by the park lights, you saw the monster for all it’s glory, and it was absolutely putrid looking, with its dark brown coloration and it apparently being covered in moss behind its fat center.

Glancing for only a moment, you returned your eyes back to the park in front of you, quickly catching site of a person walking on the path toward you.

“Hey!!” you called out to the person, “Watch out, there’s a monster!!” Seeing the person unflinching at your warning, you continued on past them, your eyes falling to the side for only a second to catch sight and meet their bright blue eyes as your body moved passed them. Gulping as you kept going on the path, you considered covering your ears as you worried what was going to happen to the person

But only a few meters down from where that person was did you hear a noise you weren’t expecting, and at the sound metal sliding against metal, you tried to turn yourself around quickly to see what was happening behind you. As your head turned ahead of your body, you watched as the person who you passed slid a sword easily through the large snake monster’s face, stopping the beast in its tracks.

Stopping in place with your eyes wide and your breath continuing to come out quickly, you slowly slid your hand over to your other arm to grab some skin and pull, thinking about how you might be in a nightmare right now and it’d really be great if you could wake up. But feeling the pain from yourself, you knew this was reality.

The snake and the person stood still, supposedly in a stand off against the other. It was amazing that the snake was still alive with a sword sitting inside it’s face, but anything was possible at this point, hell, the thing could even be immortal, and you’d believe it at this point. Another terrible thought to have, but your mind was racing right now at what was happening. Pulling yourself to reality at the sound of hissing, you felt yourself step back a little from fear.

“Spaaaaaaaardaaaaaaaa…” you heard come from the snake in a low growl. Unsure of what exactly the creature was saying, you returned your foot back forward again, hoping to hear more of what may be said. Watching as a free hand from the stranger began to raise behind them, you watched as they held up one finger at you, causing you pause your movement.

“Just give me one second here.” The stranger said, their voice almost cheerful as they spoke. Completely confused, you complied and kept yourself in place.

It was only a moment later that the stranger moved, their sword being pulled freed from the monster and being thrown through its face again, this time horizontally. The snake monster hissed louder at the sudden assault, with its being retracting at the pain and its body pulling in on itself and its skin rolling as it shrunk in on itself.

“Oh man, you’re quite round, aren’t you?” The stranger said as they placed their sword over their shoulder. “And you’re bleeding quite a bit too! The park workers are going to have to clean all this up now.”

Glancing at the ground where the snake once was, you noticed the pavement was covered in a green liquid, assumingly blood. Trying to think of any animal that you’ve read about that could have green blood, you shook your head to bring yourself back to what was happening. And as your eyes went back to the back of the stranger, you heard the snake begin to move.

Expecting it to charge toward the stranger, you stumbled back a bit, surprised when the chunky creature took a sharp turn into the river, its body quickly being submerged in the water and disappearing completely. Seeing the bubbles slowly disperse within a couple of seconds, you kept your eyes on the spot where you last saw the beast.

“What a pain…” you heard suddenly from the direction of the stranger. Turning to face the person, you watched as they rubbed the back of their neck just before returning their sword to their sheath.

As the person turned around to face you, you looked over their full body under the park light. They were wearing a long red leather coat, something that looked way to heavy to be wearing this time of year, and they had white hair, something you found odd for the fact they looked not too much older than you. But when your eyes met their piercing eyes again, you froze as they stared you down. Trying to sputter out literally any words, the man interrupted you.

“What’d you do to piss off that thing?” he asked as he walked over to you. Stopping right in front of you, he glanced to the side and toward the area where the monster entered the water.

“I, uh…” you said finally after a few moments of silence. “I called it…tsuchinoko.”

“…What the hell is that?” The man asked, his eyebrow raised as he turned back to you.

“It’s uh…a really fat snake in Japanese folklore that likes to lie and drink too much.” You admitted, feeling embarrassed at having to explain the insult that landed you in this mess. Hearing a laugh rip out of the man’s throat, you couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

“That’s amazing!” the man said between laughs, his hand resting on his chest as he continued to laugh. “No wonder it was so mad!”

“Yeah, it chased me down from over the river.” You said as you turned and pointed to the bridge you had crossed a bit ago. “I’m surprised it didn’t catch me, I’m not exactly the most fit person…”

“It must have been too fat to catch ya.” Responded the man as his laughs slowly died down. “Wish it hadn’t run away into the water, I was hoping to finish it here.” He said as he turned to face the river again.

Following his gaze to the water, you slowly stepped forward a bit, pausing suddenly as fear hit you at the idea of the monster being anywhere in the water. Hopping back 3 steps, you tried to relax yourself, your hand on your chest to try to help you breathe slower.

“You scared?” the man asked watching you jump back. Nodding at him, you kept your gaze on the river. “If it comes back, I’ll make sure to kill it. Where do you live?” he asked as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Over the river, not too far away from here.” You answered as you pointed at some faintly lit buildings just over the river. “It was sitting in an alleyway I walk through when I go home. Not exactly what I was expecting today to happen.”

“I bet.” The man chuckled. Watching as he motioned you to follow him with his hand, you paused for a moment before following him as he walked toward the bridge.

Reaching the remains of your bag near the start of the bridge, you gathered all that was left of the bag and what was inside, scooping everything into your arms and holding it all close. Relieved that everything you owned looked to be in okay shape, minus a bit of dirt on everything, you ran up the bridge to follow behind the man again.

Finally, having got your breathing under control after some walking, you raised your hand up to your neck to check your heart rate as you walked, slightly surprised it hadn’t given out from how fast it was going earlier.

After you finished counting, you looked up to the tall man in front of you, your eyes focusing on his hair and then the sword upon his back. Your mind wandered off slowly as you felt like you knew who this man was with how distinct his looks were.

“Which way now?” the man asked as he stepped off the bridge. Pointing to the alleyway that was visible from where you both stood, the man began to walk toward it, you hesitating for a second before you jogged up in front of him, you clutching your things to your chest a bit tighter.

“That… thing had a….er, it was eating…someone… in the alley when I found it,” you sputtered out to the man as he stopped at the sight of you halting right in front of him. “I’m not sure what else could be down there…”

“Oh, you didn’t mention that before,” he replied, his eyebrow raising a bit. “Don’t worry, I’m not squeamish or anything.” As the man laughed a bit, he placed his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly as he stepped around you and began to walk toward the alley. You gulped, not terribly worried about how squeamish the man was, but more so worried about yourself and how you didn’t really want to see the ‘leftovers’ the snake creature left behind. Even with worry filling you, and a lump sitting in your stomach, you followed the man again.

The red coated man stopped just before the alley with his back pressed against the wall nearby, you stopping just a few feet behind him as he did this, and as he leaned his head into the alleyway to peer down it, you wondered how anything that may be in the alley could not see him and his bright head of hair.

“It’s clear.” You heard from the person before you, him slowly making his way into the alley and you stepping quickly to catch up to him, not wanting to be alone for any amount of time. “Where is it you live again? You pass down here every day?” the man asked, his head glancing back at you as he spoke.

“It’s those apartments just ahead, you can see the entrance there,” You replied as you pointed forward to your apartment. Lowering your hand, you continued “And I do. I’d have to go all the way around the block to the next street if this wasn’t here. It saves a bit of time. But now that extra time doesn’t seem so great after…what I saw.” As you finished speaking, you watched as the man in front of you began to slow down to a stop, the sight of blood splattered on the wall now easier to see as you both neared it.

“So, this is where you saw big and ugly?” Nodding your head and humming a confirmation at the man, you brought your hand up to your nose, holding it closed as you quickly passed around the halted man, trying your best to not look at the blood. Even with your best efforts, the sides of your sight allowed you to see a bit of the wall, it being covered high up and practically painted completely in a splash of bright blood. You felt your stomach flip at the minimal sight, you gulping to try to help the feeling.

You didn’t stop moving until you were out of alley, you halting just as you stepped out just before you turned around, your hand slowly releasing your nose and allowing you to breathe normally again. The stranger was no longer looking at the horrid sight, instead he was just a few paces behind you, his eyes watching you as you waited in place for him. When he got closer to you, you gulped, quickly flicking your eyes to the spot of blood before looking back to the man.

“Should…I call someone about that?” you asked, your voice low so only the approaching person could see.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replied, a small smile on his face. “You should head inside. That’s your apartment, yeah?” as the man pointed to your apartment, you turned and looked at your home for a second, before turning back and nodding at him.

“Yeah, but…aren’t they going to want to talk to a witness…?” you asked softly, a bit confused as to how this man was going to handle this situation.

“Like I said, I’ve got this!” replied the man, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder before it pressed down to turn you around, his other hand joining after you turned around as to motion you toward your apartment. You complied with the movement, your head reeling with a thousand questions, one especially pertaining to who this man was, what he was even doing out this late at night, and why he seemed so vaguely familiar to you.

As you walked to your door, your mind began to go through all the regulars you saw at work, knowing very well that he wasn’t one of them, but you talked to so many people every day that it was possible he had come into the library before, even just one time. Having no recognition of ever seeing someone so young with such white hair, you thought about someone you were talking with earlier in the week who came into work asking to see your boss to make a delivery.

You had called your boss up over the phone, telling the person who was in front of you that he would be right out. You began to make small talk with them, them telling you things about their job, and you hearing quite a few odd things that had happened to them on previous deliveries they had made in the past.

And that’s when you remembered one crazy delivery story they told you about in the short time you talked with them, it not being the first time you had heard the story from a delivery person who came into to deliver something to your boss.

“Oh, I know!!” you said suddenly, causing the man behind you to jump in surprise as you halted yourself just before your apartment door. “You’re the pizza customer I hear about sometimes! The one who never pays and runs a shady business!” Turning from your front door and facing the man, the description you had been given by at least 3 delivery drivers matched as the man had such distinct hair and such a unique wardrobe, features that each of the delivery drivers were very specific about when they described him to you.

“…Er, I guess?” The man responded, his face contorting a bit which told you he was very confused.

“Sorry, my boss orders delivery a lot, so I talk to a lot of the delivery drivers in the area. I remember a few telling me about you.” You said, face slightly red at having to explain. Hearing a chuckle from the man, you smiled a little and reached for your keys. “But the shady business part explains why you fought that fat snake and what you’re going to do once I go inside though. So, I won’t ask too many questions then.”

“Sounds good to me.” The stranger said as he gave you a thumbs up.

“Well, maybe just one…” you said, watching as the man rolled his eyes. “What…WAS that thing? It wasn’t a regular snake I’m assuming?” you asked, shuffling through your keys for your front door key.

“Well, it was…” the man said before he paused, his hand coming up to rub his chin lightly. “Listen, if you see it again, just call me.” He said finally after some seconds of silence and pulling a small card out of his front pocket.

Taking and looking at the card, the only things on there were a phone number and an address that wasn’t very far away. Nodding and putting the card in your pocket, you placed your key into the lock and unlocked your door.

“Understood.” You said as you pulled open the door slowly and grinned. “Thanks for walking me home, shady business pizza guy!”

“Dante. My name’s Dante, not…that.” Dante said, sighing a little at the nickname, a cocked smile on his face. Chuckling a little, you introduced yourself before you stepped into your place, waving at him for a second before closing the door and making sure to lock the doorknob lock and place the dead bolt in its place.

Feeling the card inside your pocket, you slowly turned yourself around and walked all the way inside, mind racing at what all had just happened. Pulling the card out slowly and feeling it in your hand, you glanced down at it as you placed all your things down inside the kitchen, feeling a bit better knowing that that card was going to be staying on your person for a long time.

#devil may cry #dmc #dante #fanfic #reader #myfic #my story #text post #read more #dmc fanfic #dante/reader #slow burn #second person #mine #SGAAtN

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lady-o-ren · 6 years

Text

Bad Luck Follows

Chapter One / Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Claire woke up that morning knowing full well that this day was not meant for another mindless puttering around her house. No more rearranging the bottles and jars that lined her shelves from potency, to size, then back to their usual alphabetized, or one more read of the same old books, with the same damn pages that never turned with a fresh verse she hadn't already memorized. Her bruises were gone, her arm was out of it's sling, free from pain and her hand had healed nicely with just a pucker of pink for a scar.

So then, for the first time in nearly two weeks, Claire pulled her green cloak on, fastening the metal clasps together and grabbed her medicine box, small nicks marking the wood finishing here and there, with a rush of excitement flowing in her veins.

It was a day of bright sun that greeted Claire, with a crisp breeze that slipped past the wool fabric at her neck, leaving her with a pleasant trail of goosebumps as if nature itself was welcoming her back with a chilly kiss.

As she walked down the bumpy path Claire couldn't help herself from hoping for something tremendously rousing to heal, though she wished no harm to come to her neighbors. Truly.

Nothing too bad. She assured to the one high above. Just a scratch…that needs stitches. Or a leg needing to be reset, that would be just about heaven. I wonder what Mr. Fraser is up to? Claire mused with a laugh that colored her cheeks.

_____

It was the biggest boil she had ever seen, Claire concluded, as she brushed the strays from her face.

Mr. MacNab had seemed quite in awe of the size of the growth himself, proud almost. But it was a nasty looking thing protruding from his leg that pained him and his wife would have no more of his whining. However when Claire pulled out her roll of leather that contained her knives he suddenly realized the benefits of such an oddity. The stories he could tell, the people he could show…

He watched as Claire dragged her fingers over the different blades and Mr. MacNab wondered which she would use. The long curved one? Perhaps the one with jagged teeth that gleamed with a wink his way? Or a small saw hiding in the folds of her cloak? Rabbie told him she had one for severing infected limbs…

“Mebbe I could rub some oil on it, Mistress Beauchamp? Or joost crush the bugger back in, aye? Wouldna want tae distress ye, bein' that yer barely on yer feet and all.”

“Well, if you want to baste it, fine. But there's only one way to deal with a boil this size and that's not by pushing the bugger back in. A simple slice and drain is all that's needed." Claire then noticed the color of Mr. MacNab's face drain to ashes when she picked up her knife and decided to give him some comfort the best way she knew how for a man. She let him drink from her flask of whisky until his nose shined red.

“Alright, Mr. MacNab, let's get to it shall we?”

“Aye, ba dinna 'ell da missus 'bout -” he lifted the flask with a shake to and fro, smiling sheepishly as he downed another dose. Doctors orders, ye ken?

____

De-boiled, cleaned and thoroughly soused, Mr. MacNab was sleeping peacefully on the floor of his kitchen which he assured was fit even for the Bonnie Prince. If that was good or bad Claire didn't know, she couldn't move him anyway if she tried. After cleaning her hands and tools, Claire gave Mrs. MacNab instructions for when her husband would wake.

“Now remember, if the incision begins to change to a darkening color and his skin becomes fevered, don't hesitate to call on me." Then Claire added for good measure. "And make sure your husband doesn't pick at it, that's how it got as big as it did.”

"Aye, Mistress, but I trust yer hand as a healer, there's naught to worry about. Though -" Mrs. MacNab looked thoughtfully at her husband, loudly snoring, deep in sleep. "I'll keep my broom at the ready if I so much as see that man o' mine twitch."

With laughter shared between the two, Claire was given the payment of a small bundle of apples, much to her delight. She took her leave with a goodbye to the family - the large brood had been waiting outside during the procedure with wee Rabbie peaking through the window narrating, what he described as a most gruesome scene, and were now all hovering over their soused father.

Outside, the air began to smell of dampness that was now graying the sky which would hinder Claire from continuing her rounds and had her stepping quickly home. But it was the sight before her that sent her mood plummeting to her feet and slowed her stride.

It was the Scot on his devil of a horse coming down the slope of hill, locking his blue eyes -that she could see even from where she stood - with hers. Claire then saw those same eyes darting around, expecting trouble that was always soon to follow and hers rolled hard in response.

It then surprised Claire that Jamie didn't outright avoid her as he brought his horse to meet her. Out of politeness, possibly, but she took note of his appearance, purely from a healers eye if that's what brought Jamie to her.

He was wearing the leather coat he seemed fond to wear that accented his shoulders, broad and looking well, with breeks that showed the long cut of his legs that made him tower over her, irritatingly so. The only dishevelment she could see was his hair, tussled from the wind making his copper locks even curlier then usual.

Jamie caught her stare with a queried cock of his brow as he brought Donas to a halt and Claire felt a sudden heat to her features that had her quick to find her voice.

"It's been some time, Mr. Fraser. I hope you haven't been misusing that shoulder of yours."Her hand moved to her hair, smoothing down what the wind had surely disrupted.

“I'm well, Sassenach. The oil ye gave me did me well but had me reeking to high heaven." Jamie made an exaggerated face of offense Claire couldn't help but find humourous that broke with a quirk of his mouth. "The pigs were mighty jealous of me.”

A flash of Jaime, arms flailing in terrifying fright, running away from the blood thirsty sow had Claire in stitches. Jaime just assumed she was laughing at his joke and feeling very pleased with himself, chuckled along with her until their laughter quieted.

“I heard from wee Rabbie you were on the mends and seein' you now, ye look-” Bonny "Verra well, Sassenach."

“You speak to him about me?" Claire assumed the worst, going over in her mind what had been said and done in Rabbie's presence, with eyes narrowing and readying herself to pounce at the next sentence out of Jamie's mouth.

“Just to know how ye were.” Jamie replied defensively while shifting in his saddle that had Donas grunting at his masters squirming.

“You could have stopped by, Mr. Fraser and seen me for yourself instead of having Rabbie be a spy for you.”

“I didna - I was only - what I meant was - ” Breathe man and get out wit it.

“I was actually on my way to see ye, Sassenach.”

"Whatever for?"

A roaring crack of lightning startled them both and had Jamie patting down Donas who trembled at the sound. Then a faint drizzle soon fell down that had the twosome locking gazes.

"You can't blame that one on me." Claire remarked, pointing at the sky.

"I think mother nature is at fault here.” Even so Jamie cast a suspicious glance her way but fixed his gaze before she saw. He did come all this way for a reason.

"Ye canna travel in the rain even if its naught but a drizzle. Come." Jamie said, extending his hand to her "I'll take ye home as I was on my way there anyhow and I want no argument from ye either."

Claire gave a doubtful shake of her head towards Donas, having little faith in a beast afraid of lightning. And more so to the idea of sharing a horse with Jamie.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. Ye have nothing to fear. As long as I have the reins yer safe wi' me.”

The air was thickening now with a frigid wind that sent a shiver up Claire's spine and her limbs protesting the threat of a numbing and soaking.

Claire sighed a misty breath as she relented. “Alright, Mr. Fraser, my life is in your hands.”

"Tis how its been since we met, aye?" Claire would have been annoyed at the statement if not for the truth to what he said. Jamie afterall had given her a home all her own when she had nowhere else to go.

After taking her belongings from her, Jamie held out his palm once more for Claire to clasp on to and tentatively she did, as Jamie pulled her to his front between the press of his thighs and flush to his chest in a perfect fit of warmth that left any objections to the wind.

As they rode a gentle pace the light rain whimpered to a dew, yet neither made a move to stop their journey. There was still the cold wind to contend with, the mud to trod through and what if the rain picked up again? Instead they rode in companionable silence, which could only last so long for there was a problem.

Claire's hair, always in defiance, was loosening from it's pins, curling softly at his face that Jamie didn't find unpleasant. Being so close he noticed she carried an earthly fragrance about her, with a whiff of a whisky aroma he found enticing that burned at his lips, that had his tongue peeking out to taste. Most of all though, Jamie could feel the shape of her as she gathered closer for warmth, from the arch of her back, to the swell of her hips, that left his belly to flip wildly in response. It was involuntary he reasoned, but if she continued pushing her arse against him like that -

Jamie's breathing hitched, forcing him to clear his throat that sounded of a strangled toad.

“Are you coming down with a cold, Mr. Fraser?" Claire asked with concern as she turned her head towards him. “Your breathing sounds troubling.”

Jamie put a smile on with an assurance that there was nothing ailing him, but Claire gave him a dubious look.

“What Sassenach? Do ye plan on doctoring me on my horse?”

Claire did just that and Jamie barely had enough time to pull at the reins.

She twisted her torso to face him, placing the back of her palm to lay against his stubbled cheek, trailing her fingers down to his chin and back again checking for a fever. Jamie was very warm, she assessed, with a countenance hued a vivid shade of pink, and his breathing was becoming increasingly heavier as well. She pursed her lips at the foolish Scot who dared to ride in damp weather. Claire told him just so too.

“I'm no' sick, Sassenach, just a bit tired from the days work." Jamie stuttered out as the feel of her touch lingered even as her hand was back in her lap. "Now turn yer head back round," Jamie said lifting his head to the road, "And let's get to yer cottage."

He didn't wait for a response and clicked his tongue in signal to Donas to move on ahead with a sudden jerk that had Claire leaning further back into the saddle.

A Dhia

____

Jamie made sure Donas was tied far away from Claire's garden, lush from rain with no signs of the devastation from weeks earlier (which she made no comment to, most likely blaming the cotton tails for the loss).

He followed her in, minding the doorway as always, and set her things on the tabletop before sinking down to her kitchen chair. Jamie watched Claire as she removed her cloak and waved off her offer of tea, wanting to be gone before tragedy befell them. He never knew what fate had in store for him and Claire.

As if reading his mind Claire teased, “So what made you seek me out and face utter misfortune today, Mr. Fraser?”

“Well,” he began with a lopsided smile, "I was diggin' out an ol' tree stump when I found this -" Jamie pulled from his satchel, that laid at his feet, a large gnarled root cleaned from dirt. "It looked like something ye might grind in yer mortar so I brought it to ye thinking ye could use it somehow."

Jamie handed her the root that she gave a curious glance to as she took her seat next to his. “Could ye use it as a plaster maybe? Or one of yerr wicked concoctions ye forrce down the thrroat?" He heavily rolled his R's hoping to get a reaction from her unusually muted face. Was she pleased?

“You brought me a gift.” Claire was noticably touched by the gesture, her features softening that beckoned Jamie's eyes to linger. "Artium Lappa," she explained with a widening grin.

Jamie watched as Claire held it up to the light as if it were a precious gem, admiring the root for all the abilities it held beneath it's coarse covering. She turned it round and round in her hands before scratching the outer surface of it and bringing it to her nose to smell it's bitter tang that had her scrunching her nose up and furrowing her brow.

“Och, is it rotten then, Sassenach?"

"No, not at all. It's pungent. Quite awful really,” Claire brought it to her nose for another whiff, inhaling deeply. "But the stronger the scent the more effective the remedy, as I've been known to say." She rubbed her nose to rid the odor away and her smile returned.

“I believe I've been on the tail end of that old proverb from ye before." Jamie smirked. "So I did good?"

“Quite good." Claire agreed with a tilt of her head towards him. "I can't remember the last time someone gave me such a lovely gift."

Shit

"So this was what you wanted to see me for?"

"Well, no." Jamie bowed his head, his fingers thumping against his thigh. "I - uh - wanted to ask about the lass who visited ye naught a week ago. Laoghaire Mackenzie."

Any goodwill Jamie had earned was gone with a flash of her golden eyes ripe with a rising temper.

"And you thought to bribe me with this?" She gripped the root tight in her palms and Jamie truly feared he'd be missing teeth..if he could still walk.

"Honestly, do you think so little of me?" Claire didn't know if she were upset, disappointed or both.

“Forgive me, Sassenach. But my sister -”

Claire's demeanor calmed at hearing of his sibling. She had known about their history from the bits she heard during her rounds and was respectful enough not to ask for details. It wasn't her place to pry. But she did know the mournful reason for their quarrels.

"She has it in her head that I must marry." Jamie's face was flushed from embarrassment but mostly from pure exasperation." I've told her often enough to keep her beak out of my affairs as I do hers, but now I see I have no other choice but to ask for yer aid."

"My aid? Do you care for the girl?" Claire had no interest in matchmaking and her heart began to heighten it's pacing at the thought of having to do so for Jamie.

"No, I dinna have a liking for the lass. But I heard she came to see ye and what she asked of ye." Claire sighed, knowing exactly who Jamie heard it from.

"Laoghaire did ask for you,." She divulged. "Apparently she's under the impression we're quite friendly with each other." Utter nonsense that would have had them throwing words of distaste at one another and probably would by the end of this conversation.

"She wanted to know if I could talk to you, to turn your heart towards her. I thought it was nothing but a misguided crush, so I told her it would be an ill fated union between you two and for her own sake she should look elsewhere for a beau." Claire remembered her words had fallen from her lips without conscious thought and how Laoghaire glared at her not in broken-heartedness but of bitter determination. "Still the girl was adamant, so I gave her the bottle she asked for and showed her out."

“You werena wrong." Jamie mumbled, avoiding her stare, focusing his own to his boots. Forgetting who he was let the words cascade from his mouth

"I'm no one's ideal match. But before my father passed he had been eyeing Laoghaire for me. He thought she would keep me rooted to these lands, a simple lass for a simple life, but I was having none of it. I wanted to travel, to see the world in any way I could." A small grim smile crossed his face as the drumming of his fingers clenched into a fist. "I never did."

"Now he's gone and Jenny wants what my father wanted for me. That's why she's been speaking to the lass and the reason for her coming here. I'm a disappointment to her. I see it in her eyes, the way she avoids me And when I marry she'll finally be done wi' me."

It was then Jamie felt the soft caress of a hand along his, gently urging his fist to loosen it's grip and to raise his gaze where he found a pair of amber eyes emanating a kindness that eased the shame that had been crushing his heart.

“Whatever you think of yourself and despite what I may call you to your face or behind it." Jamie smiled weakly at that. "Believe me, when I say that you are a good man, Jamie Fraser. There aren't many men like you in this world who have your sense of duty and honor and I doubt your sister is blind to those qualities so seldom seen in others." Before Jamie could counter Claire squeezed his hand.

"How could she if I of all people see that in you."

Letting her words seep in, Jamie flipped his hand so his palm enclosed over hers, lightly stroking the base of her thumb with the scar. His eyes never leaving their entwined hands, taking in the rarity of the intimacy of so simple an act.

“You've calmed my mind, Sassenach. I thank ye for taking pity on me.”

“I wasn't speaking to you out of pity. It's what friends do for one another.”

“Friends, aye? Is that what we are?” There was a glint to his eyes cutting through the shade that once was there.

"Well, how would you describe us?"

"I dinna ken. But if ye are a friend then may I ask," he leaned in close enough to her that she could feel his breath brush against her face. "What sorta things do ye say behind my back?"

She let out a belly laugh that cast a rosy glow about her features and Jamie didn't know when he had seen her so genuinely happy in his presence.

"That you are a most ridiculous man." Claire tugged at his auburn locks for emphasis that had Jamie twisting his face in mock pain.

“If I'm ridiculous then yer a foolish women for puttin' up with me.” Jamie reciprocated her gesture and tugged at one of her own curls, marveling at how it sprung back as it slipped through his fingers. A true curly wig she was.

“I suppose I am.” They stared at one another with matching grins, becoming very aware of how much they were touching each other with familiarity. It was only when Claire felt the air becoming thin that she broke the moment.

"Mr. Fraser, about the aid you asked for..?"

"Och! Weel, I was hoping," Jamie scratched at his stubble, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "That maybe ye would tell my sister that I wasna fit to be a husband, in the way that matters, ken?" He wished for the roof to cave in now. Skull. Shatteringly. Hard.

Claire was too shocked to laugh, instead her mouth was left gaping wide. "You mean -"

"I was desperate! That's why I brought ye that monstrosity and risked bodily injury seeking ye out. I needed Jenny to leave me be." Jamie refused to meet her eye that shined with cruel amusement.

"Do you still need my assistance in that area?" She bit her lip, doing her best not to cackle at the sensitive matter.

"No." Jamie narrowed his eyes at her delighted face. "It was mistake to ask ye and I hope this counts as one of yer confidential meetings."

"Of course. As long as wee Rabbie isn't behind that door your secret is safe with me."

Standing to take his leave, Claire followed him to the door.

“Well, good luck with marriage woes, Mr. Fraser and -" Claire paused, pressing her hand at his shoulder. "Talk to your sister, even if it's like screaming to a redheaded wall, no matter how painful the conversation, she's your only family and you need one another."

"I'll keep you in mind - your advice that is, Sassenach." Jamie pressed his palm to hers for that last time and was about to turn the brass doorknob when one last question struck him.

"What was in the bottle ye gave her, Sassenach, if ye don't mind me asking?" A mischievous smirk lit Claire's face.

"The most important ingredient of all in a love potion. Shit."

#Outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire

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