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azozzoni · 3 years

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I must hate myself for posting when no one reads but. Based off this giftset ‘cause I can. - Another VDS christmas fic.

Glittering lights shone against the backdrop of the main square, the scent of pine, mulled wine, and imminent snow in the air as Jens stood at the entrance of the Christmas market. In theory, it wasn’t any different from any other Christmas market Jens had visited in his life. But in reality, it was nowhere near the same.

Stalls selling everything from candles to tea to sweets and jewelry spread out before him, drawing customers like moths to a flame. Cheery Christmas songs permeated the chatter of the crowd through loudspeakers placed throughout the market and still, Jens didn’t move.

He could only stand there and think, cold hands in his pockets, wishing he’d thought to bring a hat or gloves. Wishing that he’d thought almost at all before jumping on the bus to Utrecht.

It wasn’t necessarily that he hadn’t thought. He’d been thinking about this for months. Not the Christmas market or the seemingly endless bus ride over or the impossibly happy couples milling all around him. But the way his heart jumped into his throat when he caught sight of Lucas weaving his way through the crowd.

Lucas hadn’t changed, was Jens’ first thought. Not that he had really expected him to in the few months since Jens had last seen him. Maybe his hair was a little longer, a little darker, but otherwise, he looked almost exactly the same as that last day he had come to the skatepark to say goodbye.

It was a day Jens remembered vividly, even if nothing significant had happened. There had been some slapping of shoulders on Moyo’s part, a heartfelt hug from Robbe, and an awkward embrace Jens sort of wished he could redo on his part.

It was almost as awkward as the text Jens had sent Lucas earlier, saying he would be in Utrecht later. He hadn’t even asked if Lucas was busy, relieved when Lucas had replied excitedly and told him to come to the market.

Now that he was here, watching Lucas draw closer, he couldn’t help wonder what the fuck he was doing.

Before he could go over the events that had led him to this exact spot, to jumping on the first bus he found to Utrecht without much of a second thought, Lucas was there, standing in front of him, a smile on his face, and Jens’ heart was seizing in his chest, all fluttery nerves and anxiety he hadn’t expected somehow.

“Hey,” Lucas said, softly, and it was all Jens could do to swallow down the lump rising in his throat.

“Hi,” he breathed, the word appearing in a cloud of breath in the icy night air.

Jens had had many months to imagine this particular moment—and not a single one had involved him acting like an idiot as they stood there, the Christmas market busy behind Lucas, the cold street behind Jens, as if they stood on the brink of something magical.

“It’s been a while,” he said finally, and Lucas only smiled.

It had been almost five months, Jens realized, since Lucas had told him he was moving back to Utrecht to live with his mom. They hadn’t even gotten the whole summer to hang out. Lucas had only moved to Antwerp in the spring, shown up at school one day in March, been sat next to Jens in English class and whispered the answer to the teacher’s question under his breath when Jens blanked.

That had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship, as Moyo might have mockingly called it once or twice. It had definitely been the beginning of something Jens hadn’t expected.

As he hesitated, he felt it again—the way his stomach churned like a ship at sea, a clench as Lucas’ smile quirked, gentle.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he said finally, hopeful. He hadn’t really had a plan, a thought about what he might say when faced with Lucas. He’d just known that he needed to see Lucas.

Lucas’ smile widened as he nodded. “Yeah, sure, I—”

“Luc!” Another voice interrupted him before Jens’ hopes could grow too big, a guy in a puffy white coat lumbering through the crowd to grab onto Lucas’ arm. “I need mulled wine!”

Lucas’ glance at Jens was apologetic, partially amused as he dislodged the guy from his arm. Jens wasn’t really listening to what the guy said next, some other name, a complaint about not being drunk enough.

“I’ll be right back,” Lucas said as the guy dragged him off, and Jens couldn’t complain.

He needed that minute, he thought as Lucas disappeared into the crowd. He needed that minute to get himself together. It might have been a whim coming here, but it felt as if he’d meant to do it for a while. It wasn’t just a particularly depressing day between Robbe talking nonstop about the Christmas party he and Sander were planning, Aaron and Amber always making out everywhere. Even Moyo seemed lovestruck by Noor, of all people. How had Jens become the odd one out?

Even though Lucas had moved away months ago, Jens hadn’t forgotten him. The others, they’d mentioned him once or twice, but Jens felt as if he thought about Lucas at least once a day. He was sure the others didn’t. And it had taken him a long time to figure out why.

Huddled in his jacket, Jens shook his head, glancing around at the different booths. They all seemed so cheery, brightly-lit and emanating warmth that spilled onto the people wandering between them.

“Sorry.” Lucas appeared again, slightly out of breath, as if maybe he’d hurried back. “I pawned Jayden off on someone else.”

“It’s cool.” Jens shrugged, just glad Lucas had come back. Not that he’d thought he wouldn’t.

“You want to get a drink or a waffle or something?” Lucas asked after a second, and maybe he was a little nervous too.

“I’m good,” Jens said, and Lucas nodded. There was an awkward pause for a second as Jens wished he’d come with a plan. “Maybe we could just wander around.”

“Okay,” Lucas agreed, falling into step with Jens.

It hadn’t been this awkward before, when they’d hung out practically every day in Antwerp. Their friendship had felt so easy then, as if they’d known each other forever. They’d texted since Lucas had left, maybe once or twice a week, but nowhere near as often as before.

As they passed a stand selling hot cider, Jens glanced over at Lucas, and Lucas caught his eye with a smile.

“So how are the guys?” Lucas asked after a minute, and Jens jerked his shoulders.

“The same, mostly. Moyo’s in love with Noor but she kind of hates him.”

Lucas laughed, face lighting up, and Jens had forgotten what that felt like—a punch to the gut, the sudden onset of something churning deep inside him. It had taken him far too long to figure out what that meant, and now it was even worse.

“How’s your mom?” he asked to distract himself from the way his heart thrummed in his chest. “Last time we talked, you said she was doing better.”

Lucas nodded, hands in his pockets, elbow bumping into Jens’ as they squeezed past people crowded around a booth.

“I think we finally found medication that works. And she’s going to therapy a couple times a week. She’s back to working like normal. It’s good.” He nodded again, watching Jens.

“And I guess being home doesn’t suck?”

Lucas laughed, ducking his head. “It’s nice to be back. I did miss my friends, even if they’re assholes half the time.” He glanced at Jens, pausing. “Although I don’t think I ever told you how grateful I was that you guys let me into your group so easily.”

It hadn’t been that hard to convince anyone, Jens thought. Lucas had been cool from the minute they’d met, laid-back and easy going at least on the surface.

“Nah,” he said easily, wandering with Lucas through the different stalls, not really paying attention to what they were selling. “I think they liked you better than me.”

“That’s not true,” Lucas protested, grinning, and Jens shrugged. “How’s Sander doing?”

“He’s good,” Jens said, though he wished they weren’t talking about other people. He hadn’t really come here to catch Lucas up on what was going on in Antwerp. Lucas could easily find out on his own, but the small talk was easier than forming the words that had been swirling in Jens’ brain for months, ever since Lucas left.

He hadn’t clocked it back when Lucas had first moved to Antwerp. He hadn’t even really noticed the weird way his stomach would get all jittery and anxious whenever Lucas smiled at him until months into knowing him. He’d only ever gotten those feelings with girls, and really, only with Jana.

He’d thought it might go away when Lucas left, that they’d become those friends who liked each other’s posts on Instagram and nothing else. But the texting hadn’t stopped, and the feelings deep inside Jens had clawed their way to the surface after many sleepless nights, some stealth searching for gay porn in the dead of night, some stalking of Lucas’ Insta.

They paused as they reached a small ice skating rink in the center of the market, and Jens leaned against the barrier, watching kids and their parents sliding around on the ice. He hadn’t come here just to wander around a market with Lucas.

But he couldn’t figure out how to say what he was thinking, what he’d been thinking ever since he’d left school today and gone straight to the bus station.

“So,” Lucas said after a minute, watching Jens instead of the skaters. “You just felt like coming all the way to Utrecht to see a Christmas market?”

“Why else?” Jens joked, but he took a breath as he turned to Lucas. “Can we get out of here? It’s a little crowded.”

Lucas looked surprised at the request, but he nodded. “Sure. We can get out of here.”

As they left the market, Jens following Lucas into the considerably darker streets without the cheer of the booths and lights, he let out a breath.

“Is everything okay?” Lucas asked as they walked, side by side on the narrow sidewalk. He sounded concerned, eyebrows furrowed when Jens glanced over. “It’s not your parents?”

“No,” Jens said easily, shaking his head. “I mean, they’re still fighting, but it’s what they do.” He could only hope the divorce would go through soon and they would all be able to move on.

Lucas nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced that everything was fine. The road they were following curved around a corner along a canal, street lights reflecting off the water, the windows on the buildings hung with wreaths and a few twinkly lights.

Jens was surprised when Lucas stepped off the sidewalk, over to the edge of the canal, a small patch of grass beyond the row of bicycles. He followed, settling down next to Lucas, shivering at the wind coming off the water.

“I missed you,” Lucas said after a minute, so quiet Jens almost didn’t hear.

“You did?” His heart jumped in his chest, too hopeful.

In all the months Jens had known Lucas in Antwerp, Lucas had never shown any interest in the girls who flirted with him, girls who tried to dance with him at parties, always choosing to hang out with Jens and the guys instead. Jens hadn’t thought too much of it at first—Lucas had been the new kid after all. He could have been shy. But Lucas wasn’t shy, not like that. It hadn’t been until after that Jens had wondered if there was a different reason Lucas didn’t flirt with any of the girls.

“As much as anyone can miss a jerk,” Lucas said, half a joke, knocking Jens’ shoulder, and Jens let out a breath.

“Thanks,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Through the darkness, Lucas gazed at him for a minute, and Jens had to look away.

Now that he was here, sitting next to Lucas, their knees knocking into each other, so close yet so far, Jens thought it had just been a fit of Christmas spirit madness that had brought him here. What was he expecting to happen? But if he didn’t do it now, would he ever?

“Jens,” Lucas said slowly, licking his lips, eyebrows furrowed, “Are you sure—”

It was definitely Christmas madness that seized Jens as he leaned over and kissed Lucas. It was a quick kiss, barely a peck, just long enough that he felt Lucas inhale sharply. He was back in his spot before Lucas could even blink, mouth hanging open slightly—surprised or angry or confused, Jens didn’t know.

“What,” Lucas said after a breathless second in which Jens could swear time stood still. “What was that?”

“I thought you’d know what a kiss was,” Jens joked before he could stop himself, grimacing to himself. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be serious for once? Lucas was going to think he was just being stupid.

For a moment, Lucas didn’t reply, hands in his lap, staring at Jens and the way Jens stared at the water in turn.

He’d fucked it up, was his only thought as he stared unseeingly at the ripples in the icy water. He should have done it differently, maybe said something before he acted like a complete idiot and kissed him. It hadn’t been at all like he’d imagined—too quick, too nerve-wracking, too afraid Lucas might shove him away, into the water maybe.

Lucas’ hands on his neck, turning his face, brought him back to reality. Lucas was going to hit him, or at least tell him he had it all wrong.

But that wasn’t what happened at all with Lucas’ cold fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, a slight pressure pulling Jens to him.

This was the kiss Jens had imagined as their noses brushed together, a second before their lips did. Lucas’ lips were warm where Jens was sure his were cold, soft and lingering, almost hesitant as Lucas opened his mouth, let Jens deepen the kiss.

His hands slid to Lucas’ back, down his soft, black coat, tight around his waist as he felt Lucas inhale, press into him, chasing the slide of his lips.

Jens didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but it could have been forever. He would have been happy to stay like that forever with Lucas’ tongue against his, warm, heated breath between them, lips tingling, a smile here and there that made Jens’ heart do stupid little flip-flops in his chest every time. Lucas wanted this. Lucas wanted this. And so did Jens.

“I think my fingers are frozen,” Jens muttered as he slid down Lucas’ jaw, and Lucas laughed, quiet, pulling Jens into a hug instead.

His arms twined around Jens’ neck, secure, as if he wasn’t going anywhere, and Jens smiled at the kiss Lucas brushed to his cheek. He tightened his own grip as well, even if he could barely move his fingers. Even if his toes were numb, his cheeks red, more from Lucas’ kisses than the cold.

“I did miss you,” Lucas said again, whispered in Jens’ ear. “I thought about you all the time.”

Jens couldn’t help smiling, burying his face in Lucas’ neck as he took a deep breath, calm coming over him. “I didn’t know what to say, so…”

“You thought you’d just show up at Christmas and kiss me?” Lucas asked, pulling back finally to grin at Jens.

“It worked,” Jens pointed out, and Lucas nodded slowly.

“It did.”

Jens’ chest swelled as Lucas kissed him again, playful, gentle.

Lucas sighed as he moved back, hand falling from Jens’ neck finally, and Jens couldn’t help reaching for it.

“Your hands are cold,” Lucas said, sounding surprised, and Jens laughed.

“Well, I didn’t bring gloves.”

“Didn’t really think this through, did you?” Lucas asked, cheeky, and Jens shoved him playfully. All the nerves from before were gone, replaced with a simmering tingle of happiness filling his whole body.

“Fuck you. I came to see you. I wasn’t really thinking about anything else.”

Even in the dark, he could see the blush on Lucas’ cheeks at his words, the way he ducked his head as though embarrassed.

“Are you going back on the last train?” he asked instead, and Jens sighed. Another thing he hadn’t really considered.

“I guess so,” he said after a second, and Lucas was quiet for a minute.

Jens hadn’t really had a plan for what to do next. He hadn’t had a plan for what to do first, in all honesty. But now that they’d made it this far, now that he knew Lucas liked him to, whatever came next would just be gravy.

“You could stay at my place,” Lucas said finally, glancing up at Jens. “My mom won’t mind.”

“Really?”

Lucas nodded, warming Jens’ fingers in his. “And tomorrow’s Saturday. You could meet the guys.”

Jens hesitated. “Do they know you’re…” He certainly hadn’t told anyone about these feelings he’d been having for Lucas.

“I told them when I came back,” Lucas admitted, smiling slightly. “After I met this guy I couldn’t stop thinking about.”

“It better have been me,” Jens said, pretending to be offended when Lucas rolled his eyes.

“No, it was Sander,” he said, laughing when Jens shoved him, but Lucas didn’t let him, pulling him in for a kiss. Jens could forgive him if everything ended like this, with his heart fluttering, Lucas’ lips pressed to his. Lucas smiled as he broke away. “So can you stay?”

“I’ll tell my mom I’m staying at Robbe’s,” he murmured, anchoring his hands in Lucas’ jacket as Lucas grinned.

“Sounds like a plan.”

It did sound like a very good plan, Jens had to agree as he pulled Lucas back to his lips and kissed the smile right off it. A very good plan indeed.

#van der stoffels #wtfock #skam nl #my fic

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ivybucky · 4 years

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ice skates (s.r.)

prompt: steve’s never been ice skating but by the grace of gods you somehow manage to teach him

A/N: This is day 3 of the 12 Days of Winter fics event! I’ve always loved ice skating even though I’m horrible at it. I’m trying to take lessons though lmao. Cute Steve fluff for a cold day! Sorry if this is formatted weird, I had to do it all on my phone. A huge thank you to @nanners-the-great for giving me guidance in this fic - I could NOT do it without you. I’m also tagging @all1e23 cause I love her so much idk what I would do without her fics

Current Masterlist

12 Days of Winter event

author: abby

words: 1606

pairing: steve rogers x reader

song i’m listening to: please come home for christmas by the eagles

In the comfort of your living room, with fuzzy socks and a warm sweater, you watched the snow fall from the window of your New York apartment.

The mug of coffee in your hands was doing more to warm you than anything else. The less than freezing degree weather outside was making it difficult to stay warm in any capacity. The radio on playing “Please Come Home for Christmas” made you close your eyes in nostalgia. Winters spent with your family, making hot cocoa, being bundled up in coats, and ice skating slipped through your mind. In the middle of your thoughts, a familiar rap on your door broke the silence.

“Come in!” You called from the window, knowing all too well who it was. Steve walked in, shuffling his feet from the cold air.

“Hey Y/N,” he greeted, putting his scarf on the hook by your door. “I stopped by that market on 9th and got some of that soup you like if you want some.” He chuckled, setting the container on the counter. “Might not be warm, though.”

“Oooh,” you hummed, quickly setting your mug on the coffee table as you moved into the kitchen. You kissed his cheek, not missing the slight flush that flooded the area. “Thank you, Stevie. You’re the best.” You smiled.

Stevie just shrugged. “Anything for you, doll.”

Steve and your’s relationship continuously danced around the line of friends and something more. Ever since you unlocked the door to the apartment across the hall from his, you’d gotten real close. You loved to hear his stories about how things were before the war, and he loved getting to experience the modern life of New York with you. Everyday that he wasn’t on a mission, he was either at your apartment watching some “classic” movie he had never heard of or listening to music you had recommended. Everyday, you were helping him adjust more and more. Knowing you for over a year now, Steve had begun to realize just how much he enjoyed your company. Of course, he had always been a sweetheart and a gentleman in your eyes. Getting to know him more than just face of patriotism only made your attraction to him grow. Those dark nights after a mission gone wrong when he just needed someone to talk to, the times he had shown you his sketches of his teammates, and his extensive record collection were just all moments of Steve Rogers no one else got to see. And those moments were all beautiful in their own way.

“Well Steven,” you blushed at his comment. “What were you doing in Midtown anyways?”

“Oh ya know,” he waved his hand. “Tony’s having a big ole party for the holidays, of course, but ya know I hate those things. I thought if I went and got everybody gifts maybe he wouldn’t give me crap for skipping out.” You chuckled, moving your soup the microwave.

“What, not a fan of dancin’?” You teased.

“I love dancing, sweetheart,” he sassed. “Just don’t love dancing with the people who want to dance with me.” He gave you a small smirk, watching your lips slip up even higher into a shining smile.

“Oh? And just who would you love to dance with?”

“Oh ya know,” he waved his hand again as he stuttered. He looked down at the cup of coffee you had slipped his way and cleared his throat. “So uh, what are you doing today?”

You giggled at his nervousness, letting his answer slide. “I don’t know. Was thinking about going ice skating. I used to go all the time with my family when I was a kid. It’s been years since I’ve done it and I wanna get back into the swing of it.”

Steve smiled softly as memories glazed over your eyes. He hummed, already knowing what his plans for the day were. “Ya know,” he started, moving closer to you as he leaned against the counter. “I’ve never been ice skating before.”

_____

Within the next hour, you and Steve had finished your soup, changed into better clothes, and found yourselves in Central Park waiting just outside the ice rink.

“So why haven’t you gone skating before?” You pondered waiting in line to buy your entry. Steve chuckled and your arm wrapped around his at the elbow tightened.

“Well, you’ve seen pictures of me before the war,” he laughed. “I wasn’t exactly sturdy on my own legs, let alone skates.”

You giggled. “Well, I still woulda made you learn.”

As you the two of you got up to the booth, you reached for your wallet, only to be beat by Steve giving the attendant cash for the both of you.

“Steve!” You chided. “At least let me pay for myself.”

He just smiled at the man, before turning towards you holding out a hand. “Uh uh. I’ve got it, doll. Don’t worry.”

You clicked your tongue shaking your head, knowing arguing with him about chivalry was a lost cause. You followed him into the seats before the rink, slipping off your shoes and lacing up your skates. You could sense Steve’s nervousness as his feet wobbled in the skates when he was sitting down. Standing before him, you held both hands out to pull him up. You entered the rink smoothly, balance finding you quickly.

Steve’s hand grasped to the wall not wanting to let go of the sturdy base until he knew he wouldn’t fall on his ass. That hope diminished as soon as he stepped both feet on the ice, his body wobbling before landing on his rear. He heard your angelic giggle quickly slide up beside him.

“Don’t be afraid of the fall, Steve,” you smiled. “Embrace the fall. It’s the only way to learn.”

Steve smiled sheepishly, pushing himself up and taking your hand to steady his legs. “This is a lot harder than I was expecting.”

You laughed, “Yeah well, I’m gonna show you the ropes.”

After letting Steve go around the rink once or twice holding onto the wall, you convinced him to only hold your hand as he went around. He chuckled at his own shakiness.

“I didn’t know you were this good at skating, doll.”

You smiled softly as his hand tightened on yours. “A lot of people don’t know this,” you started letting yourself stray a small distance away, giggling as Steve quickly pulled you back to his side. “I used to want to be a figure skater. Before I had to start thinking about college and all that jazz, I dreamed of going to the Olympics and skating to my heart’s content.”

Steve smiled at your reminiscing. “Well go on show me whatcha got.”

“Oh no,” you shook your head. “I don’t think you could handle not holding onto me.”

“Alright, no need to be mean,” he chuckled. “Just go. I’ll hold onto the wall.”

Tentatively letting go of his hold, you broke away from the side of the rink. Gaining momentum, you quickly circled the inner part of the rink. Turning quickly into a jump, you twisted in the air and landed on one foot, perfecting an axel jump. Steve smiled widely as you quickly made your way back to him.

“Well damn sweetheart,” he chuckled as you pulled him away from the wall and put yourself in between the two. “If I had known I was skating with a professional, I would’ve asked for your autograph.”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “Oh hush.”

“I’m serious! That was amazing,” he complimented softly, hand tightening around yours for a different reason.

“Thank you, Steve,” you looked up with a soft smile and adoring eyes. Eyes soft, Steve cleared his throat.

“Gosh, I can’t even skate in a straight line by myself.” As if on cue, Steve’s skates seemed to trip over themselves and turned, pushing you against the wall with Steve pressed up against you. Your hands were still clasped at your sides.

His breath visibly entangled with yours in the cold air, noses almost touching. He could hear your heartbeat speed up at his closeness, your pupils dilated as they looked into his. He moved his free glove covered hand to cup your cheek. Slowly he moved towards you. You closed your eyes in preparation for the moment you had only dreamed of. Instead, his lips pressed against your forehead, rested there for a moment.

Steve was in the middle of mentally cursing himself for chickening out when you spoke up. “You missed,” you near whispered.

He pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“You missed,” you smiled, blushing softly.

“I don’t underst-“ He began, but you cut him off by pressing your lips into his.

Chapped, but soft, his lips pressed against yours almost didn’t feel real. You let go of his hand to move yours to his neck, pressing him closer. His hand settled on your waist, slightly gripping your hip. His tongue swept against your bottom lip, asking for entrance. Soon your tongue was brushing against his, the small space in between you warming up with your combined body heat.

In a need for air, you broke away from his mouth, resting your forehead against his. Steve smiled sheepishly, noses bumping against each other. “Ya know,” he whispered breathlessly. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Hang of what?” You grinned, fingers softly combing through the hair at the base of his neck.

“This,” he stated confidently, cupping your cheek once more as his looked into your eyes. “Embracing the fall.”

And then he pressed his lips into yours once more.

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the-writhing-mist · 5 years

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HV Serial Obidiah Part 1

Word Count: 1723 Themes: 18+, medieval, dark fantasy, demon/edritch being x human, general sexual content, D/s, relatively vanilla, m/m, trans character, trans male

General Info: This is a side story not continuous with the main plot revolving around a character named Obidiah. It’s rather loose in form, please excuse the unpolished writing.

home——navigation——next

He wore a blue coat of generous size and color and a hat topped with a wispy plumed feather. Under the hat was coarse, greying hair tied that he had tied back at his shoulders. Long strands hung loose, falling over his face, a curtain to hide the marks of his lies as he leaned forward to answer a customer’s question.

This potion will soothe the nerves.

An ointment to make rashes disappear.

Willow bark. Incense. A miracle powder. Dragon’s blood and copper spoons.

A sigil. A talisman. An ancient prayer.

Teas and glass beads and symbols of the evil eye.

Two distinct lines were carved besides his mouth, once cherubic dimples, now like a cut in marble. They twitched as he spoke, as he told stories and weaved fantastic tales of his wares. His face was otherwise remarkably smooth.

He was set up in the markets of the sister city to the famed capital of Vivencia known as Cordalys. It was a bustling town by the coast, north from James’ native Martom. The sun was setting, casting Cordalys in tones of fire and honey, the shadows from the stone buildings and the passersby fingering over the cobblestone roads and reaching back up walls.

James stopped at the booth. He wore his armor and braids in his dark hair, with red marks in his skin and stubble on his face. His master and familiar in the form of a black saw-wing swallow landed not far away, keeping a watchful eye over her servant.

The glint of the armor caught the eye of the merchant, who leaned forward and asked, “Good ser. Now, aren’t you a strapping figure. Have you heard of silver mugwort? One of the seven herbs of fortune cited by Saint Obras, protection from disease and demonic influence alike. Good for righteous men such as you.”

A smile cracked on James’ lips, knowing he was nothing righteous nor a stranger to the influence of demons. From the shadows, he heard the demons’ voice in his head, “Curious.”

As the merchant in the large blue coat pulled out some of the aforementioned herb, James returned her thought, saying aloud, “Is there truth to it?”

The leaves had a gleam to them, caught by the fading rays.

The demon responded via their link, “No. It is an unpleasant smell, that is all.”

But the merchant responded, “Of course! It was used by the venerable Obras himself when beset by the terrible fiends of the demon known as Siv!”

“That is a lie. Xiv never encountered Obras,” said the demon.

James gave the merchant an apologetic smile, looking to the other items set out on the table.

But the act did not go unnoticed, as the man moved on to the necklaces, small pieces of glass bound in small pieces of leather, “Oh, I see you are a man of much wisdom. These carry the very symbol of Saint Obras that rests deep in the woods of Yorl: his eyes! They channel the essence of his sainthood and his protection wherever the wearer may go! Do you know the story of Saint Obras the demonslayer?”

“I’ve been to Yorl,” James said, smiling to himself over the fact that his master made her home in Yorl.

“Ah! I can see you are much traveled, good ser. Surely, you, above anyone here, know that danger lurks around every bend. It would be bereft of me to let you leave without some extra protection. Especially for such a striking and handsome figure as you are, ser.”

“He’s not lying there, at least,” the demon said.

James scowled, silently conveying his thoughts back, “Are you calling me handsome?”

“No,” it said plainly. “But it is a genuine sentiment from our friend.”

James took a moment to take a closer look at the man. His skin was like butterscotch, hair cold by comparison to its warmth, and his almond eyes gleamed from under dark and distinctive eyebrows. “What is your name, my friend?” James asked.

“Ah,” it seemed to catch him off-guard. His dimples twitched to give him a smile, showing two pearly incisors only slightly crooked. “Obidiah, good ser. My friends call me Obie!”

“Where are you from, Obidiah?” he asked.

Obie leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, “Oh, everywhere! Here and there, there and here! Are you from these parts, good ser?”

“James,” the demon chided. “I recommend caution.”

“You said yourself,” he thought back, letting a smile cross his lips. “The sentiment was genuine.”

“I fear you have become reckless as of late,” it said in return. “Do not forget that he sells protections against beings such as I.”

“I was born in Martom,” James said, picking up one of the charms.

“Martom? Oh, Martom! Good, good! I’ve been there once or twice myself. Lovely little fief. Oh. You know,” he said, his voice dropping as he leaned forward, the thin red-dyed linen spread over the table pulling as he did. “I’ll soon be heading south myself. You wouldn’t happen to be able to put in a good word with the local lords, would you?”

“Probably not,” James said, holding the charm up to the light. The eye was painted on a piece of glass with a heavy black paint. “I have been away for many years.”

“Ah, a traveler of the same cut as mine own, I see,” Obie said with a fox-like grin. “Hmm. I’m sure your discerning eye has crossed many wonders. Perhaps, I can interest you in a viewing of my more,” he paused to give a glance in either direction, “select wares. Imported from the east. If you’d like to come by after the evening service.”

“I believe I may have been mistaken,” said the demon.

“Mistaken? You?” thought James in response.

“Do not get cocky, James. I simply meant he may not be as entirely antagonistic as I first assumed. It is the nature of his trade to convince even himself, after all,” she said.

The small, black bird looming on a tent post took flight, circling around them in the air.

James set down the talisman back on the table, leaning into the table and looking Obie directly in the eyes. They were soft, brown eyes, obscured by a fan of brittle hair. With a slight tilt of his head, James lent him a suggestive smirk.

The merchant seemed taken aback by the gesture, his tone breaking as he said, “If you want, that is. I have. Um.”

“James,” the demon chided. “Your game is clear, yet you have not said a word to clear it with me.”

“Well? Master? Do you dissuade me from my efforts?” he thought to the demon.

“Just know that for this man, it is not such a simple effort.”

“But do you permit it, Master?”

“Very well,” the demon said in response. “I may have some interest as well.”

“I think I would very much like to see your collection,” James said.

Obie looked down, the blush on his face barely visible from behind his hair. “Yes, of course,” his voice picked back up. “Are you planning to attend service?”

James smirked. “No. I’m a stranger to the parish here.”

“Ah. You—? Ah. Understandable. It seems. Very well, ser. Um. I,” Obie stuttered. A rush of blood had clouded his mind to be so pointedly under the gaze of the knight. He caught himself, though he had momentarily forgotten where he was, and looked back over the items laid out on the table. “I will. I will soon be—hum—I must collect my things.”

“Where should I meet you?” James asked.

“Ah,” said the merchant, still looking over his things though he had need to quickly collect his thoughts. “Down the old silversmith’s street. There is an old house by the outskirts. The old woman, Weirol, lives there and I am a guest of hers. The bulk of my things remain with her.”

“How generous of her.”

“Yes. Yes, she is a kind woman. And,” he said, looking back up at the knight, then again over the charms and glass bottles lined up before him. “A generous customer. But we can discuss that later. We. Can discuss things later? We’ll discuss things later?”

The knight gave him a knowing smile, charmed by how bashful the man had shown himself to be. “Sounds good to me.”

“Well,” Obie said, tapping on the table with his fingers, fully intent on finishing a thought.

But James cut in, saying, “See you then.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said.

As he walked away, the small black bird landed on his shoulder and he heard in his head, “You are certainly pleased with yourself, James.”

“It was not so long ago it was beyond me to pursue such things without fear of reprisal. Do you blame me for the fact that through your graces I am now free?” he thought back to her with a smile.

“I do not. After all, such was the terms of our agreement. However, I have need to make sure you know your place in that agreement at a later occasion.”

“I'll be looking forward to it.”

“Such a perverse thing you are, James.”

He looked to the small black bird and let out a heavy sigh. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“Such is a plain and obvious fact,” it said in response. “But do not get ahead of yourself.”

On the other end of the market, Obie put his face in his hands. “God. What am I going to do?” he muttered through his fingers.

The old cobbler with the stand next to him gave a cackling laugh, “Seems he saw right through you, Obie.”

“Oh, shut up, Staldwell,” Obie hissed into his palms.

“That armor, though,” the old man said with a whistle, coming up to Obidiah and leaning against the table. His hair was sparse, with dirt lining his pores, and he was dressed only aged, sweat-stained linens. “Bet he’d make a right pretty husband. Maybe it’s time ye took up the life God set out for ye.”

“Staldwell,” Obie said with a groan, pulling his nose up from his fingers. “Am I really that obvious?”

The old man just shrugged, saying, “Sure he has a pretty coin to part with too.”

Obie let out a sigh, looking back over his collection.

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#m/m #m/m fantasy #dark fantasy #trans character #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original fiction #original writing #overall story is smut #serial obidiah #SHarvester #Ser James of Martom #potion seller obi

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