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as-is-above-so-below · 1 year

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Let's Have a Baby 2.0

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Simon Riley did not cry when his first daughter was born.

He didn’t know how to process his grief amid his love’s agony and emptiness. She spent days on end, curled into the plush rocker in the corner of the empty nursery or lying flat on her back, staring at the white ceiling. His guilt was no match for her shame – as she clutched the tiny hospital blanket to her chest, sobbing that she couldn’t name her. Couldn’t name the daughter that they didn’t get to bring home.

Her wails – I’m sorry I’m weak, Please don’t hate me, I'm fucking useless – echoed in Simon’s mind when he named that baby. He knew, in his heart, that Freyja loved her with her entire being, everything she had. He knew that, if she could, she would have picked the most beautiful name, better than anything he could have come up with on his own. So he named her after his wife, so his daughter would never leave his mind.

When Joan Vanadís was born, Simon stared at her for hours. He memorized every detail of her soft features, inhaled her scent, and poured over her deep brown eyes and button nose. His wife barely got to hold her in her first day of life. Sure, he had cried, as many fathers do in the delivery room. He was completely unsure of how it was possible that he helped create this beautiful, innocent little person.

But his son, oh his son, was an entirely different animal.

Where Joanie came roaring into the world, Arthur Simon was quiet. Quiet like his father, but the spitting image of his mum, minus Simon’s curved nose (Poor thing, he thought). The gentle cry from such a delicate thing broke whatever terrified stupor he’d been in since learning that they were having a boy. The doctor placed the blue bundle on his wife’s chest, and he instantly broke down. The ‘big bad Ghost’ was a blubbering mess as their son’s small hand curled into her skin, his eyes closed, and his mouth curled into a frown. He hesitated, hand hovering over the boy until Freyja’s came and pressed his palm into the tiny body, much smaller than Joanie’s when she was born. The steady rhythm of Arthur’s little lungs working underneath his fingertips made something inside his chest snap and crumble into dust.

Whatever fear he had about having a son was gone. As he had promised their daughters, he again swore that he would be better. Better than his father. He promised he would raise Arthur the way he should have been.

In the months that followed, taking care of his son healed a piece of Simon Riley. A piece that needed the father he had fought so hard to be.

The newborn seemed to have that effect on people, particularly overgrown men.

Arthur’s godfathers and grandfather returned to England about three months after he was born. Johnny brought his partners by the second they stepped off the plane, not even offering time to dress down in civilian clothes.

König was the first in the house, carrying his and Roach’s duffels as Johnny snuck in a moment alone with their partner outside. Freyja appeared, almost making him jump out of his skin at her sudden appearance.

“Herrgott, Kapitän!” he cried, hand on his pounding heart. “You scared me.”

Freyja had Artie strapped to her chest, sucking happily on his pacifier as he stared up at her face. He was already a certifiable mama’s boy, always enamored with her and clinging to her at every waking moment (and then some). “Oh, thank god,” she sighed, unraveling the fabric from her waist and shoulders. “I need a nap.”

His eyes blew wide through the holes of his hood, and he quickly stepped back. “Nein, Freyja, ich will ihn erschrecken—”

“König, nimm deinen Patensohn.” She didn’t allow him any time to hesitate, pressing the baby against his chest. The Austrian immediately dropped the bags from his shoulders, wrapped one arm under the baby’s bum, and rested one large hand against his back.

“Freyja–!”

She was gone.

König desperately wanted to give him back. He couldn’t take the heartbreak of another kid, especially his own nephew, staring at him with pure terror, trying to get away to safety. But this child, a sweet thing, had easily and without hesitation reached for him when Freyja moved to hand him off. It was as if he already sensed that his mom would never hand him off to someone that didn’t have her full trust.

He had gotten used to Joan by that point, but she was almost a year old when he saw her last. And she was much bigger than the infant boy in his arms, done up in an (admittedly) adorable, light blue onesie, with stripes nearly resembling those of the Scotland flag (Soap most definitely bought it for that reason and that reason alone). What if he dropped him? What if he held him too tight? What if he moved and hit Arthur’s head on something? What if–

A small tug caught his attention, his mask shifting downward. König glanced down at the boy curiously pulling the thing toward his mouth, which he put a stop to. “Iss das nicht, welpe. Du weißt nicht, wo es war,” he whispered, using a finger to nudge Arthur’s fist away from his mouth.

They simply stared at each other, the man holding the baby’s gaze, surprised that the little one was tolerating it. Then in a shocking turn of events, Art jerked the fabric up and over his head, making cooing and gurgling sounds that resembled an attempt at a laugh. Both under the hood now, König froze for a moment, completely and utterly bewildered. No grown adult, let alone an infant, had ever warmed up to the giant so quickly, immediately. Artie made another noise, and beyond his control, tears started to flow freely down his paint-smudged cheeks, a huge smile lighting up their dark cavern.

As König sobbed and shook, he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s, trembling body clinging to his godson like a lifeline.

König didn’t know how long he stood there with gentle but clumsy hands palming his scars and features, reveling in the attention. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t fail to notice what felt like Ghost’s hand on his opposite shoulder, brief but definitely present; then, the familiar press of Johnny’s cheek between his shoulder blades and the imprint of his firm hands on his hips.

Yeah, you could say Arthur Simon had a gift for healing.

“Uh oh, Dada!”

Freyja chuckled at her husband’s exasperated expression, staring at the ceiling as the plastic cup bounced across the floor. Simon had spent the last ten minutes trying to slice up an orange for Joan, who, in that time, had thrown the loose cereal onto the floor, tossed her plastic fork across the room, and finally dumped the cup of water into his lap.

“Yeah, uh oh,” he sighed, bending to pick up the cup but not bothering with his now-soaked pants. “Lovie, I’m almost done. You have to be patient. We don’t throw things.”

“No!”

“Look, Joanie, here.” Simon broke a wedge off and held it out for her. Two little hands took the fruit, holding the rind as Joan gummed at the soft flesh. “Can you say, ‘Thank you, Daddy’?”

“No!”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Arthur rested quietly in his mother’s arms with his cheek pressed against her breast as he dozed after finishing a bottle. Some mothers would have found Arthur’s level of attachment overwhelming; he rarely wanted to be put down, oftentimes crying out for her even when handed off to Simon. Similar to how Joanie gravitated to her father, Artie clung to her, and Freyja took pride in that.

When she looked up from her son, she found Simon had stripped out of his soiled sweatpants and now sat in only black boxer briefs. It was an unusually lazy day due to the poor weather outside. Simon got the kids up and fed at the usual time but didn’t do much to dress them, opting for fresh onesies. Joan’s was a dark navy, while Art’s was cream with mini tan teddy bears.

Joanie finished the orange slice quickly and placed the rind on her plate. She balled one hand into a fist and slapped the top with an open palm in a jerky movement. “Dada, more.”

“That’s right, ‘more’,” he praised, mimicking the sign for her. “Good job asking. Here.”

He placed the rest of her snack on the tray, and she immediately started nibbling at one. Simon leaned forward with his forearm on his knee, getting to eye level with the girl. “I’d really like an orange. Could you share with Daddy, lovie?” he asked while offering a hand. They had quickly learned to keep her hands occupied and practice hand-eye coordination in constructive ways, rather than letting her get bored. That was when she tended to start throwing things, as demonstrated by Simon’s now discarded pants.

She seemed to consider it, before dropping the piece she had already half finished in his palm and grabbing another.

“I meant one that wasn’t half-eaten, but this’ll do. Thank you.” He met Freyja’s eyes, his cheeks tight with laughter as he finished the fruit.

The rain thundered against the glass windows, filling the space behind Joanie’s giggles at the funny faces Simon made. Her clothed feet kicked the legs of her chair. It was there – in their kitchen on a rainy Tuesday afternoon – Freyja realized just how content she was with the life they had built together. Observing her husband as he wiped the sticky juices dribbling down their daughter’s chin and pushed her blonde curls back; her touch brushing their son’s warm, squishy cheek with her thumb.

She soaked in the atmosphere a moment longer before speaking. “Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I think Artie’s my last.” Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. They’d never really discussed just how many kids they wanted. Against his initial fears, Simon was a natural; he was just as much in his element taking care of their kids as he was on the battlefield. She didn’t want to take that away if he wanted more, but she honestly couldn’t go through it again. Recovering from a c-section royally sucked, but giving birth naturally was not an option.

Simon’s brows pinched together as he swiveled away from Joanie, searching her face. He watched how her careful fingers stroked Arthur’s face, her other hand wrapped around the baby’s thigh to secure him to her. Her touch slid down to his chest, measuring his tiny heartbeat and steady breaths. He often did the same with both of their children; the gesture grounded him in their reality, and he figured it did the same for her. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll call for an appointment to get snipped.”

He said it as if he were talking about grabbing a takeaway on his way home from work, which gave Freyja a slight shock.

“Just like that?” she asked, turning in her chair to face him better. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve given me three beautiful babies,” Simon cooed, reaching to drag his large hands up and down her thighs. Freyja melted into his touch, legs spreading so his knee could slot between hers. “S’the least I can do. If you’re done, so am I. I had a feeling, anyway.”

“A vasectomy just seems a bit extreme. Maybe we can just use condoms?”

He raised a brow at her with an upside-down grin, challenging her. “Do you wanna try that again, with feeling? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re never gonna let me cum in you, ever again?”

“...Birth control?”

“Remind me, how did we have our daughters?”

“I hate you.”

“But I’m right.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Still right, though.” Simon rose from the table and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand next to her thigh. He slipped the other around the back of her neck and tilted her head up, stealing a long, slow kiss. He muttered, “I’ll go next week,” against her lips before resuming, tongue gently prodding her bottom lip.

Freyja broke away and glanced up at him through her lashes with a teasing look. “You sure you can last that long without sex?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz shipped out to replace the other half of the task force a few days later. They were only gone for two weeks, executing the final excursion to retrieve a stolen weapons cache. König, Roche, and Price had done most of the leg work but decided that the sergeants and lieutenant were better equipped for the situation at hand.

Johnny’s demolition expertise certainly came in handy this time around.

Still, Simon was sore and aching for the comfort of holding his kids and wife after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life. It was their first time leaving both babies with the other parent since Arthur was born.

Unlike his last time returning from a mission, the house was quiet, which allowed him time to take his boots off at the door and shed his mask. König’s car was parked in their driveway, leading him to believe the operative was spending the night in their guest room. Whether Roach was there too, he didn’t know.

The hall light at the top of the stairs flicked on, and Freyja appeared in a silky nightgown, standing on the last step with a tired smile and messy hair.

Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hummed while his eyes roamed her body with a dopey smile.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, locking her fingers behind his neck to tilt his head back, giving him access to slot their lips together. Freyja moaned quietly at the firm hands on her hips and thighs, gripping and digging into the soft flesh. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged and pressed another chaste kiss to her lips, humming against them. “No snags. Soap got to blow stuff up.” Simon’s mouth trailed down her jaw, throat, and chest, gentle and loving.

Her fingertips brushed a gash on his cheek. Most likely from shrapnel, if its depth and jagged edges were any indicators.

“M’fine, love.”

“Joanie’s out cold, but Artie’s awake if you wanna see him. I just finished feeding him.”

That woke him up a little bit. A soft breath of air tickled the wet spots on Freyja’s skin from his silent chuckle. Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he nuzzled his face in her chest as he soaked in her presence. They’d gone more extended periods without seeing each other, but whether they were apart for a week or a few months, he still missed her like crazy.

“She doing better in her room?”

“Much. She’s having some nightmares but goes back down eventually. She’s having a good night.”

“Mmm, in that case, I won’t wake her. We can surprise her in the mornin’.”

When Freyja turned to lead him upstairs, he couldn’t help himself as his hand swung up and connected with her ass, a sharp CRACK! resonating through the air.

“Simon!”

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. You left yourself wide open on that one,” he teased, his voice low to not wake their daughter or guests. As expected, Arthur’s quiet coos reached his ears the closer they got to their bedroom. Simon dropped his gear by their bedroom door and approached the bassinet on Freyja’s side of the bed. The little boy stared in his general direction, wiggling like a (precious) worm.

The man beamed down at him and carefully slid his hands under Artie’s back with his thumbs hooked under the infant’s arms, lifting him out of the crib. “Hi, beautiful boy,” he mumbled, pressing his pursed lips against his cheek, leaving multiple kisses in the same spot. He held his son back out for a moment, a confused expression on his face once he pulled away.

“Where’d it go?”

Freyja shifted to her knees on their bed and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at their son. “What?”

“The baby scrunch.”

“Huh. You’re right. I didn’t even notice.”

“I just…last time I held him, he still curled up. I missed it,” he said, a grown man literally pouting.

“I know…” She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. “I’m sorry, Si. I know it sucks. Being away comes with the job, and that means we miss things. We’ve been lucky so far with Joanie, honestly.”

Arthur had quieted down, sucking his pacifier as he studied Simon’s painted face and clinging to his shirt.

A knock at the doorframe caught their attention, and all three turned to the source. König rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare feet padding across the carpet until he reached them. “Hello, Lieutenant. Did the operation bode well?”

“Yeah, everything was just as you said it – was…”

The baby had started to whine again and let go of his dad, reaching for his uncle with grabby hands. The man’s face flushed, but he didn’t make a move to take the baby. Once the shock wore off, Simon took the initiative to hand Art off, and König gladly received him.

He immediately settled again, laying his head back in the crook of König’s elbow, humming softly against his pacifier. “Hallo, welpe,” he said in a hushed tone, rocking his nephew gently.

“Well, that’s new,” Simon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to avoid awkwardly standing there. Simon wasn’t too annoyed, but he was somewhat sad. He had missed his babies dearly and looked forward to some serious attention. But his usually shy baby, who never wanted to be handed off to anyone besides his mother and occasionally Simon, was suddenly choosing their friend over him.

How much had he missed in such a short amount of time?

“I apologize, sir. I am as surprised as you are. He’s a good boy; I think we have been around so much the last two weeks…”

“König.”

“Ja?”

“Drop the sir. We’re not on base. I’m not mad.”

König blinked at him, confused. “It’s… Scheiße, wie sagt man ‘gebräuchlich’ auf Englisch? Ich weiß es nicht. It is normal to use sir where I’m from.”

Simon glared back. “And this is my house. You’ve done as my wife has said to gain my son’s affection. So now, you will do what I say to get back in my good graces after robbing me of my child. Are we clear?”

“I feel…bad. Please, take him back–”

He shook his head and stood again, scratching at the light stubble that had formed on his cheeks over the last few days. “And I’m telling you, no. It’s fine. I have to shower anyway.”

“Alles klar.”

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primrose-path-of-dalliance · 3 years

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@trueblue-escapist this one got long! :) (edit: now on ao3)

It was by sheer fortune that the message arrived while he was dining at Beau and Yasha's home.

They were trying some of the latter's experimental recipes. Fortunately Yasha had progressed very well in the last several months; this was now the fourth meal Caleb had been over for since Beau declared her love's attempts at Empire foods to be reliably nonpoisonous.

He was comfortable, speculating with Beau over her recent visit to Shattengrod. So when Jester began speaking in his head, he almost dropped his fork.

With strained panting—"Caleb, we need some help."

Caleb’s thoughts immediately went to static. He held up a hand as her voice continued, eyes wide, and both Beau and Yasha fell quiet with concern.

"There’s a lot of fishy people and I have, um. One diamond. We’re on the ship. Hope you aren’t busy—"

Abrupt cut-off. No continuation. He shot a look across the table to the other two, and they seemed to instantly read the tension on his face for what it was. They darted from their seats as he replied, "I am with Beau and Yasha. Hang in there, please. We’re coming."

"Sword?" called Yasha from another room.

"Sword. Beau," Caleb shouted, his adrenaline spiking with every second they were still here, "diamonds?"

"One," came her terse response. "I got it."

He stood up. The chair legs screeched against Beau and Yasha’s nice hardwood. Dug a hand through his hair and pulled half of it out of the tie.

Next he slapped his hands together. A strand of amber formed from his pinched thumbs and middle fingers as he drew them apart. Gods, his trembling hands shook the arcane thread. Ten seconds since Jester’s message.

"Essek," Caleb said to the thread, which vibrated with each word. "If you aren’t busy and have the spells. Retrieve Caduceus if you could and bring him to the Nein Heroez. It’s urgent. And diamonds," he added hastily. The thread dissipated.

Yasha and Beau emerged together from the hall with weapons in hand as the reply came: "I will contact Caduceus, then, and keep you updated. Hopefully I can be of aid. Stay safe, Caleb."

Caleb closed his eyes for a single breath and tried to absorb Essek’s soft, controlled caution.

They were coming. They would be okay.

Without needing to look, he held his hands to Yasha and Beau. "Uk’otoa is being an exceptional nuisance."

Beau scowled and said, "I fucking told Fjord to do something with that ball"—and they were off.

***

Jester woke up to what felt like a giant spike piercing through her head, or maybe a handaxe being sunk into her skull—but if it kept going forever instead of happening in an instant. Her stomach felt like a tiny pool of boiling acid that the ship kept rocking back and forth.

She moaned, curling up harder and pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. It didn’t really help, but the pulsing pain eased a little over some time.

"Arty?" she eventually managed.

"I’m so sorry, my dear," murmured his low voice by her ear. "I came as quickly as I could."

"It’s okay. Water?"

She felt a small weasel tongue lick her cheek, then retreat.

After about a minute of measured, careful breathing through the migraine, Jester heard a door crack open and winced from the brighter light now shining in from the hallway.

"Sorry," whispered a familiar voice, and Jester might have started crying at the sound of his Zemnian accent if she wasn’t already teary-eyed from pain.

The door closed, dimming the room again to its singular lantern.

She did her best to uncurl as Caleb set down a bowl and cup on the small table nearby and brought over a chair to her bedside. He reached for his neck, too, and a crimson weasel slipped into his hands.

"Thanks," she said as he returned Sprinkle to her shoulder.

"Of course. Would you like help sitting up?"

"Please."

She had to rest her head on Caleb’s shoulder for a minute when sitting up gave her a rush of a dizzy spell. His hand had rubbed up and down her arm. He smelled like sweat and fish guts and leather.

Eventually Jester had her back against the wall and the cup of water in her hands as she took a careful sip.

"Everyone’s alright," began Caleb, voice still hushed in consideration of her headache. "We took care of them all shortly after you went down, and Fjord was able to heal you a little bit. Essek arrived with Caduceus not long after."

"That’s good."

She closed her eyes and sipped more water. The warm weight of Sprinkle was draped around her neck.

Gods. Jester loved her friends so much.

"Where is everyone? Where’s Fjord?" she asked.

"Out on the deck cleaning up and figuring out what to do next," came the wry response. "Beau gave Fjord a piece of her mind about that orb. Caduceus suggested to try hiding it in the Happy Fun Ball."

"Aw, man. That’s a really good idea."

"Ja. So we are figuring out who will take it in there and where to put it."

She nodded sluggishly, eyes still closed.

"I’m sorry," said Caleb after a long moment. "Do you want to sleep?"

"No. I'm just tired."

That last word came out with a bit more... a bit more than Jester had intended to say it with. She chewed the inside of her cheek and took a sip of water.

She could feel Caleb's gaze on her. "Is it something you would like to talk about?"

The headache continued to pulse in her temples. She stared down into her cup, at the water sloshing side to side from the rocking of the ship. "If you guys are going to Yussa's later, I want to come with. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Mama."

"Of course."

Jester breathed in and out and continued, "It's been a year and I think I'm sick of sailing."

"Ah."

"I mean, there's been so many cool things. The Lucidian Ocean is huge. One time we saw a sea horse that was big enough to ride on. And the port cities we've visited have all been beautiful. But most of the time it's just this boat. And less Arty. And Uk'otoa attacking us for the cloven crystal. I can't even prank people whenever I get bored because it's all the same people, and it's way less fun to keep pranking the same people over and over again."

Caleb made a considering noise. She sipped water, chewing the inside of her cheek some more.

Slowly he asked, "Are you... thinking of staying with your mother for a while?"

"Maybe."

Peaceful silence. They listened to the sounds of wood creaking and the ocean undulating. Jester felt the shittiness of her body continue to ease, and she set down the water to take a sniff at the bowl instead. Some stew, still warm.

As she had a cautious taste, Caleb said, "Hey."

She brought down the bowl and looked at him.

"Would you like to see something cool?"

"Of course I would like to see something cool, Caleb."

His smile as she sat up with anticipation and set down the bowl was very welcome—and a pretty cool sight already. But she watched him pull out a piece of wool and rub it between two fingers, and all of a sudden there was a cat in his lap and another cat on his shoulders.

Jester gasped, hands flying to her face. "Are those your cats?"

The smile on his face only got bigger and warmer as he looked down at the illusory one in his lap cleaning its brown-and-white face. "Yes. This one is Gretel, she is still somewhat a kitten. The other one is Mac, which is short for mackerel because he was eating one from a rubbish heap when I found him."

"Oh my god, Caleb, that’s so adorable." She beamed and leaned in to wiggle her fingers at illusion-Gretel, cooing without caring that it wasn’t the real cat.

He rubbed the wool in his hand and illusion-Gretel began to purr loudly.

She could feel the dimples in her cheeks from grinning. "I love them."

"They will both be very glad to hear that and will eagerly exploit your love to make you spoil them."

"Well, of course I’ll spoil them, they’re so perfect."

Caleb’s smile eased into something soft. "Would you like to meet them in person, then? Before you return to the Nein Heroez?"

The excitement welling up inside Jester faltered.

Oh, right.

She twisted her fingers together, fixing her gaze on the blood crusted in the space between them and beneath her nails. "Um. Yeah, I would love to, Caleb. But probably I'm not going to come back here."

No response except a careful inhale.

She picked at a bloodied crease in her palm and continued, "Fjord and I talked a couple weeks ago. It wasn't like an argument or anything, don't worry! We're one hundred and ten per cent still best friends who love each other and everything, you know? But he loves being captain of the Nein Heroez and doesn't really plan on stopping anytime soon. Or doing anything else. And I want to do more. The world's so big, and there's like a dozen other planes I could see, Arty promised he'd show me around the Feywild—"

Caleb's long-fingered hand placed itself on top of her fidgeting ones, and Jester's rambling mouth fell silent. The illusory cats were gone.

"It's fine, Jester," he said. She looked up at his furrowed brow and crooked smile. "I understand."

Deep breath in and out. Jester returned a similar smile. "Yeah."

Seeming reassured, he leaned back in his chair and seemed to look off elsewhere, his brow still furrowed in thought.

In the lull, she took up the bowl of stew again with more relish. The weight of the news she'd been ignoring had lifted from her shoulders, and with it some of her worries. She hadn't known how people would react. The more reasonable voice in her mind figured that everyone would take the relationship change with ease, reminding her of Yasha's advice in Eiselcross a year ago. The louder, more anxious voice had stressed over whether any of them might judge her for being a bad girlfriend.

Apropos of nothing, gaze still a little distant, Caleb said, "Essek and I are in a relationship."

Halfway through a sip of the stew, Jester's mouth fell open. "Really?"

His lips twitched at the squeal in her voice. "Ja."

She smiled, said, "Aw, I'm happy for you two," and returned to her stew to try and stamp down the sudden, strange sense of instability overtaking her. Like her heart found itself stuck in the second between missing the next step down the stairs and falling.

"Thank you. I am telling you this, though, because Essek and I have had... somewhat of a similar conversation." His eyes flickered to meet her startled gaze briefly, and she saw a bittersweet wryness in them. "Neither of us expect the other to be, well. Committed. My whole self, more or less, is dedicated to my home. I want to make it a better place. Essek has very different goals in mind for his future. We love each other, but between my life and his constant vagrancy, it would be unfair to expect us to stay the same. And, you know. I don't have as much time as he does, anyway."

Jester had the bowl of stew in her lap now, unable to stop staring at Caleb. He finally seemed to notice her attention and awkwardly fixed his eyes on a spot of the wall somewhere to her right and up.

In her chest, time started again. Jester's heart safely found the next step instead of taking a tumble down the stairs.

"Thank you, Caleb," she said softly.

He returned to looking at her properly, and the renewed warmth in his expression helped resettle Jester's sense of the world even further. "I'm sure your mother could be much more reassuring."

"Maybe, but it's you."

Caleb went a little pink. The flush was still visible to Jester's eyes in the dim room. Thank the gods that the warmth in her own cheeks would be much harder for him to notice.

That was enough conversation for her at the moment. She shoved the bowl of stew back against her mouth.

(send me a brief widojest prompt!)

#cr #cr fanfiction #widojest #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #the mighty nein #mentions of shad*wg*st and f/j #prim writes #prim post #trueblue-escapist #readmore

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tatttletale · 3 years

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Moving On | Mystery Skulls Animated

In which Lewis isn't vengeful or corporeal. AU, I guess?

I wrote this tiny piece in an hour for an exam and I think it turned out okay?? So I'm just... leaving it here for angst...

The shop's doorbell rings and Arthur sits up from his place on the ground, ever attentive.

This is the fourth car in as many hours and yet he immediately agrees to fix it, promising its return at the same time tomorrow. He smiles and chats effortlessly as the customer fills out the form, hands over his keys and leaves again just as quickly, adding yet another project—another distraction—to the queue.

Arthur does not falter. Instead, the mechanic gulps water from a plastic bottle, signs agreement on the form and cycles around to the Toyota on the far side of the garage, delivered this morning with a crumpled bonnet. Before removing the engine, he decides to check underneath and stretches out on a creeper, pulling himself under the mangled car. I catch a glimpse of dark bruises under his eyes before he disappears.

I huff in frustration, glancing again at the front desk. A drained mug has been left on top of the paperwork, staining the service sheets underneath with coffee rings. Uncle Lance hasn't uttered a word to his nephew all week, which is extraordinary, considering how high the head mechanic's standards are. I can hear him in another room, barking orders at employees.

I walk to the Toyota and stand beside it. Arthur seems to notice me because he stops work and pushes himself out on the creeper.

"Arthur," I sigh. "You can't work all day. You need some sleep."

Irritated, he sighs, sits up and rubs his eyes.

He signs himself out early.

*****

When we get home, Arthur immediately disappears into his room, avoiding my violin stand in the hall. Our home is cozy like that, packed with knick knacks, with memories.

I don't follow him. It's three hours later when Vivi finally saunters up and knocks.

"Artie? You wanna come out for dinner? It's pizza night tonight."

Good on you, Vivi. That will bring him out.

"Gimme a minute," comes Arthur's strained voice.

He emerges twenty minutes later for dinner, eyes bloodshot. Dios mio, is he tired.

Arthur's quiet at the table. He looks sullen. Whenever Vivi speaks, he engages with her, smile taut and a little too wide. Fifteen minutes later the pizza boxes are empty and he goes back to his room. This time, I decide to peek.

When I open the door and look through, Arthur's sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Thick tear trails run down his face and his pillow is wet.

He doesn't seem to notice me as I enter, padding across the carpet to sit on the bed next to him. "Arthur, we love you," I tell him, resting a hand on his knee. "And we're worried about you. Please tell us what's wrong."

He doesn't respond. I sigh and remain, waiting for the silent tears to stop.

When he finally wipes them away, he doesn't talk to me. He rolls over and sets his alarm for 7:30am—that's the usual. His shift starts at 8:00.

He kicks off his shoes and flicks the lamp off. I leave then.

He doesn't even change into pyjamas.

****

Arthur drops the keys back into the customer's hand and flashes him a smile. The garage is now empty, all distractions gone.

Uncle Lance is about to speak to him, I can see it. The doorbell rings before he can open his mouth and we turn to find Mama walking in. Her lush skin looks like the night against mine. Her crimson curls starkly contrast my own unremarkable hair.

"Mrs Pepper," Arthur greets her, ever formal.

"Arthur, please, it's Camila," she smiles, like she does every time.

"Camila," Uncle Lance says, stepping forward. "'Scuse me fer askin', but what're yer here for? Yer car broke down too?"

"No," she assures him, throwing a wink at Arthur. "But I'm sure your nephew would have no trouble fixing it if it were."

"Tell me 'bout it," Lance grunts. "Artie here's been takin' half the damn cars that drive in!"

She smiles kindly at him. "You must be so proud of how hard he works. My Lewis used to cook for us all the time."

I smile at her, warm pride in my chest.

"Well, I came here to invite you two to dinner," Mama continues. "And Vivienne too, of course. Any friend of Lewis' is a friend of ours."

"Thank you, Mrs Pepper," Arthur says weakly. She gives him a light squeeze on the shoulder.

"Artie, why don't yer go home."

Arthur turns to Lance in surprise. "But my shift ends at five."

"And yer been workin' yer arse off," Lance retorts. "Yer needa rest sometime. 'Sides, I wanna have a talk with Camila. You go home now."

Arthur does what he's told. Thankfully.

*****

Tonight plays out the same as before. The same as every night.

After dinner I go back to his room to check on him. He's crying again.

"Oh, Artie," I sigh, but I leave him alone this time. Instead I take notice of the photos on the walls. All three of us, mucking around. The walls at the garage are bare.

It seems like hours before he quiets and kicks off his shoes. He sets his alarm to 6:00am, and I raise my eyebrows. He sleeps.

*****

The next morning he drags himself out of bed before the alarm, taking care to shut it off before it blares and wakes Vivi. He ambles to the kitchen and pours himself coffee, gulping it down and leaving through the front door. Concerned, I follow him out to the van, slipping into the passenger seat.

He ignores me, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of the driveway. Down the road, he pulls up to the florist's and disappears inside. I frown. Arthur isn't a flowers guy—that's more my thing.

He reappears a few minutes later with roses—my favourite colour, too. He hops in and I breathe in the scent of the purple blooms as we cruise down the road, the town waking from slumber around us.

Finally we pull up to a tall iron fence, and he cuts the engine, grabbing the flowers and jumping out. I follow him tentatively into the cemetery—why here?

We weave through gravemarkers, past multiple rows, Arthur precise in his direction. Eventually, we stop by a black marble headstone, and I bend to read the inscription.

Here lies LEWIS PEPPER Beloved son, brother and friend.

1998—2019

It's been a year. Arthur sets the roses down and I see the tears. My heart sinks.

All those nights awake. . . the never-ending work. . . the fights. . . the tears. . .

Because of me?

I kneel in front of him. I know he can't see me, so I take his face into my hands. He seems to shudder.

"We love you," I tell him, sincere, and press my forehead to his. "And we want you to be happy."

He closes his eyes. "We love you," he echoes. "And I know you want me to be happy."

He sighs, and stands, walking away. I take one last sweet smell of the roses and follow, leaving them to wither. Some things are more important than rest.

Check out this story on: - Wattpad - FanFiction - Archive Of Our Own

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viviskull · 3 years

Note

♡ with your Arthur and sparky?

Meme | Accepting | Arthur and Sparky

Who is the most affectionate? Lewis. He's more open to loving on his husband than Arthur is because this boy is shy as hell. Still, sometimes their roles do switch up a little whenever Artie gets exhausted, but Lewis always beats him to it.

Who initiates the handholding? Arthur. It's where the most he can do without dying on the spot.

Who worries more for the other? Both equally. Arthur worries Lewis might disappear on him again one day and Lewis is really worried for Arthur's well being right now.

Who is more likely to ask for help? Neither, because they're both used to figuring shit out like the dumbasses they are.

Who is the one always losing the keys? "What do you mEAN YOU LOST TO THE KEYS TO THE VAN??" "I THOUGHT YOU HAD THEM!"

Who leaves little love notes for the other? Being the hopeless romantic, Lewis is very open with his affection and whatnot.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there? Being a ghost? Lewis can sleep, but needs his tiny lovers by his side to properly drown into REM sleep.

Who is more likely to propose to the other? I’ll be honest, these lil shits don’t have that much guts to do that. In this canon, they’d either need Vivi to do the push for them or their wife just straight up proposes instead.

Who introduced the other to their family first? Everyone kinda knows everyone, but speaking in family terms? Lewis was the first to introduce Arthur to his family. They all met in the restaurant before, but doing it formally helps the three chaotic sisters not kill Artie on the spot.

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair? Arthur. Fire hair feels warm and sometimes the mechanic needs to warm up his (only) cool hand.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated? Lewis is the second cook in this family. He’s in charge of the meals after all.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other? It’s a mutual agreement that if one gets in trouble, the other’s gotta fight something fierce for their lover.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other? Arthur is a good party planner. If he can make a simple party for the town? He can do something more special for his husband too. :)

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things? They’re both himbos. So these two both GOTTA do it.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch? Lewis. While their wife does step in to make sure they both are well cared for? He’s still their caretaker in the group.

#What's up? {Ask Blog}#Who are you? {NonAnon}#Boy.. you seriously need some sleep {Arthur}#Oh my sweet lil Lulu~! {Lewis}#Write it down! {Canon}#lewthur //#((AND with some hints of lewvithur too :3))#A Nerd Behind a Nerd {OOC}#Icon Cred: binaconfusa #eagefree

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alpaca-writes · 3 years

Text

Mystics, Chapter 36

84,000 words later....

I can’t thank everyone enough who sent in asks, commented, liked, and reblogged Mystics as it was being created. It meant the world to me and gave me so much inspiration to continue! Special thanks to Myst, of course. Continue to send in asks for the OCs as much as you want. A part 2 is in the works.

Enjoy Mystics’ final chapter. I hope its been as much fun to read as it was for me to write! <3

Xx -Alpaca

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror & @livingforthewhump

CW: captivity, blood mention, drug mention, cheesy dancing at the end.

------------------------------

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THREE LITTLE BIRDS

Remember: Matter. How tiny your share of it. Time. How brief and fleeting your allotment of it. Fate. How small a role you play in it.

- Marcus Aurelius, Meditations.

Shining white, pristine walls lined the hall. It didn’t take long for Hekate to catch up. Paimon didn’t know why he expected anything less. Now his arms were held behind his back by a cosmic force, unknown even to him, and the inorganic urge to continue walking by her side pushed him forward. He spoke little, and listened even less to what the old hag was saying.

“I cannot promise you will be happy here, but at least you will not be alone in your imprisonment,” Hekate said.

They turned around a corner through the maze of halls and landed upon a wide set of sliding doors. The whole realm was practically space-age. Hekate was clever to disguise the entryway to her realm as his own Labyrinth.

He should never have jumped through. That was a rookie mistake. The moment Apollo was released, he should have known something was amiss. Lyrem certainly didn’t have the talents to perform such a feat.

“This is best for you, Pan,” Hekate continued. “I know that with a little more helpful guidance, you can return to your true nature, and your true glory.”

“Paimon.”

Hekate paused. “No, no, no, my dear. You are Pan. You always have been Pan. You will always be Pan.”

The sliding doors opened. Inside this room there was yet another hallway, but instead of previous areas, this one was lined with clear walls. Perfect for seeing through into the cells that would hold a chosen prisoner.

Many of them were empty. Hekate continued toward the end, until Paimon reached the last of the cells. There was a simple bed and some books on a nightstand that had been left untouched. The room was covered in a white rubber. The bed, made of wood.

“I am not going in there,” Paimon said, his brows furrowed.

Hekate agreed with a nod of her head.

“You are correct. You are going into this one.”

The cell door across from the one that had taken Paimon’s attention opened with a whirring noise. Unable to stop himself, Paimon stepped through the threshold. The door whirred shut behind him and he was released, finally, from whatever command Hekate had over him.

“This is an abuse of power!”

“An abuse of power is what you had for many, many years on Earth my darling dear. And quite frankly, I have had enough of your games,” Hekate observed calmly. “You will have much in common with your cellmate. Let me put it simply, Pan. The sooner you behave, the sooner you will be released.”

Pan- no! Paimon looked around his new home as new objects formed around him out of nothingness. A simple bed, nightstand, all as white as snow on Christmas day and one thing in the corner that stood out among everything else because of its red mahogany sheen- a Pan flute.

“If you wish to have anything more, then you will need to earn it,” Hekate stated.

Darkly, Paimon turned around, meeting his great aunt’s eyes.

“I will destroy you for this. I will ruin you. I will make sure no one ever knows of you. I will turn you into a forgotten relic! Just as you deserve to be!”

Hekate raised a brow to show how meaningless Paimon’s threats truly were to her.

“I would think it something to be admired, if you could do any one of those things, darling dear. Certainly, if even your own father could not do those things, then it would be worth true congratulation.”

Paimon charged the clear wall and then stole a glance to the cell across from him, where someone had returned from using a restroom. The mysterious person sat on the edge of his bed. Someone vaguely familiar, with light eyes and a trimmed white beard, looking drastically different than he remembered. Paimon blinked.

“Dad?”

---------------------------------

“Have you ever heard the tale of Sisyphus?”

“It may shock you to learn I haven’t ever quite finished the Iliad, but yes, I have.” Lyrem replied to Hades’ question. “So, you’ll have repeat a meaningless, trivial task for all eternity in my afterlife as a punishment for imprisoning you as per Pan’s command. How very original. Did you think of that all on your own, or did you need your brother’s help?”

“My brother Zeus has not been heard from for a millennia. While he had given me some inspiration, I thought it better to put my own ironic flair into your suffering.”

Persephone interrupted with a short squeak.

“No, uncle, please don’t be so ruthless. He’s lost so much already!”

Artemis had switched back into her cat-like form, comforting her brother Apollo in his lap and purring. She had let out a protest of her own in Lyrem’s favour as well.

Apollo translated. “Arty agrees. We should be kind to him. Truly uncle, I have to imagine that Pan had quite the psychological hold on this man. Perhaps it would be wise to show him a tad bit of mercy?”

Hades looked to the naïve children and back to the human-mortal-man with growing disinterest. Then a light crossed his face, as though an idea dawned on him. He allowed himself to smile, ever so gently.

“Well, I can see that you have created quite the positive rapport with my nieces and nephew already. I don’t know why I am so surprised.”

Lyrem shot a quick wink to Persephone as a thank you.

“Which is why, I shall grant you eternal life.” Hades continued.

Lyrem looked back to him, and stammered.

“What- what did… Did you just say what I think you said?"

Hades nodded. Everyone looked joyful. Excited even. Lyrem could last forever- very nearly be one of them. Yes, everyone thought this to be a grand idea, except for obviously, Lyrem.

“When you die, I will refuse to take your soul. Every time without fail. You will forever grow old, then older… then older. And you will never die.”

“No.”

“Welcome to a lifetime of arthritis and aching legs and never-ending cataract surgery,” Hades said. “Oh, yes, that is right, Thomas. I know how old you are, and how much older you will get before your cells no longer hold you together. Consider this a gift.”

“No, please, God Hades. I need to find Ros-”

“Goodbye ‘Lyrem’. Have yourself a wonderful life.”

He was gone. All the mortals had left the Underworld, finally. Now, Hades could return to restoring his realm to its proper state.

Persephone perked up, realizing she was free to create and grow everything back to the way it was in the Underworld.

“My pond!” She cried, running out the dining room doors towards the Depths of Despair. “I swear, if Pan killed my koi, I am going to be furious!”

-----------------------------

“Why the hell are there empty bins in the hall?! Where are all my photos?! What on earth happened to my stereo?!”

Arch groaned, sitting up from the floor of the living room. Their mother was already back to her old self, standing and shouting and asking questions that no one would care to answer for her.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Arthur answered. He stood to his feet and limped slowly down the hall. “I’m pouring myself a bath.”

Charlotte rushed past her brother and her child, throwing herself through the house in a frenzy. Arch stood with their back against the wall, arms crossed. It wasn’t anything defiant. They just wanted to be held.

“Where are all my clothes?!”

DING DONG

“Arch, I swear to God, you will tell me what happened while I was away, and where all my f-” ding dong “stuff is!”

Arch removed their bloody apron from their body, moved a short few steps to the kitchen sink and rinsed their hands that were still stained red.

DING DING DING DING DING DONG!

Arch rubbed their temple with their hands and out of instinct, walked to the front door.

It was Benji. Through the screen door, Arch saw him standing on the sidewalk in front of their house. He had just pressed play on his Bluetooth speaker sitting in the grass. It started playing a bizarre melody.

“Hey! You answered! I was hoping you would! You have no idea how many texts I’ve sent!”

Arch stepped out onto the top of the stairs, still puzzled to know what was happening. The summer heat still lingered in the air.

“Look, I don’t know what I did to deserve the cold-shoulder, but I thought you deserved a visit at least on your birthday, okay? So, sue me.”

“My birthday?” Arch said. “It’s… It’s August? Thirteenth?”

‘Me, my, oh, what a life So lean on my people, gon' be stepping in time’

“Yeah, dude! Did you seriously forget?!” Benji exclaimed, bobbing his head from side to side.

‘So, thank you!

For coming to my birthday party!

I am one minute old today

And everything is going great-’

Arch sputtered a reflexive, well-needed laugh. Benji had started dancing like an absolute fool on their front lawn. He pulled out a birthday candle from the recesses of his pocket and held it forward.

“Look, I’ve been wanting you to show me that magic trick again, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Arch placed their hands in their pockets, trying to work past their tears of both exhaustion and entertainment. They shook their head. They really didn’t want to know if they could still perform that trick.

“I… forgot how.”

Benji stared back up, crestfallen. He checked his phone and lowered the volume on his music player.

“Fine, okay. Whatever. You don’t want me around. That’s cool. I get it. I’m a big shot. Not really your type to hang with-”

“What?”

Benji swallowed back his pain, and shrugged.

“It’s cool Arch. School’s over and we gotta go our separate ways. I understand.”

He started backing away. Arch leapt forward, and caught him by the elbow before he turned away completely.

“I want you to stay!” Arch admitted. “It’s totally cool if you want to hang out. Please stay... I… Honestly, I have been so lonely...”

How did the air get so thick?

“And I have missed you… so much.”

Benji’s sad, soulful eyes skeptically narrowed, and then widened with a realization.

“Dude… Have you been struggling? This whole time…? All summer? You gotta come to me with your shit! Don’t bottle it up, bud.” Benji wrapped them in a tight hug and rocked them to and fro. “Oh, I had no idea... You’re my main enby, Arch… I’ll be your Rick Astley forever… The Bernie to your Elton… Okay? Always. No doubt. No doubt.”

Arch took a moment to sob grossly into his shoulder. They pulled away before it got too squishy for their liking. If allowed, they knew Benji would let them cry on him until the end of time.

Arch took a deep breath of relief.

“Sorry, I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Yeah, hey. No kidding.” Benji said. “Look, here’s the plan, Shazia said that if I could reach you today that she’d meet us at the park with some of that fancy hash we like so that we can smoke up cakes.”

Arch scrunched their face.

“Cupcakes. Shazia would meet us in the park with cupcakes. Hey, Charlotte,” Benji cleared his throat, seeing the dark haired woman, who seemed to be hanging by a very fine thread from behind the screen door. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Benji. Arch, just go.”

“Wait. Really?” Arch turned around, wondering how she could be serious.

“You’re eighteen now, aren’t you?” Charlotte asked.

Arch nodded.

“Then get out.”

There wasn’t anything warm about the way Charlotte said those words. Instead of lingering too long on the nuance, Arch only nodded, watching the door to the house shut its inhabitants in.

Benji bent over to pick up his speaker. He didn’t miss a beat cutting the music.

“What was that all about?” He asked. Like Arch, he looked up at the closed door.

Arch wiped the wetness away from their face with a couple fingers.

“I… I think I was just kicked out.”

Arch cleared their throat. They turned back to Benji as the summer sun beat down on them both.

Oh Benji. He was the most welcome sight in this world. The only good thing left that Arch had yet to ruin. Shazia would soon await them both in the park. Their life with Paimon, Lyrem, and hell, was now in the past. A future containing Arthur and Charlotte filled with shame and regret awaited them.

That didn’t matter yet. All that mattered was what was right in front of them.

And Arch really, really, really wanted to get high.

“Anyways, you said something about smoking up?”

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apparitionism · 4 years

Text

Decalogue

Ten years! I certainly didn’t expect to be observing such a Bering-and-Wells first-meeting anniversary, and I double certainly didn’t expect to be doing it while staying at home during a pandemic. The situation has, in all honesty, severely limited my creativity; I admire and envy those who are able to produce good work under these conditions, but I’m not among them. So ideally, this would have been better... a few sentences here and there say what I want them to, though, and I’m going to take a tiny bit of solace in that. This is the first half of this anniversary piece; the second half will happen when it happens, but I’ll aim for sooner rather than later. I do promise, for anyone who cares, that I’m still working on Run and everything else.

Decalogue

Year one: Meet at gunpoint.

Each of Myka’s Helena years could be marked and counted by the unique commandment it issued, a commandment by which she was forced, or graced, to live... and if “meet at gunpoint” was no “I am the Lord thy God... thou shalt have no other gods before me,” nonetheless it was first, for that first year, that short year, that long year, that year of confrontation. That year of threats sliding so easily into thrills, and sliding just as easily back again.

When Myka looked back, she couldn’t remember (she couldn’t remember!) the extent to which she had, in the moment of the first standoff, understood it as the beginning it was. If she had been able to perceive, all at once, the rush of dictates that would follow the first leveling of her weapon at H.G. Wells, would she have been able to stand so steely and so sure?

Steely. Sure. That was what she enacted, that first time.

As gunpoint followed gunpoint, that was increasingly not what she felt.

Tamalpais showed her the mismatch between her awareness of threat and susceptibility to thrill.

Moscow—without the urgency of the gun—showed her how easy it was for thrill to take over.

The urgency of the gun... one middle-of-night at the B&B, very late, Myka just managed to avoid blindly colliding with Helena in the unlit hallway that separated their bedrooms.

“We meet again,” Helena whispered.

“At least it isn’t at gunpoint this time,” Myka whispered back, close to breathless in the dark.

“It might be.”

“What?”

“I can’t see your hands. It’s dark. You could be armed. Or I could.”

Threat or thrill? Myka’s body said “both.” Her mind said “neither” and “go back to your own room.” Later (minutes later, then days then months then years later), she wondered what would have happened if her mind hadn’t won out. If she had said what her body prompted, when Helena said “I can’t see your hands”: No, but you could feel them.

In Egypt, foolishly, she had had that night on her mind, that night she had not let her body have its way. She had been looking forward, considering how to engineer a do-over, a hotel-hallway meeting, something breathed about gunpoint, about hands, some answering breath of what might be felt instead. The real instead: she was yanked back to the present, feeling only soft, astonished disbelief that dissolved into shocked pain as Helena pulled a trigger.

Then at Yellowstone... every gunpointing, every day, every night, every threat, every thrill ran in her head, forcing her to reckon them, to add them together, to total the end of the world.

But there was no reckoning any of it, in the end. Or in the endless: reckoning was all there was, endless reckoning, endless rethinking, endless negotiating with herself over what she had allowed herself to do (and to feel), and the price she would force herself to pay for her lapses.

Year two: Thou shalt not touch.

Myka tried to punish herself sufficiently—to lay the lash for accurate agony— but she should have known that her own imagination would be inadequate. She thought she had fathomed how wrong she had been, and what she deserved for that wrongness, but the Regents knew better. They knew her exiling herself to the family bookstore was a pathetic penance.

Of course Helena herself was the only right scourge. Of course she was.

And of course Myka had not ever expected to be able to touch Helena. Not ever again, not after what had happened. But, equally, she hadn’t expected touch to be so tantalizingly impossible. She hadn’t expected the ache of desire to be so much more acute upon being confronted over and over (and over yet again) with the impossibility of its fulfilment.

Myka hadn’t consciously thought the word “desire” before, but now it preoccupied her. Helena unexpected in the space of that bookstore: desire. Helena in Artie’s office, speaking like an oracle: desire. Helena bleak in a field in Ohio: desire. Helena saving the day with words about consequences and sorrow: desire. And certainly Helena in a Warehouse aisle, talking of truth and regret and what had once so briefly and brightly been good: not a body, but the visual embodiment of all that Myka desired.

Even later, even when everything seemed to be ending, even when Helena was giving up and looking at the sky and Myka was being a coward and letting her do it: desire. And its frustration. No touching, no embrace of the only body that mattered, because it wasn’t there. The only body that mattered to Myka was elsewhere.

A commandment, but also a punishment: and as a punishment, was it just? That judgment was above Myka’s pay grade. Everything was above her pay grade. Everything was put above her pay grade. Pushed above it, onto a shelf just that much higher than she could reach.

In the absence of the prohibition, would she have wanted to touch Helena so very very much?

In the absence of the prohibition, would she have been so very very willing to read Helena as wanting so very very much to touch too?

She thought the answers to those questions didn’t matter, because she shied from imagining that the day could be saved in such a way as to allow for real satisfaction of those clearly commandment-violating wants. And she wondered, later, if the rope-induced violation—though brief and fraught and not their fault—was the inexorable cause of the next year’s anguish.

Year three: Suffer in silence.

Nothing Myka said made a difference. Nothing she said was of consequence, not after Helena disappeared. She tried. At first, she tried, repeating “Where is she?” endlessly to anyone with ears and power, in response to which she was, endlessly, put off: Helena was on a secret mission for the Regents. Helena was engaged in arcane Warehouse business. Helena had affairs of her own to settle...

Eventually Myka stopped asking: that was the first silence. And she thought she was suffering; naively, she thought the absence of information, with its echo of the absence of Helena’s physical body, was the worst torment.

She was wrong.

In Boone, the requirement that Myka suffer became acute.

She tried to violate the commandment—tried to ease her suffering by breaking the silence. But the person to whom she was speaking refused to hear her.

She really did have to laugh at how unimaginative she had been: how she had thought the inability to touch Helena was too much, was the worst price, to pay. The Regents, or fate, or whatever was in charge certainly did know how to alter one’s retrospective view... because now Myka could touch Helena, could even embrace her. All while suffering Helena’s new knout of a wish to have nothing at all to do with Myka. Myka wanted to howl against that incomprehensible wish, scream in protest, make Helena listen. Make Helena hear. Instead, the words Myka did say didn’t matter; they all translated to I am being silent.

Different silence. More suffering.

Myka also had cancer and did not speak much about it, though that was suffering, and silence, of a far different kind. She wished she had said even less, later, because her speaking led, stupidly, into the next year.

Year four: Make mistakes.

Looking at her life over that fourth year, Myka saw that she had never before made 365 days’ worth of such terrible mistakes. Not even during the year through which she and Helena had pointed guns at each other. (And that was of course yet another mistake, to ideate those gunpointings as mistakes.)

She looked at the idea of being with Pete and didn’t dismiss it out of hand as an impossibility. She knew it was a mistake, and yet at every step, she did not dismiss it: mistake upon mistake.

Eventually: “You think this is a mistake,” he accused.

This... this was the path. She could see no other way forward. Myka had always been very good at putting her head down and following the path. “No,” she said out loud to him. That was a mistake too—or so it seemed, in the first instant, as she saw his face flash with anger.

But in the next instant, it seemed the first right thing she’d done in a long time, because he said, “You’re lying.” Out loud.

The full force of it hit her: she was lying. And that was by far her worst mistake.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, because she was.

“So am I,” he said, but Myka knew they weren’t sorry for the same things.

Her mistakes usually redounded to her alone; they didn’t hurt other people. And yet she did wonder what sort of mistake Pete had made: what future had he imagined he and Myka could have? Marriage, children? That seemed to be what he was asking for, even if he’d never said that out loud, but why would he have thought Myka wanted those things in such a conventional way? Had he never seen her as herself?

Then again, who ever saw any other human as the self they believed themselves to be?

Myka asked herself that question, philosophically, then immediately castigated, You set yourself up for this one, Bering. Because that was how Myka had felt seen by Helena, in their best moments. No matter how ultimately untrue that sense of being seen might have been, she knew Pete was never going to look at her and make her feel that way. But of course Helena was never going to look at her like that again either, given her absence, so Myka made yet another mistake: in Helena’s absence, she allowed herself to blame Helena for it all.

And that very nearly became the ruin of everything.

Year five: Thou shalt not hold grudges.

The miracle of Helena’s return to the Warehouse had not, at first, seemed to be a miracle. Instead it was a rebuke, a shout about everything Myka had done wrong. All her mistakes, highlighted. Go away, Myka wanted to tell her. Just go away. Helena’s presence prompted an eerie echo of going home to Colorado: a constant knocking reminder of the whole wrong string of things she could have done, should have done, better.

Claudia was responsible for the real miracle. Myka had taken—not consciously, she told herself later; not consciously—to walking slowly in the hallway, particularly late at night, particularly when no one else seemed to be awake. Later, she of course realized she’d been looking for that do-over, but at the time, she’d colored herself restless. Just restless.

So when, one night, Claudia opened her door onto Myka’s dark hallway pace, Myka was, to put it mildly, surprised. She was even more surprised when Claudia said, “This nonstop lurking? It’s creepy. You’re not a ghost, so knock off acting like one.” Myka said a swift “okay” and tried to retreat to her room, but Claudia marched out, crossed the hall, and knocked on Helena’s door, saying, “H.G., get out here! It’s time!”

And there was Helena, not sleep-fogged as she should have been.

“Batter up,” Claudia told her, “or throw the pitch or take the handoff or whatever sportsball thing you want to do. My work here better be done.” She then went back to her room, closed the door, and locked it with a conclusive snick.

“Claudia has it right,” Helena said. “It’s time.”

“For what?” Myka asked. She knew she sounded thick. But she couldn’t... something. Couldn’t something, couldn’t anything. She couldn’t identify, not even in her own head, what she couldn’t do, or say, or think. Any of it. And now here stood Helena, the cause of it all. I might not have been happy before, but before, I had only myself to blame... now I have you.

“For what...” That was accompanied by a mirthless laugh. “Do you not know why I’m here?”

Myka did not have to give her answer any thought—the only thought she had was whether she should say it out loud. But maybe it was time. “To break my heart. That’s always why you’re here. Or there. Or anywhere.”

“As if you’ve left my heart alone,” Helena scoffed.

As if she had no idea what being silent had cost Myka. “I have tried so hard to leave your heart alone.”

Now Helena snorted. “You claimed to be in love with Pete. What do you think that did to my heart?”

“I don’t care what anything did to your heart,” Myka said, and she was in that moment telling the absolute truth. “You claimed to be in love with Nate. And Giselle. And god knows who else you didn’t tell me about.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth! I claimed to be in love with no one.”

“Fine,” Myka conceded, mulishly. “Who cares about love? You put words in your own mouth and spat them at me: how you belonged. With some random man and some daughter who wasn’t even yours.”

“So in retribution, you decided you belonged with Pete.” Helena curled her lip and nodded a sour nod. “Good judgment all around.”

“Don’t insult him. He’s a good person. He actually cares about me.”

Helena took that as the accusation it was. “That’s low.”

It was Myka’s turn to snort. “That’s low? Yeah, because you throwing Nate in my face—making me look at him, making me look at you stand next to him—that was so elevated.” Helena took a breath, as if to defend herself, but that made Myka push on, “And then Giselle—with you going out of your way to make sure I knew, like it was the most important thing in the world for me to be informed about exactly who you were with who wasn’t me—that was so exalted. Please. Spare me.”

Helena pressed her lips into a line, then very consciously unpressed them. She lowered her shoulders, which had hackled into rigid wings. “Fine. I will.” She went back to her room, and she did not slam the door, but she closed it such that Myka felt finality. No more slow walks, she told herself, and she turned to go to her own room, to close its door with the same sense of an ending.

But again, Claudia intervened, opening her own door and springing, sharp and swift as a wolf, to grab Myka’s arm before she could complete her turn, her escape. “Pay attention!” Claudia said. “In sportsball, you have to do something with the ball.”

She kept her hold on Myka and banged on Helena’s door, through which Helena said, “We are finished.”

Claudia said, “We’re just getting started. I swear to god I will stand here and yell for hours, because Myka’s not a ghost and neither are you.”

A minute passed. Another. Claudia did not yell, and for those moments they were all ghosts, waiting, in-between some before and whatever would come after.

Finally the door handle began to turn, hinges creaked, and Helena emerged again, her face blank, but rigidly so, as if she were concentrating on each muscle, holding every one still.

“Get it right,” Claudia said. She let Myka go, then muttered, as she retreated, “I swear to god.”

I swear to god, Myka thought, I wish I knew what “right” could possibly mean.

Helena cleared her throat. “Claudia holds strong beliefs.”

That was not what Myka had expected to hear. “Good for her. Or bad. I don’t know.”

“I don’t either. I’m exhausted,” Helena said. She slumped a bit.

It seemed to be a too-conscious illustration, designed to spark sympathy, and it enraged Myka. “Fine,” she snapped. “Get some sleep if she’ll let you. I’m done here.”

“She won’t let me. So you are not done here.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Myka demanded. “Forget everything that happened?” She ended on a crescendo; she had never made such noise in the night before.

Helena did not answer. She stood and breathed—a real body in space—the sound of the sea in, then out. Myka felt her own angry breathing slow in response. In response. To a real body in space, breathing audibly in, out. Chest rising and falling.

What wouldn’t Myka have given, a year ago, two years ago, three, four, to be right here? Was she supposed to forget everything that happened? No, she needed to remember everything instead. Remember everything that hurt, and why.

“Okay,” Myka said.

“Okay what? What is okay?”

“Nothing,” Myka admitted.

“Okay.” And Helena’s mouth moved a little—not a smile, but something like the beginning of one.

Myka didn’t smile either, but she felt her jaw soften, her teeth unclench. “Okay what? What’s okay?”

Helena nodded. “Nothing,” she said.

“Neither of us is good at letting go,” Myka said. She did not have to add: of grudges. Or of each other.

Helena said, “I know,” and she did not have to add anything either.

Myka had tried not to anticipate this moment—because it was never going to happen. Never, never, never. But she had, of course. Anticipated. Wished. Dreamed, literally dreamed about it, then awakened to loss, a dissolve of desire that would never be satisfied.

Now, desire dissolved into satiety, rich and soft, as they neared each other, as their mouths met and their bodies pressed and their hands grasped and they did not let go.

Words of love—even the very word “love”—might have occurred to some people in such a moment, but all Myka could think to say, as they looked at each other in the wake of that world-beginning kiss, was “Thank you.”

And so grudges alchemized to gratitude.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Decalogue #happy anniversary to them #and to us (although it's of course not quite ten years since that episode aired)

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

Birthdays for a Business Man

Summary: Dark has had birthdays of all sorts, sometimes he works the whole day through, other times he gets to enjoy it with his family.

A/N: It’s Dark’s birthday, I was planning for angst and got fluff instead. Also Author as a child strikes me as someone who you could point at and go: “that one right there, that one’s going to be a serial killer”.

~::~ Ten Years Ago ~::~

It was cold and Dark had someone else who was disappointingly not Marc in his cellar. It was another unfortunate soul that had not only tried to steal from Dark directly, but had the gall to be annoying while he did so.

Unlike the heroes like Jackie and Silver who could get away or weather more than a single stab or slash from Dark’s aura, this man was boringly human. Dark had initially thought the man would die before he was dragged into the cellar. But he was happily surprised.

The man screamed in terror as Dark dug the knife into the arm of the chair. “You miscalculated,” Dark smiled, practically tasting the fear in the air. It was sweeter than any saccharine treat or wine. “You assumed I would give mercy. That you could run from me.”

“Please, I’ll do anything,” the man begged. “I just need more time.”

“You had your time,” Dark sneered, holding his face so that his nails were cutting into the soft, human flesh of his chin and cheeks. In the distant background he could hear arguing upstairs but he trusted Wil to handle it until he was done. “I hate chasing my prey, and you are wasting time I could be using on other ventures.”

The stairs at the top of the cellar creaked.

“Daddy!”

The man’s head turned to the cellar, confusion breaking through his pain and fear a bit.

Dark internally cursed and slapped the man to at least save some of his intimidating appearance. Even if it would have been more than a fleeting laugh to make the man think he had a chance, allowing his newest target to live was officially off the table.

The Entity turned to see one of the children he and Wil had adopted running down the winding staircase. Yan was full on sobbing as she ran down the stairs, she almost tripped but Dark’s aura caught her.

“What have I told you,” Dark growled. However, when Yan stopped, she was staring up at him with large dark brown eyes, Dark sighed. “What happened?”

She let out a loud, distressed sob and started pulling at something stuck and twisted into her hair. Clearly whatever was in her hand disgusted her. Yan was clearly upset and frustrated.

“Here,” Dark offered, pulling her hand away and Yan immediately shook out her hand, stomping her feet a bit. Immediately Dark noticed there was a sizable piece of chewed gum waded and it was almost fused with her dark, wavy hair. “Who did this?”

“Artie put gum in my hair,” Yan sobbed loudly. “And I didn’t do anything to him.”

“She’s a fucking liar!” Arthur spat as he stomped down the stairs. “She stomped all over my notebook with her muddy feet.”

Dark groaned, “Somehow, Arthur, I doubt it.”

The Entity grabbed the two children with his aura and pulled them back up the stairs. The instant he was at the top of the stairs he looked around. “Wil! If I don’t see you here, posthaste I will burn your bow ties!”

Wilford was running in as if Dark had already set the man on fire. “What happened?”

Dark just stared at the sizable glob of gum in Yan’s hair.

“Oh,” Wil commented, he held his arms out. “Come here, princess, I know just the thing to get that out.”

“Never give the children gum unless I’m there to supervise them,” Dark ordered, keeping Arthur close to him as he passed the still hiccup-sobbing Yan over. It was just to keep the two of them separated. “Obviously they can’t be trusted with it.”

“I didn’t give them gum today,” Wil frowned, his mustache twitching a bit. “Did I?”

Before Dark could reprimand him, Wil was talking with Yan as he headed to the pantry and promised to make her hair as good as new. He grabbed a jar of peanut butter and headed towards the upstairs bathroom.

Arthur was looking away angrily, gripping his arm tightly, clearly angry.

Dark took a deep breath, “Show me your notebook, where is it?”

“It’s mine,” the young author spat angrily.

“Yes, I know, show me the notebook,” Dark responded firmly.

Arthur glared at him, his face scrunching up angrily, before stomping into the main living room and picking up his red notebook, but protectively cradling it to his chest.

Dark knelt down and silently held out his hand, quietly waiting for Arthur to surrender the little spiral bound.

Arthur shifted on his feet, looking away, “I want it back.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” Dark told him, his tone still firm.

Holding it out, Arthur stayed close as Dark flipped through the book. He didn’t concentrate on what Arthur had been writing. The boy treated his notebooks like a creative project sometimes, and a private diary other times. Dark wasn’t about to invade the boy’s privacy to settle the dispute. He’d come to Dark when he trusted him.

Quickly flipping through the book, Dark saw that there was half a muddy footprint on the corner, hardly the malicious footprints that Arthur had claimed. But on the edge of a page, in Arthur’s messy scrawl was the phrase: “Yan has gum in her hair”.

Dark looked at those words, “Huh.”

Glancing back at Arthur he asked, “Who gave you the gum? I know you didn’t chew it yourself.”

“I don’t know,” Arthur shrugged. “It just showed up.”

“You made gum appear in your sister’s hair?” Dark asked.

“Yes?” Arthur answered.

“Show me,” Dark ordered, holding the notebook out. “Put gum in my hair.”

“What?” Arthur looked confused, and a touch of fear.

“I can’t have you stick anything in your siblings’ hair, so this will have to do,” Dark told him and summoned a pen. “If you want we can try with something other than your notebook if you don’t want to use it.”

Arthur took the pen and on the back of the front cover Arthur scribbled down: “Dark has gum in his hair”.

At first Dark didn’t feel anything, but after a second or two he felt something faint tangle with his own aura, brushing the top of his head. Dark fought all reflexes to bat at it. He reached up and sure enough there was a mass of chewed gum in his hair. Arthur was staring at him with a bit of nervousness.

What Dark did do was reach out and tangle his aura with the new faint aura, trying to manifest it but it wasn’t strong enough. Arthur startled a bit, trying to look around to find something. Dark chuckled and let it go, his aura began to smooth into his hair to carefully pull the gum from his hair and dump it into the nearest trash can.

“Come with me,” Dark led Arthur to the counter and grabbed a set of post-it notes. He also grabbed one a strawberry ice cream popsicle out of the fridge and set Arthur on top of the counter. He held out the popsicle, which was quickly accepted.

Dark slid the post-it notes over, smiling, “give my suit polka dots.”

“Why?” Arthur asked, popping the popsicle out of his mouth.

“Because I need to know if it’s the notebook or you,” Dark told him.

After a bit of fumbling with the popsicle, Arthur wrote: “Dark has a pink and green polka dot suit”.

“Really?” Dark grumbled as his suit changed, a half-second faster than the last time. Dark felt that weak aura gripping around him like thousands of tiny hands. “Those colors.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Arthur asked, a bit of his attitude starting to come back.

“Look at them,” Dark motioned to his suit as his aura was starting to strip the colors from it, leaving the polka dots and the pink’s lighter hue was still visible. “Try and turn it back.”

Arthur frowned but wrote: “Dark has a black suit again”.

Dark’s suit began to lose the polka dots, and Dark resisted the urge to mention the fact that his suit had actually been a dark blue. But it was the thought that counted.

“Magnificent,” Dark commented, Arthur seemed to stiffen a bit with the sudden and honest praise. “How long have you been able to do this? It’s incredible, do you know if any of the others can do things like this?”

“No.” Arthur’s answer was too quick, clearly desperate to keep being the center of positive attention.

“Right,” Dark smiled, his attention going back to the stairs. “Would you appreciate a little practice?”

Arthur’s eyes widened, “Can I turn Illy’s tongue into a slug?”

Dark’s twin souls started screaming in alarm.

“Arthur,” Dark used his aura to force the boy to look into his eyes. “You will not use this on your siblings ever, do you understand?”

“Come on,” Arthur huffed. “He deserves it.”

“No, I’m serious,” Dark demanded firmly. “I don’t care if you alter all of Egoton, but you will not use this on any of your siblings or Wil. Do I make myself clear?”

Arthur scowled, “Fine.”

“Good,” Dark smiled. “I’ll be checking on them. But for now would you like to use those wonderful powers of yours in a constructive manner?”

The Entity gestured to the basement stairwell.

“But only you and Dad are allowed in the basement?” Arthur reminded.

Dark rolled his eyes, “You and I both know that no one follows that rule.”

“Really?” Arthur squirmed a bit in excitement.

“Your power is a gift, and you need to cultivate it to the fullest,” Dark smiled, taking him off the counter.

“Can I hurt him?” Arthur asked inquisitively.

Something in the depths of his twin souls roiled in uncomfortable concern at that question, but Dark didn’t dared show it on his face. “Just don’t involve your siblings.”

“Can we go?” Arthur began jumping in place.

“Yes we can, my little author,” Dark smiled, Arthur taking Dark’s hand and pulling him towards the stairs.

~::~ Present Day ~::~

Dark sighed as he walked into his office, Wilford following him and talking. Dark had a new coffee mug in his hands he’d been given from Yan for his birthday. The mug read, ‘Boss Bitch’, in huge red letters with a crown over the top. Illinois had given him a neatly arranged box of cursed jewelry from a recent expedition, and Bim had given Dark a new black suit. Then Wilford had literally pushed Bim into giving Dark a hug that both of them thought wasn’t genuine, and was uncomfortable at best.

“It’s your birthday, old chap,” Wilford reminded. “Don’t you think you should spend it somewhere other than this drab and depressing place.”

“I have a lot of work to do,” Dark reminded, “tonight my schedule is clear.”

“Crummy way to spend your birthday,” Wil pouted.

Dark noticed the three boxes on his desk. He hadn’t noticed them when he walked in initially. One was like an envelope made of newspaper, Yancy’s obviously. Another was a deep red with golden trim on it with white and yellow trimmed ribbons, and a third made from parchment paper that had what looked like a short handwritten story on it. Dark could barely recognize Arthur’s messy scrawl. It had turned from Arthur’s previously nigh-illegible scrawl to a flowing cursive script that was still a bit hard for most people to read.

And Dark was going to have to learn how to read it all over again.

“Oooh~” Wil leaned his head over Dark’s shoulder. “Do you have an admirer?”

“It’s from the boys,” Dark answered, carefully unwrapping the box so he didn’t rip the paper. Inside a plain brown box was a small black ledger, an exact duplicate to the one he already had, a folded note resting on it.

“Oh, how nice of them,” Wilford smiled. “Good timing too, your old one is looking a little full up.”

Dark skimmed over the note, reading:

For the man who has everything,

Try to catch your blood on these pages instead of the original.

He who sees, but is blind

“What a nice note,” Wil smiled, resting his cheek on Dark. “Who wrote it?”

Dark pocketed the note, “Arthur, you remember him, he liked to write.”

Recognition bubbled up in Wil’s mind, “He was a fun boy, is he done with that mission?”

“Nearly, he’ll be home soon,” Dark promised, stepping away from Wil to sit at his desk. “Hopefully sooner than scheduled.”

“Excellent,” Wilford clapped. “Once you finish opening your gifts we should go for a drive, haven’t gone on one of those in ages.”

Dark just stared at him, in his head he could remember “ages ago” — last month — when he’d been in a car with Wil that quickly turned into a car chase where Dark had been gripping onto the hanger attached to the car door. “Maybe, that depends.”

“On?” Wil wiggled his eyebrows and mustache. “I can be persuasive.”

“Give me three hours and my day is all yours,” Dark smiled, turning his chair towards his desk. “That will let me get some work done.”

“How about,” Wil turned Dark’s chair back around to face him, “we make a little deal?”

Dark rested his chin on his hands, “Really?”

“What type of person would I be if I didn’t get you your birthday present?” Wilford winked, grabbing Dark’s tie and leaning down for the kiss. One of many Dark would receive that day.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #birthday post #Markiplier #Darkiplier #Wilford Warfstache #Yandereplier #The Author #kid!Yandereplier #kid!Author #Darkstache #magic #developing superpowers #reality warping powers #threats of torture to an unnamed side character #early onset child psychosis #it's Author he's a little terror and I love him #the gifts shown in the story were from Yancy King and Host

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tolkien-in-beleriand · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of Iniamar - Chapter One

Demetria was a normal village girl, except that no one is really normal. Not anywhere and certainly not in the Buruma village. Nevertheless she did not astound more than anyone would astound just for being. She was happy, funny, full of friends, intelligent and hardworking and of course, full of opinions. The problem with opinionated people is that they almost always are convinced that they are right and forget that other people may have opinions of their own and that they too believe to be right. Haryn was another one full of opinions and Demi never liked Haryn. She found him muzzy, dull, rude, and obviously too cocky, thinking that his opinions were always the truth. But he almost never spoke and when he did it was to swear and give orders and although he was not her boss, she had to comply because she worked in Josh’s tavern and if anyone asked her for a black lapo it was her job to serve. And Haryn was always asking for a pint of something. Once she saw him chug a hornmud of pure alcolino. Maybe if he was sober for long enough he would be aware of how repugnant he was, so he prefered to be always drunk, she thought. Either way Josh liked him – even though none could understanding why – and said that he was an excellent warrior and a very wise man. Demi thought that Josh was beginning to lost his wit because of old age.

Josh was her adoptive father. Due to an accident, that each time that was told had a different nature, she had lost her parents as a baby and Josh welcomed and nourished her. She helped in the tavern since her 14th birthday, before that he never allowed her to work. He said she had to nurture her mind. So he taught her how to read, write and think, although he always said that one can not teach another to think, but could offer him the tools to do so. Some days he would tell Demi that she thought too much but she always could see behind the angry words the satisfaction in his eyes.

The love that Josh devoted to reading was only surpassed by his pupil and even though scrolls were quite rare in the village – regarded as a relic found only with merchants that passed through or in the houses of the most wealthy individuals – Josh always managed to get their hands in some new manuscript with wonderful stories about fey beings and men of the blood of dragons. These were her favourite stories but she read them all including the most boring ones, like those that explained the position of the main villages and castles. Josh said it was always good to know where things are, both to look for it or to avoid it. “No one wants to be face to face with a dragon by chance, eh?” Well, she would not mind. She always wanted to be friends with a dragon.

Her friends in the village always complained of their parents at some point and sometimes even though it could sound indifferent and wicked, Demi felt lucky that her parents died, because that led her to be raised by Josh. He was amazing, intelligent and has always been good to her. He never even mentioned the subject of marriage, for which she was very grateful, and whenever she saw those dark eyes in that kind and thick bearded face she could not help but smile and feel a sense of security. Haryn used to say that it was because she was stupid, since no one is never safe, but she do not pay attention to his pessimism and bad humor. He annoyed her in all possible ways, and yet, she knew that she could always rely on him and that he would never hurt her. Not because he liked her, no! But because of his friendship with Josh that probably compelled him to protect what he called “fire-haired brat”. Once Moren spilled a black lapo mug on Demi dress, smearing it all, and before she could recover from the surprise and accept the apology from the baker, Haryn was already going up against him. Poor Moren did not show up at the tavern for one week and only came back after she reassured him that she was not in any way angry and that Haryn would not bother him anymore.

I do not know if it was because of his angry “friend” or because of the sympathy for Josh, but everyone always treated Demi with great kindness and respect. She always thought they were luck to live in a quiet village like Buruma as she had heard uncanny stories from others neighboring villages. She had many friends there, but her two inseparable companions were Artur and Bernardo. Artur rarely entered the tavern because he was too big and as the establishment was always packed he could not fit in there if he wanted. Artie worked with the blacksmith, pulling his big gear, but at the end of his shift he always passed by the back door of the tavern and Demi always took a little break to talk to him. In their day offs they often get together, the three of them.

Bernardo, as Demi, worked in the tavern and managed to serve customers quite well now, even though he was very clumsy in his first days of work, because he was unable to hold the trays with his big paws. However now he was the most skilled bear to serve tables in the area. Artur wanted a job in the tavern too, but the experience did not go well. At the end of the day he had broken two tables and had kicked a merchant who had hit his hips to request another lapo pint. When Josh told him that unfortunately he could not work there, he said: “Good! You could break a leg in this tiny place”. The tavern was not so small, but Artur was the biggest horse that anyone there had ever seen. To climb the stairs to go to the house on the top floor was not an option to him either.

Bernardo was also as big as a brown bear could be, but he was skillful enough to not let his size get in the way and everybody adored him because he was an inexhaustible source of stories and anecdotes.

When the merchants come to the village, Josh closes the tavern for a whole week, since there is always all kinds of drinks in the fair’s pavilion and then Artur, Bernardo and Demi have all the freedom and money they could want.

In the second week Josh’s tavern would reopen, since the merchants loved its lapo, both black and gold, and usually in that week they profited enough for a whole year. The merchants use to be generous with their money when it came to a good drink.

The merchants passed by once every six months and stayed for two weeks in the village. There were two parties to celebrate what they called Fiftday. The opening ceremony, which took place on the day they arrived, and the closing ceremony, held on the day before they left. Anyway to Demi and her friends every day were party day and they enjoyed every day of the Fiftday. The next one would be in five weeks and they were all excited. Artur wanted a golden cloak to wear at the opening party and Demi was trying to convince him that a golden cloak would not suit his reddish and bright fur but he did not want to hear any of that and she certainly would not give up.

Bernardo was thinking to wear a black leather vest with white fringes and Demi thought it would suit him very well. Demi would wear her white dress with red branches on the hem and on the tip off the long sleeves, with a thin red dragon leather belt as she would not want to be too much. Her hair would be braided with white leather straps because she always thought the white fall right in the middle of all the redness of her hair. She would be pretty for sure.

Demi heard that there would be more than two minstrels this time, which made her even more anxious. The minstrels were her favourite attraction, along with the storytellers. In her secret dreams she always imagined herself married to one of the kingdom’s poetic singers but she never told this to anyone. That is because they would laugh at her and she hated that. However her more urgent concern until the Fiftnight was to change Artie’s mind about the color of his cloak as she needed to sew it soon. She actually thought that she had found a way to convince him.

The day when she would put her plan into action had come. Josh was staring at her with droll and inquisitive eyes. He knew that she hated golden because the contrast with her bright red hair made her look like some kind of what she called tainted flame. And when he asked her what was a tainted flame she simply answered “It doesn’t matter what it is, what is important is that it is what I see in the brass when I wear golden outfits”. In that day she hoped the sunshine outside would accentuate the absurdity of that combination.

– Demi!

It was Artie’s voice at the window.

– Artie! You came earlier today?

– No. What dress is that?

– It is a gift from last year’s birthday.

– I have never seen it. You are marvelous wearing it ant that is precisely the golden that I want for my cloak.

– What? Are you blind? This dress is not anything good on me because red does not suit golden!

– That is what you say. To me that is perfect, like hay and water. It is a matter of taste.

– Taste! No! Unless you want to seem ridiculous.

– I do not care about your opinion on this.

– Please, Artie. I am saying this for your sake.

– But I want a golden cloak. I have already bought the fabric. There is no turning back.

– Ok. I will make you a golden cloak, but not for the party, alright?

– Why not for the party?

– Because I want all of us wearing white.

– Bernie will not wear white.

– His vest has white fringes.

Artie was pensive.

– But I do not have white fabric and I do not want to spend more money with that.

– I’ll buy it for you.

– And you swear that I will have my golden cloak too?

– Yes, I promise.

– Can I wear it in the closure party?

– We will see.

– Alright, then. White it is.

– Thank you, Artie. You are the best. I have to go back now. See you tomorrow.

– Go, ungrateful brat. Preventing me from wearing what I want just because you do not like gold. I like, gee.

She could still hear Artie muttering as she walked away, but it didn’t matter anymore. He would not wear the golden cloak and she would not be in that hideous dress another second.

Demi’s time in the coming weeks was divided between bartending in the tavern, sewing outfits for her friends and reading a particularly annoying parchment about all the mountains north of the Great Fountain. However always she noticed that Josh was not watching she would change her lecture to a scroll about the story of the first men of the dragon blood. The fact that she never really knew if it had truly happened or were just stories made her even more fascinated. But how could it have happened? Is it possible that the dragons would submit to an agreement with men? And why should they? The scroll said to be by necessity, although it did not explain of what kind, but she read others parchments that affirmed that a man threatened the dragons. However, Demi could not believe that any threat could frighten all the dragons, especially the Great Ulmur.

With her mind busy with all these questions, Demi did not realize that she was murmuring and that Josh had come near her so she almost fell off her chair when he said:

– Ulmur could be tall and strong, but I doubt he was a mountain.

– Josh! Are you trying to scare me to death?

– No, but it will hurt you to finish the parchment about the mountains first? It is not so bad.

– But it’s so boring and useless.

– I do not doubt that learning about Ulmur’s secret thoughts is useful, but it is much more likely, lets say, that you have to face the northern mountains than Ulmur and his kin.

– Not necessarily. If anything steer me north, who could guarantee I would not find Ulmur?

– I do.

– And how could you be so sure?

– Because Ulmur is dead!

– Is he though?

– What do you mean? Of course he is!

From the tavern they could hear the sound of a mug breaking and Bernie’s growl.

– Go, leave this and go to work. You have read too much for today. Poor Bernie must be overwrought.

Without wasting any more seconds she went downstairs. She liked her work and enjoyed herself in the tavern and, as she could not read about the men of the dragon blood, she preferred Haryn’s ugly face to the northern mountains’ parchment.

When she arrived downstairs Bernie had already removed the pieces of the broken mug, but he still had an angry face.

– What happened, Bernie?

– How would I know? I was serving a table and suddenly a mug broke on the counter for no reason whatsoever.

– It was the wind – said Haryn.

– It was no fucking wind, because there is no wind! - Said Bernie angry.

– Maybe it was you, Harryn.

– Maybe, but you will never know, will you, brat?

Turning her back to Haryn, Demi tried to calm down her friend:

– There is no problem, Bernie, it was just a mug. Let it be.

– I just do not like this kind of thing. It has to have an explanation, things do not break without a reason. I do not like this, not at all.

– Me too, Bernie, but to get upset will not help it.

Still grumbling Bernie went to serve some tables while Demi was in the counter. She hated to be responsible for the counter because it was were Haryn always was. But she had no choice since Josh was upstairs and only would be back later.

Even if he annoyed her, Demi never ceased to be curious about Haryn. What would he have done to win Josh’s trust? How could he be a wise and a warrior if the only thing he does is drink in the tavern? Although, he usually disappears for a few days from time to time, even though there was no war going on, nothing to fight, nowhere to be a warrior. How old was he? Demi had no idea about any of this and despite hating the way he despised her and the rude way he answered her questions, she never gave up trying to figure out whatever she could about him. She would not ask him any direct question about that though. Demi thought she would have more chance of success if she disguised her interests, so she decided to ask him about the men of dragon blood, so perhaps she could get some information about it too.

– Hey, Haryn! What do you know about the men of dragon blood?

He always looked at her like someone who wanted to kill her just for daring to open her mouth before answering.

– That they do not exist anymore.

He always answered though, even if it was a stupid answer.

– Everybody knows that. But you should know something about when they were alive. Josh says you are so wise.

It seemed that this time he would not answer, but after spending a good few minutes contemplating Demi he started to talk:

“The men of dragon blood were a very powerful kin, which does not exist anymore for over 300 years, more or less. Millenia ago, they mingled their blood with dragons blood through an agreement never revealed and a secret ritual. Shaian and Ulmur were representatives of the two races that started the union, which had to be renewed every thousand years, because the power of the dragon’s blood weakened with time in the dirty blood of men. Something went wrong in the Last Renovation and the human representative of the ritual was murdered. No one knows the name of that human, as though it was the reign of King Tomus, he was found dead in his castle and lore said that the body found was a woman. It is supposed to be his queen, but no one was ever really interested in this matter.

Haryn paused to take a sip of his hornmug and Demi asked more questions.

– But who would want to murder the men of dragon blood? And why? Who could want that? And the dragons, what they did?

– They did nothing, what would they do? There was nothing to be done. The dragons hid in fear of being murdered and waited to see what this creature would do. However nothing has been done and nothing happened. Then the reign needed a new king and a scribe loyal to Tomus took over as king. He was the only survivor with acceptable knowledge to rule. With the shock of seeing the entire royal family assassinated there were no objections to that. Thus began a new royal line. Not nearly as noble as the previous one and with only one-tenth of the longevity of those dragon’s blood, but it is what we have got.

– But who? Who would be willing and able to kill all the line? And why?

– Pshaw! No one knows that, brat! When Auri, the Scribe, took the kingdom he said he would be watching, but luckily for him nothing happened until his death. I would like to see what Auri feather hand would do against Tomus’ killer. Ha! I really wanted to see! Many people has gone missing since all this happened, although nothing that deserved much attention. Some people argue that that evil creature is still amongst us and up to something, but if that is true or not I do not know and frankly do not care.

– Do not care or is afraid? – Demi said mischievously.

His eyes flashed dangerously towards her and this time he did not answer. None of what he had told was big news for Demi, however she needed to beat around the bush to ask what she really wanted to know.

– Wow, how do you know all this? Did you read?

– I have read.

– When you were young?

– When I could.

– How old are you?

– Older than you – said Haryn getting up and leaving. At the door he shouted: – Tell Josh to meet me at the village’s entrance in an hour, would you?

– He is busy, I do not know if he can make it.

– Just give him the message!

– Hey, wait! Just one more question!

He stopped impatiently.

– Yes?

– Why the dragons did not make a new agreement with Auri?

Haryn stared at her for a good while before he said:

– Because they did not like his hair colour – and left slamming the door.

This is chapter 1 of one of my books (continue under read more) and I’m putting it on here in the hopes that someone will read and give me some feedback.

Also you all know about my financial problems so if you can share this with my Patreon link I would really appreciate. There are some public stuff on there so if you have the time please have a look and consider helping.

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CHAPTER 4 (Patrons only)

The weeks before Fitftday passed quickly to Demi with all the sewing she needed to do, all the trouble convincing Artie to not wear the golden cloak in the closure party and her working in the tavern. She did not see the time passing. The fact Haryn was absent also helped that because without his scowl around the environment became much more pleasant in Demi’s opinion. Two days before the Fiftday at the end of her shift Moren told that at least two storytellers would narrate the story of the Last Renewal and finally reveal the secret ritual of the dragons. Every Fiftday at least five storytellers and even some minstrels show up clamming to reveal the dragon’s secret ritual and everyone goes to hear, including Josh and Haryn. Every year Demi always choose her favourite version and then hit the scrolls trying to confirm its veracity, but this never resulted in any discovery and so Haryn would always call here a moron for even thinking about believing all that bullshit. Her favourite version was the one told last year: the dragon swallowed the representative of men and then spit him in a burst of fire. Demi was anxious to see what crazy story they would invent this time.

In the next day Josh dismissed her from work to finish Bernie’s and Artie’s outfits in time. Bernie’s had to climb the stair at least two times to prove his vest, until he was completely satisfied. As always, he thanked Demi with a big hug and a touch on her nose with his snout. She loved it. Now Artie was not so easy. As he could not go up and Lot, the blacksmith, did not allow him to go to the tavern during working hours, Demi had to take his cloak to him. Fortunately the cloak was perfect and she did not have to go all the way again. Like her dress, Artie’s cloak was white with red and black branches on the fringes.

– How did you like it, Artie?

– Wow! Oh mine! Wow! – Was all that Artie could say as he turned to all sides and tried a quick trot to see how the cover would be at the wind.

– I’m happy you liked it. See, now you have this lovely cloak, the cream-colored one to the closure and the golden outfit to wear whenever you want.

– My golden cloak is already done?

– No, not yet. I prioritized tomorrow’s outfits, but it is almost done.

– Can I stop by to see it latter?

– Sure, Artie. Now let me take the cloak back home. I still have to make some adjustments at the clothes to the closure party and Lot is already trowing a sulk, look.

– Sure… see you later. – said Artie as he approached Demi, who took his cloak and went back home prancing. In the distance you could already see the large pavilion, almost ready for the merchants. Demi could not imagine greater happiness than the one she was feeling at the moment.

On the night that preceded the start of Fiftday the tavern had always a smaller movement and at eight o’clock Josh had already closed the doors and left to help in the final preparations of the pavilion. Demi, Artie e Bernie gathered in the shed at the bottom of the tavern which, for the next two weeks would be Artie’s and Bernie’s house. All Fiftday they did that, it was easier that way. Demi, after making sure that the outfits were impeccable, went down to arrange the last details with her friends. As she was leaving for the side door she collided with a large and strong figure. Before she could scream he clapped her mouth and said:

– No screaming.

It was Haryn. Stupid and muffler Haryn. Demi’s heart was racing and beyond scared she was very, very angry.

– Are you crazy? How could you think you could do this, you moron?

– Do what, exactly? Open and close doors and pass by it? I think so.

– You damn-ass! You almost scared me to death!

– Seriously? I thought you were brave and were not afraid of anything. – He said in a mocking voice.

– You are a jerk, a fucking jerk! And I will tell Josh about this.

– Uh! Now I am scared. Where is he? I need to talk to him.

Demi thought about not answering, to turn her back and pretend he did not exist, but she knew that if she did that Josh would be disappointed. So she took a deep breath and reply:

– He is in the pavilion.

Haryn turned around and left, without a word, and she still shaken by the scare yelled:

– Why did you come back, huh? Nobody misses you. You should never return.

He stopped, gave that hideous grin, and replied:

– Missed you, brat. – And he kept walking.

Demi could not believe the audacity of that hateful man. She would talk to Josh. At least he would have to tell her why she had to tolerate Haryn. He owe me at least that. Her blood was yet boiling with fury, so it took some while before she left and went to the shed to meet her friends.

The Fiftday finally arrived. Demi woke up anxious and happy and chose a light dress for the day, it was hot. Josh had already left, so she ran to wake up Artie and Bernie, but both were already up and cheerful.

– It is so damn hot! I will not wear clothes during the day so my party outfit will stand out even more at night. – said Bernie.

– So cocky, Bernie.

– Gee! I can use my golden cloak, can I, Demi?

– No, Artie. It is warm and in this sun you will blind people with that thing.

– I do not understand all this nagging about my cape.

– I am not nagging, I only think that it does not suit you.

– After the Fiftday I will wear it every day just to taunt you.

– I know.

– If you have already finished to pick on each other, can we go?

– Sure!

When the three friends arrived at the pavilion the stone clock on the center had not marked ten am yet, but there were many people and more coming. Many merchants have had their tents set up and many more would come.

Bernie was already standing on the front of a honey tent and Demi and Artie knew he would spend quite some time there.

Come on, Artie, let’s take a look in those fabrics, if Bernie need some money he will find us.

And so they spent the morning. They lunched in the food tents because it was the only chance they had to eat typical food from distant places. There were fruits only found in the north and there were strange meats. But all of it was delicious.

In the afternoon they continued their reckoning of the tents and its spices and other goods. One of those had a collection of stones of different colors and sizes. Sure there were sapphires and emeralds, but also stones that were not jewels, which were used only to decorate the house and Demi loved those.

One was a lot like Demi’s red hair and Bernie was blown away with the resemblance.

– Demi, you must buy this one – it is so you. If you do not buy it, I will buy it for you.

Demi was staring at the stone and seemed not to hear Bernie. It didn’t even look like a stone, it was like a very thick piece of red glass, very red.

– Where does this stone come from? – Asked Demi.

– It comes from one of the high mountains of the dragons, girl. My husband found it in one of his trips and when asked by a traveler he swore it was from the dragon’s mountains. He swore, girl.

– All right, never mind, it was just curiosity. I will take it.

– Very good, very good. Anything else?

– Yes, I will take these black and blue stones that are similar too.

– Very good, very very good, child. It is three coins.

When they moved away from the tent, the woman was looking at the three friends with eyes full of curiosity, but none of them noticed that, because they were jabbering about what they shopped in their day of festivity.

– Well, looks like it is time to take our acquisitions home and prepare for the opening party. – Demi said.

– Already?

Demi laughed. – Artie, we still have fourteen days of Fiftday, you will have time enough.

– I know, but the first day is the best it is so cool.

– Yet the party is coolest. Lets go, I have to wash my hair.

It was past four o’clock when they reached the tavern and found Josh and Haryn talking quietly. Demi hugged Josh and pretended not to see Haryn, who was with his mocking smile as usual.

– How was the first day? Did you bought anything? – Josh asked.

– Just some little things. Everyone knows the merchants keep the best for the end.

– True.

– Well, I will help Artie to take a shower and then I have to wash my hair.

– Sure have, it does not even look like red anymore, but brown because it is so dirty. – Haryn said, with a smile.

Demi did not reply, just gave him a stare that would have paralyzed a dragon and for a moment she thought she saw his smile break and a glimpse of fear in his eyes, but that was only an impression. Josh was quiet, he only nodded his head to the stubbornness of those two.

After helping Artie – and even Bernie – to get clean and fragrant, Demi went upstairs to take her bath. She was supposed to meet them at seven. Aisni, a village girl that was friends with Demi, would help her with her hair. For the first time she decided to do something with it for the party. Her original plan was to braid it with ribbons, but Aisni suggest something different and Demi loved it.

When the girls went down, Artie and Bernie were already waiting. Artie wearing his white cloak and his shining fur and Bernie with his black and white vest over his clean and brushed brown reddish fur. Haryn and Josh also were ready to go. Josh as usual was pretty well dressed, but with simplicity and Haryn did not seemed to have taken a bath or changed his clothes. Everyone looked when Demi came because she was stunning. Her white dress was made from a drawing she had seen in a history book about the lineage of the men of dragon blood. It was white with red branches on the hem and on the tip of the sleeves, a modest cleavage and long and wide sleeves from the elbow. Her hair looked like waves of red with thin white ribbons.

Demi was elate with the way Artie e Bernie looked at her and Josh was delighted with his child. So much that you could see a tear wanting to jump out of his eyes, but what dazed her the most was the look she saw in Haryn’s eyes. She did not know what that was, but for the first time she felt he was not mocking her. This lasted only a few seconds, because Haryn turned on and walked out.

– My daughter, you are beautiful!

– Really, Demi, you look like a princess. – Bernie said. – And you too, Aisni, are very pretty.

The girls laughed. Aisni have a golden hair that fell in well-defined curls until up half of her back and wore a blue dress that look like the sky. She tied her hair half-up half-down with a ribbon that matched her dress.

– Thank you! But you are only saying that because you are my friends. Aisni is really lovely.

– Well, Demi, right back at you! There is no problem. We are all very beautiful and we are going to the party!

Everyone nodded excited and left. Haryn was not at sight, but when they approached the central tent, where the party would take place, Josh pulled back and found him near one of the large trunks that supported the tent. Demi looked at Haryn, still not understanding what had happened just before, and yet she felt even more uncomfortable, even though he had not even cast a glance in her direction since. Anyway it was a party day and she did not want to spoil things thinking in that unpleasant man.

Many people were already coming to the celebration, all well dressed. The opening and closing parties of Fiftday were the only ones that took place in the village, so almost everyone were there, even the sick made an effort to be there.

The group of friends hang out near a tent that sell mead and everyone bought a cup. While they were drinking, laughing and chatting the band began to play; soon after Ethan invited Demi to dance and so she went. Then Bunn appeared and asked Aisni to dance while Artie and Bernie were squirming in their seats and calling that dance.

– Wow, Demi, you are so beautiful! – said Ethan.

– Thank you, Ethan. – she replied, blushing. She liked Ethan and knew he liked her, but she was too shy to admit it to him or to anyone else, including herself. Either way she was glad to know that he liked the way she was.

Demi danced three songs with Ethan and then got back to her friends. Aisni was there too and the girls were all secrets and giggles.

– What the hell do you whisper so much? It sure must be very very funny.

– Actually, Artie, we are talking about very serious stuff.

– Sure, like we do not know you are talking about boys.

– We are not! No way! – said Demi, blushing. She did not want that her friends thought she was a silly girl who wanted a boyfriend.

– It is alright, Demi. – Bernie said. – It is normal that you will want to talk about boys.

– But I am not! – She said even more embarrassed.

– Then lets not talk about that anymore! – Bernie said. But he and Artie were still having a blast with it, because they knew how Demi was angry about these subjects.

– Artie and I will take a walk, be back soon.

After they left, Aisni asked her:

– Why didn’t you tell them?

– I do not like to talk with them about that. They would not understand.

– Of course they would, Demi. Admit it, you are ashamed.

– No way! It’s just it’s not their business.

Aisni knew Demi very well so she knew that she would never admit it, but it was funny to see how blushed she was because people knew exactly what she wanted to hide.

– Come on, Aisni, let’s take a walk too.

They started to circulate among people. However they did not saw any signal of Artie and Bernie or even Josh, but Haryn was yet in the same spot, talking with an outsider, probably a merchant. He seemed unconcerned and almost happy. Demi had never seen him like that. She kept watching him for a while until Haryn turned around and looked at her and the contempt was again in those eyes. Demi pretended not to care and kept walking, looking at the other side.

Short after that Ethan showed up asking to speak to Demi. Aisni encouraged her to go and left. Ethan gave Demi a red flower that made her turn the same color.

– That is lovely.

– That is for you to remember me when you are at home.

– I do. – she said hastily and immediately regretted. – I remember all my friends. – she complemented awkwardly

– I know – he said and he was smiling – Demi, you know I like you, right?

She did, but she would not tell him that. In fact she did not know what to say. She opened her mouth and closed it again, she looked away and saw that Bunn was also talking to Aisni, who was smiling. Did all Buruma kids decided to profess their love today? When Demi looked again to Ethan he was much more closer and before she realized it he was kissing her.

It was a quick kiss, but it felt like an eternity to Demi. It was her first kiss; she had been kissed for the first time and she liked it. She summoned up the courage to look at him. He was smiling and was holding her hands – although she could not remember when it had happened. She smiled back.

Demi had never thought about having a boyfriend, at least not one that was not a great minstrel or storyteller who had traveled the world. Yet now she was there with someone that made her feel different, someone she would not mind to call boyfriend. While all of this was crossing her mind she saw, over Ethan’s shoulder, Haryn looking directly at her. Once more he had that smile that mocked her and Demi instantaneously knew that he had seen it all. She was upset and let Ethan’s hand go.

– Is everything okay?

– Yes, it is nothing. Let’s take a walk?

– Sure.

Demi could see that Ethan was confused, but she needed to walk away from Haryn’s side, so she walked fast and Ethan had to hurry to catch up.

– Did I did something wrong, Demi? If I did, I am sorry.

– No, you did not do anything wrong. – She said still walking fast. When they were far enough from Haryn she stopped. She was very annoyed. Why should Haryn ruin everything? That moment only concerned her, her and Ethan, why he had to be there and spoil everything?

– Demi, what is it?

– Nothing. I was just surprised, that is all. Sorry, Ethan. – She sat on a nearby trunk.

– You do not need to apologize. It is alright if you do not feel the same about me. – He said with a sorrowful voice.

– No. No, it’s not that. Like I told you, I was just surprised. I… I like you too, Ethan. – she murmured and blushed.

– Do you?

– Yes.

He was smiling again. – Can I sit with you then?

– Of course you can.

After a while she had forgotten about Haryn and all. They were there talking for a long time until they realized that the music had stopped, which meant that it was time for the stories. Then they came nearby the stage and Demi said goodbye to Ethan. Just ahead were Aisni, Artie and Bernie.

– Where were you? – questioned Bernie.

– Out there. – Aisni knew she was with Ethan and they looked at each other with a smile. However there was no time for questions because the minstrel was on stage and had strummed his harp.

There were always a musician and a storyteller for which night of the Fifday and, as expected, the minstrel of the opening night would recite a story about the Last Renewal ritual. He said that it was the true story of the ritual which had been told to him by one of the Dragons of the north. All was silent and so he began.

He sang about the threats and wars between men of old and dragons and also about how they had reached an agreement to unite their blood, although he did not explain what the dragons gained with this union. Then he told about the ritual: a macabre dance in which the man would have to mutilate his own body and throw himself in a bonfire burning with dragon’s flames. And when the spirit of the man left his body it would be trapped in a bottle full of dragon’s blood. To renew the covenant, the kingdom’s heir should drink from that bottle. At the Last Renewal, the messenger who brought the bottle was ambushed and killed by an errant group, he said, and that was what went wrong then. This terrible song also said that such misfortune occurred because the one who would participate of the ritual was a woman, not a man.

Demetria looked at Josh and Haryn and both of them were having fun with that rubbish presentation. People applauded, most likely out of pity and not for any other reason. It was the worst version that Demi had ever heard.

– What the hell was that? He completely ignored the fact that Tomus was murdered on the same day, but invented this bullshit about the messenger’s accident. Seriously? A spirit trapped in a bottle of blood? Even the dragon barbecue version is more acceptable.

– I agree. That was the most idiotic version I had ever heard. – said Artie.

– My father tells that when he was a boy he heard of a version that said that a man and a dragon held hands and gave one hundred little hops together. – Aisni said and the four friends roared with laughter and only managed to stop when the storyteller was beginning his tale.

He told about a damsel that had fell in love with an enemy warrior. Demi had listened that story a million times, because everyone liked to tell it. However, for the first time she did not mind listening a love tale. Her heart was touched by the fate of the lovers and she wondered what the hell did Ethan do to her. Either way she was happy.

They said goodbye to Aisni, who went home with her family, and the three friends returned to the tavern. Demi was hoping that Haryn was not there, because she did not want to see him. It was eleven o’clock by the time they got home. Josh was there but not Haryn to Demi’s relief.

– So, how about tonight? Did you like it?

Everyone started talking at the same time. Josh smiled knowing that, as always, they had loved everything. Well almost everything.

– My goodness, what was that version of the ritual?

Josh smiled. – One of the worst I heard, I think. It wasn’t even well plotted.

They remembered the version of the little jumps and everyone started laughing again.

– Sure, I heard that, said Josh. – I remember that the poor minstrel could not finish his song because of the public’s laughter.

– Which was the best version you have ever heard, Josh? – Bernie asked.

He thought for a few minutes before answering:

– I think it was one I heard when I was still very young, and was not living here yet. It was a version that spoke of the invocation of a powerful spirit, but I do not remember it correctly, I should have written it down.

– Sounds a good one – Artie replied and after a moment when they were all pensive, Bernie said:

– Well, I think we should sleep because tomorrow will be a busy day and we still have fourteen versions to listen to.

– Yep, it is true. Goodnight to all and see you tomorrow. We can go a little later tomorrow, right, Demi?

– Sure.

After they left, Demetria remained there and Josh asked her if there was something wrong.

– No, nothing. – answered Demi. She did not like to hide anything from Josh, but she did not want to tell him about Ethan. Not now, maybe another day. Anyway as she was talking with Josh she decided to ask about Haryn.

– Dad, why are you even friends with Haryn?

– This again.

– You never gave me an answer.

– I like him.

– But why? He is ignorant, insensitive and irritating.

– Daughter, Haryn is nothing like that, you just do not know him very well.

– Of course I do! I have known him since I can remember.

– Not the same Haryn that I know. And that is enough of that! I know my words will not convince you of anything but I guarantee that one day you will change your mind about him.

– That won’t happen.

– I know that you think that. Good night, Demetria.

– Goodnight.

Demi was pissed again. Her father would never tell her nothing about Haryn and that was annoying. She could not understand that. Haryn was probably fooling her poor dad. Either way, as she was climbing to her room, her mind flew to Ethan and more pleasant thoughts and she remembered how good it was to have someone who liked her. It was a good feeling that drove her to sleep, despite Haryn.

When Demetria woke up she was startled. She had dreamed about the story told the night before: but in her dream she was the damsel and Haryn was the warrior. She was mad at herself for dreaming such a silly thing and was convinced that this nonsense was motivated by Josh’s words. She tried to forget that stupid dream but she could not, especially when she went dawn for coffee and found Haryn talking to Josh.

– Good morning, little brat! Are you alright?

The mocking tone of his voice was even bigger today. Demi did not answer. She walked through the tavern giving up her coffee and going to meet her friends. But they were not there.

– Where are Artie and Bernie?

– They have already gone. I was going to tell you but you passed like a rain. They asked to warn you that since you were taking too long to wake up they were going to wait for you in the pavilion.

– In the pavilion? But it was their idea to sleep until later!

– Demetria, it is almost two o’clock in the afternoon.

Demetria froze. She could not believe that she slept so much, particularly because it was such a poor quality of sleep as it produced such an unpleasant dream.

– It seems like so many kisses last night stunned you, eh, brat. – Haryn said clearly amusing himself.

Demetria was about to kill him. What right he think he had to discuss her life like that?

– Fuck off, Haryn! – She said slamming the door.

– Why did you tease her so much?

– It is fun.

– She hates you.

– I know. And she must be hating me even more right now. – Haryn said with a sorrowful look.

– Probably. And if I did not know you I would say that is exactly what you want.

Haryn looked at him but did not reply.

Demi left the tavern and began to cry. How such horrible man could exist? How could he ruin everything? She sat on a log and cried out all her anger. When she raised her eyes Artie and Bernie were there.

– How long have you been there?

– Since you left the tavern. What happened, Demi? – Bernie asked sitting down next to her. Artie was just in front of her.

Demi realized that if she was going to tell they about what had just happened she would have to tell about the previous night and she did not know if she wanted that. However as Aisni had said they were her friends and they had the right to know.

– Ethan kissed me yesterday.

– We know.

– How?

– We saw it.

– Did you? But… oh, okay. So, Haryn saw it too. And you know how horrible he is. He just told Josh about it.

– But… you think Josh would not be fine with that?

– It is not that! He has no right to talk about my life. He is a detestable and disgusting man and I hate him, hate!

– Calm down, Demi. He likes to tease you. If you did not pay attention to him he will stop, you will see.

– But I can’t!

– Well, you have to try, right? After all Josh likes him and Haryn will still be around for some time.

– And how could you know that? Demi asked, annoyed. – He could die tomorrow or today!

– If that is what you want to believe, fine.

Demi was pissed off with her friends now. They should take her side and agree with her and insult Haryn with her, but no. They preferred to try do get her to forget and let it go. She stood up wiping her eyes and left without saying a word. Both of them followed her and they knew that she would be in a bad mood all day long.

After they have silently walked for a while, Aisni showed up and Artie and Bernie decided to take a walk to leave the girls alone. Demi told Aisni what had happened and she emphatically agreed with Demi who felt a little better. After that the conversation returned to the adventures of the previous night. Aisni told Demi that Bunn had asked her to be his girlfriend and that she had accepted. Demi was very happy about that and then she told Aisni about Ethan. Aisni was sure that he would ask Demi too.

– Will you accept?

Demi thought about how well she felt about him and the change that she had felt last night before answering.

– Yes, I think so.

The two friends walked until they found an agglomerate of people gathered around Bernie. He was telling one of his stories: the one of a great magician that had grown tired of his spells and decided to live in the mountains with giant birds. Demi knew the story, even so she stopped to listen, because Bernardo’s voice was somehow magical and could charm anyone, even those who already have listened to him before. All those people around Bernie were looking at him with great admiration and no one could hear a single sound but his voice.

When he finished everyone applauded and asked for more stories, but he said that that was enough for a day. Demi approached him to apologize for her previous behavior but before she could say anything he said:

– No need to apologize.

She stopped and looked at him curiously. He started to laugh and opened his arms.

– You stubborn girl!

She ran to hug him. – You silly bear!

Aisni and Artie were talking excitetedly as they got close to Demi and Bernie. Demi turned to try to apologize to Artie but he also rapidly said that there was no need.

– What is the matter with you two?

– Simple! We just know you too well.

– Apparently more that you should have.

– Oh you have no idea!

Everyone laughed.

The afternoon casted its last lights but tonight no one would go home. The night fell and the lamps began to be lit and the stars were already shining in the sky. It was however a moonless night. Ethan and Bunn arrived and Artie e Bernie gave then some alone time with the girls.

That night Demi did not care if anyone would see her holding hands with Ethan. Josh already knew, her friends knew too and that was what mattered. As Aisni had foreseen, Ethan asked Demi to be his girlfriend that night and she said yes. That night they did not hear the ritual version or some story. Not that night or any other of that week.

In the next week, Josh would open the tavern but as always he dismissed Demi and Bernie of any work. Yet when was time for the stories he was always there. It was his greatest pleasure to hear the absurd versions of the last ritual. Demi suspected that he kept a record of all the versions he heard after having forgotten his favourite.

On the first night of the second week, even Demi and Ethan went to hear the stories, as it was in the last week that the best singers performed. On the second night, the minstrel chanted a song about an ancient war and everyone was keen to hear the story as they knew it would be about the Last Renovation. Until that moment of the Fiftday there had not been stories about that, only songs so the expectations were great. Even Josh and Haryn looked anxious and exchanged some meaningful looks.

When the narrator took the stage there was absolute silence and Bernardo let out a low roar.

– What is the matter, Bernie?

– I do not know, but there is something about this guy.

The minstrel had black hair and black eyes but was pale as the moon. He was wearing plain blue clothes and Demi could not see anything that stood up in him but she believed in her friend and immediately disliked him because bear’s eyes were more argute than human’s.

When he started to talk his voice was like a mesmerizing song and no one could look away or stop listening:

A long time ago there was a very wise and powerful being and he walked freely through the mountains and forests of our world. He served no one and was a friend to all and for that reason his soul was ashed to see two of his favorite peoples at war: men and dragons. Being so wise he decided to propose an agreement between both, an alliance. They would bound themselves through blood and thus they would never make war against each other again. With this blood alliance men’s life would be longer, they would be more beautiful and powerful and would also have access to the knowledge of the nature and the world that only the dragons possessed. On the other hand, the dragons would gain all the knowledge acquired by men through the reading of scrolls for years and years and the wisdom that came from such knowledge, they would also gain the potential to have sentiments, to love, and the capacity to think rationally. The dragons were not entirely convinced that the alliance was worth it but Ulmur, the Great, persuaded them that above all they would have peace. The price of the alliance however was high. Both Ulmur and Shaian, the high king of man, would have to sacrifice themselves to make the union possible. No one ever knew how this wiseman convinced them to agree to it but the sacrifice was made and the union between races was done. About this initial ritual I can tell you nothing but it must be symbolically renewed every thousand years when the moon appears into the sky crowned by the five stars of life. So, every thousand years, a human and a dragon representative both females will meet each other on the Union Glade where the wiseman would evoke Ulmur’s and Shaian’s spirit with a drop of blood of each of the representatives and some litany in a strange language only known by the wiseman himself. When the spirits show up the human should make a decision: to gestate the child in her womb or put her in a dragon’s egg. If she chose the first option all she had to do was receive the breath of Ulmur and Shaian. But if she pick the second option she would have to sacrifice herself – like Ulmur and Shaian did – to guarantee a secure gestation in a safe dragon egg which would hatch when it was time. Not before nor after. For this reason the chosen female dragon was picked among those who have recently hatched an egg, for she had to bring her last hatched egg to the ritual and was fundamental that it was no part missing in it. When this was the path chosen by the human she would have to kill herself with a specific dagger brought by the wiseman and her blood would have to be collected in the dragon’s egg. Only then Ulmur and Shayan would blow the egg. This option had never been chosen until the Last Renovation. Tomus already knew the danger that was upon his lineage although the source of his knowledge had never been discovered. Some think that the bound with the dragon’s blood was behind this, but we will never know. The fact is that when he had to send his queen to the ritual he already had a plan to save at least one of his lineage. He sent with her a maid that was very much alike his wife and this woman should return as his pregnant queen after choosing the first option. Tomus knew that the ones who wanted to exterminate his line had knowledge about the ritual and he also knew that they would be waiting for his wife to murder her and his heir shortly after having killed him in his castle. But the queen decided to sacrifice herself choosing the second option and placing her child safely in a dragon’s egg. And so was her maid who was sent to death as if she were the queen. That was how at least one descendent of the lineage of dragon’s blood was saved. If the egg has already hatched I can not tell you but I can assure you that you have heard for the first time the true story about the ritual between dragons and men.

No one applauded. People did not even seem to breath. The minstrel bowed and left the stage. Bernie and Artie were silent and exchanged a look, and Demi realized that they were astonished.

– What is it?

– Demi, we need to go home now! – Artie said.

– Why? What is it?

– Nothing, Demi. – Said Bernie calmly. – But like I said there is something off with this guy and this story pissed me off. Can we go home, please?

– But that was the best version I have ever heard. It also looks like that one that Josh forgot. – Demi said looking around for Josh but he was not there. – Where is Josh?

– He had already gone home, can we go?

– Yes, but I need to find Aisni, she will stay at my place tonight.

– You must go with Artie and I will find her and take her home. – Bernie said.

Demi was completely lost but she did not argue because she noted that her friends were on edge and even she, without knowing why, was feeling restless. She was still holding hands with Ethan who did not understand a thing.

– Can I walk you home?

– I think so.

Demi, Artie and Ethan went to the tavern and as they approached they heard voices inside. Artie came inside to let Demi say goodbye to Ethan.

– Well, I guess I have to go. See you tomorrow then.

– See you. – But Ethan did not seem to want to leave.

Demi kissed him on his right cheek then his left and then his lips.

– Until then. Goodnight!

Demi was feeling sad but she did not know why. Maybe it was just her friend’s commotion but she wanted to cry. Before she reached the tavern’s door Bernie showed up with Aisni and they all went in together. Josh and Haryn were murmuring fast and Artie was attentive to their conversation when Demi and the others entered the room. They immediately stopped.

– Demi, I am glad you are here. You must be tired.

– No, I want to know what is going on.

– Not today. It is late and it is no big deal. – Haryn said and gave her a meaningfully look, without mockery and without calling her a brat. Demi knew that she would not hear anything from them that night.

– Okay then. Let’s go to sleep, Aisni.

Aisni was a little bit confused but she had no idea of what was happening so she accompanied her friend up the stairs wishing a goodnight to everyone.

– What are they arguing about?

– Nothing much, it must be to decide if they will open the tavern tomorrow.

– Ah. Today’s version was any good? I did not hear it.

– It was okay. – Demi did not know what to say. She thought that all the fuzz and apprehension were about the story and she did not want to talk about it with Aisni.

– Wow, I am really tired, are you? – said Demi.

– Oh goodness! I am whacked. – Answered Aisni.

Demi gave Aisni the bed and laid down on the straw mattress beside the wall. She was thinking that she would not be able to sleep but she did not remain awake for long. She must have been very tired after all.

In the middle of the night she woke up with Haryn shaking her:

– Demi, wake up! Wake up damn it!

– What is it?

– You have five minutes to get some things. We are going on a trip.

– What do you mean? Who? Where are we going?

– No time for questions right now, hurry up or you will regret it.

– I cannot just leave Aisni here.

Haryn looked at her for a moment and after a curse agreed:

– Alright, wake her up and bring some clothes for her too. Do not forget to get some winter clothes and some food.

Demi did not have time to ask anything else and by Haryn’s tone and the fact that he called her Demi she knew there was no time for stubbornness.

She woke Aisni up and with as few explanations as possible convinced her that they were going to do something unusual and fun and that it was a surprise. She took what she could, according to Haryn’s instructions, and then she went downstairs to warn her friends about it but they were already waiting for her.

– Are you going too?

– Sure. Are you ready?

– I am. I think so...

At that moment, Haryn hurried out and said:

– Let’s go. Josh will meet us later. Come on.

It was still dark and there were many stairs in the sky and there were much time before dawn. Everyone seemed in a hurry, so Demi also hurried, making Aisni keep up.

After walking about twenty minutes they were almost leaving the village. It was then that Demi looked back and saw a very bright light.

– What is that?

No one answered.

– Haryn, what is that? – she yelled.

– Fire.

– We need to go back and warn them, it is spreading and it will get into the houses! – Demi was desperate but no one else seemed to care, other than Aisni, who was terrified now.

– We need to go back now! – Demi yelled, and stood still. Haryn turned around looked into her eyes and said:

– They are all already dead, Demi. There is nothing we can do about it.

#my writing #patreon #writers #book #help

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joyful-soul-collector · 4 years

Text

Something Soft

@sunlight-and-starskies asked: HAPPY 300 FOLLOWERS!!!!!!!!! That’s so amazing and you deserve all of them and more!!!!! Can I request just,,, something soft for Pearl Thief? Just my kids safe and happy and fed 🥺 Congrats again!!!!!!! 💖💖

Thank you for this request! You asked for something soft, so here is Something Soft :D

300 Follower Celebration!

“You cold little buddy?” Loch jumped at the sound of Artie’s voice. The water below the dock had been so interesting that he’d tuned out Tatum and Art’s voices into the background, focusing only on how the light shifted and moved on the surface of the ocean. He kinda wanted to jump in, he was shivering in the cold breeze and the water always feels warm to him, but Tatum’s hand was holding him around the middle, keeping him secured in his lap.

“C-cold,” Loch echoed, his teeth chattering a little as he turned to face Art. He didn’t know why he was so cold, Tatum and Artie weren’t shivering, and Tatum’s arm was really warm on his belly, but for some reason those little bumps on his arms wouldn’t go away.

Artie laughed, and for a second Loch frowned, thinking Artie was laughing at him, but when he looked at Tatum he realized Artie was just being silly or something. Tatum was smiling, so maybe Artie said something funny that Loch didn’t hear, but whatever it was Loch didn’t really care cuz Artie was pulling off his green hoodie and handing it to him.

“That’s sweet of you, Art,” Tatum said. He helped Loch pull the hoodie over his head and push his arms through the sleeves. The hoodie was huge on Loch, the sleeves bunching all the way up to the shoulder just to let his little hands poke out, and when he put on the hood it fell to his nose. Tatum laughed, and Loch could feel the sound of it vibrating from Tatum’s chest against his back. Loch snuggled further into the hoodie as well as further against Tatum’s torso, the warmth of the fabric and the warmth of his brother making him feel like he was sitting in the comfiest cloud ever.

“Now what do we say, Loch?” Tatum asked.

“This is the softest thing ever!” Loch squealed, ignoring Tatum’s prompt. Tatum and Art laughed, and went back to talking.

Soooo warm, Loch thought, the fluffy inside of the hoodie making him feel a little sleepy.

Well, he would be sleepy if his tummy wasn’t making that noise again. It wasn’t actually making any sound, at least any that could be heard over the ocean waves, but he could feel his belly grumbling a little against the fabric of the hoodie. He almost told Tay he was hungry, but decided against it. It was only growling a little bit. They weren’t big noises yet, only little tiny ones. He couldn’t even hear them! He didn’t have to eat until the noises got louder, until the hollow feeling wasn’t just a faint tickle below his ribs. Then he’d tell Tay.

Loch instead focused on the strings attached to the hood, twisting them in his fingers and chewing on the ends for a minute, before turning to ask Art what the strings were actually for, only to find the seat next to him empty.

“Where’d Artie go?” Loch asked, looking up at Tatum’s face right above him.

“He went to get you a snack,” Tatum said, giving Loch a small smile. Loch frowned.

“How did Artie know I was hungry?”

“I told him.”

“How did you know?”

“Magic.”

Loch frowned up at Tatum, who smiled and gave him a little kiss on the head.

“Kidding. I could feel your tummy growling silly,” Tatum said, and it was only when he gave Loch’s belly a little rub that Loch remembered Tatum still had his arm around him.

“Ohhhhhh,” Loch said, letting his head fall back against Tatum’s chest. “Tummy’s growling.”

“Yep.”

“But not a lot,” Loch said quickly, suddenly a little worried Tatum thought he was really hungry. “My tummy isn’t that hungry, I promise.”

“Heh, don’t worry, I know,” Tatum said.

“It’s only a lil bit hungry.”

“I know.”

“So I don’t need snacks.”

Tatum didn’t say anything for a moment, then he hugged Loch a little closer to his chest and rested his chin on Loch’s curls.

“You can have snacks even if you’re only a little bit hungry, Loch,” he said. “Snacks are supposed to be for when you’re a little bit hungry. You don’t have to be really hungry to eat them.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You tell me when you’re a little bit hungry, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.”

A second later Art arrived with a crinkly plastic tube full of crackers, and Tatum held a few for Loch while he ate them, licking the crumbs off his lips before selecting another cracker from the stack in Tatum’s hand. The noises in Loch’s belly stopped after the third or fourth cracker, but Tatum kept handing food to him so he decided it was okay to keep eating. In fact, Loch didn’t stop until all the crackers were gone.

Loch almost panicked at the sight of the empty bit of plastic, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t saved anything for Tatum, but when he looked up he saw that his big brother was sharing a bag of chips with Art. Tatum offered him a couple, but by now Loch was so full he felt like he was about to fall asleep. He was so warm, and the hoodie was so soft, and his tummy was so full… yeah, falling asleep didn’t sound like a bad idea.

And with Tatum starting to hum and rock him back and forth, that’s exactly what Loch did.

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darknessisafriend · 5 years

Text

Babysitting

PenAndPencil23 requested: Reader needs to babysit one of her co-workers kids (4-5 years) for the day, she lives with Arthur, maybe Arthur is practically terrified of having a kid in his apartment, and having to take care of one instead of entertaining them, kid get attached to him, and doesn’t want to leave his side for the rest of the time they are here, just a bunch of praises for Arthur, saying how great he is with kids and how nice.

FLUFF

You settled on the couch to watch TV with Arthur, snuggling against his side as he passed an arm around your shoulders, nothing better after a long day of work.

“Tomorrow we´ll be taking care of kid here.” You announce him as the commercial break happened.

“Hmmm…” ‘Good’ you thought, he was taking it well, after all he likes children.

“What?” He exclaimed after a few seconds, realizing what you had just said, looking at you. You straighten to look at him in the eyes, arching an eyebrow.

“One of my colleagues, she has a last minute appointment outside of Gotham and she has no one to take care of her daughter…”

“What about her husband?”

“Not in Gotham either. And she doesn´t have money for a babysitter” You replied. He rejected his head on the back of the couch passing his hands on his face, taking a deep breath.

“Wow, what´s that? I thought you loved kids!”

“I do but it´s not the same Y/N, I make them laugh but here you have to take care of them, make sure, they…they eat, you always have to be after them so they don´t get hurt…what if I do something wrong?” he objects, starting to have a nervous laughter attack. You place you hand on his thigh, soothingly rubbing it.

“And you have to entertain them and you´re so good at this! Come on it´s going to be fun Artie…I promise.” His nervousness seems to calm down at these words. You gave him quick peck on the lips. He sighed.

“Fine…you know I can´t refuse you anything.” He added with a lovely smile. Happy with his reaction you gave him another kiss.

“How old is the kid?” he asked curiosity taking over.

“She´s 4 years old, her name´s Sarah...” he nodded, you knew that deep down he was looking forward to meeting the little girl.

The day after 7:30 am

“And here we are!” you said joyfully to Sarah as you entered your flat. Arthur who had been pacing in the living room; he stopped, passing a hand on his hair to make sure he was presentable. He looked at the little girl with wonder. It’s true that she was cute, she had chubby cheeks, blond hair tide in a beautiful braid, and she was wearing a pinkish sweater, white legging and little black leather shoes.

“Sarah, this is my sweetheart Arthur, but you can call him Artie.” Arthur slowly approached her and crouches down at her height.

“Hello…”she said shyly, putting one of her hand in front of her mouth.

“Hello.” He replied softly, giving her a sweet smile, you could tell he was already melting for her.

“Artie, can you look after her while I change clothes?” You declared as you headed for the bedroom. He suddenly stood up, looking nervous.

“But...but...”

“It´s going to be fine Artie…” you replied giving an encouraging smile as you left.

Arthur stood still, silent for several seconds, looking at the little girl, thinking of what to do. Sarah was looking around, curious and eager to explore this new place. Arthur looked at the little bag next to her.

“What´s in there?” he asked. Sarah excitedly opened it. Taking out each item to present it to Arthur.

“This is my bottle, this is Freddy my plushy, my story book with fairies and…”

Several minutes later

As you came back, you found all the content of her bag spread out on the floor; who knew she had all these things in her tiny backpack. From the corner of your eyes you spotted a dark head in the kitchen, Arthur was preparing something and Sarah was with him. He looked concentrated, pouring warm milk into her feeding bottle.

“Hmmm hot chocolate looks yummy!” you told the little girl, suddenly hungry.

“Y/N, isn´t it too warm? I think is too warm…” he jabbered, a little worried frown forming on his face. You took the bottle, checking the temperature on your wrist.

“Looks good to me, here you go darling.” You answered, giving the bottle to Sarah, watching her eagerly drink it.

“You sure? I don´t want her to burn her tongue…” You place your hand on his forearm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He was genuinely worried for her, which was really cute. You poured a cup of hot chocolate for you too and for Arthur.

Arthur continued like that the whole morning, making sure she wouldn´t trip on her toys, or that she couldn´t reach something that could be dangerous for her like his medication. But you knew nothing bad would happen because he’s had years of practice with his mom, he simply needed to be reassured.

He was being so dedicated to her, sitting crossed leg on the floor playing with her toys while making tiny voices, he was ADORKABLE.

12:30pm lunch time

“Sarah, your mom said you had to eat vegetables.” You softly reprimanded, the little girl cross her arms.

“No” she repeated in a final tone.

“Look it´s good!” you added after taking a bite of it, exaggerating your reaction.

“No” she said once again, pouting.

Ok now you felt helpless, and you wanted to be cool not strict, ‘what to do?’

“Well it´s the only thing you´ll get so if you´re hungry, eat it” you replied on the same tone, pouting too.

“Can I try something?” softly asks Arthur.

“Please do” you gave him the spoon. To your surprise he started to do the plane thing, agitating the spoon in the air, while making load of noises and funny faces. Then, he pretended to be attacked by the spoon so he ate it to defend himself. Making you and Sarah giggle, he reproduced the same action but this time the spoon was coming to her and once again to your surprise she accepted it, pretending to roar as she closed her mouth on it.

You looked at your lover dumbfounded, mouth agape. He had a triumphant smile, proud of his success. “My mom used to refuse food sometimes, so I had to be creative, not in this way but I get it…” he explained, rubbing his neck.

“See, you nailed it!” you replied, gently squeezing his hand.

After lunch the two of you washed the dishes, one sometimes stealing a kiss to the other, softly giggling. Then, you turned your head to check on Sarah.

“Where did you get that honey?” you asked her, smiling at the little girl, she was wearing Arthur´s clown nose. When Arthur´s eyes landed on her, he looked like he was melting at the sight of the kid. He looked at you silently asking for the authorization to do his gig.

“Have fun, I can finish cleaning” He gave you a big kiss on the cheek and crouched down.

“That´s my clown nose!” he exclaimed in a comic way, taking the prop and putting it onto his nose. He straightened and started to walk lifting graciously his legs up in the air, pretending to look for something, he went behind the sofa and looked like he was going downstairs. Sarah was next to you and she was amazed, she ran behind the sofa to join him and he wasn’t there anymore, you knew he had hidden farther away in the living room. Then he jumped like he was actually falling from the sky, Sarah was giggling, running after him, until they disappeared out of your sight.

“Not too many sweets Mr Carnival!” you instructed to Arthur from afar, knowing he was probably going make sweets appear out of nowhere.

While you were finishing cleaning, you could hear the happy squealing’s of Sarah and the exclamations of Arthur, it was nice to see your lover so overjoyed, he needed this.

“Want to watch cartoons?” you heard Arthur ask enthusiast, then you heard more laughter from Sarah and then running, to muffled noise of bodies crashing on the couch; you chuckled thinking that Arthur was probably as excited as Sarah for this, is childish side was peering up.

After a few minutes it was completely silent, apart from the cartoon and some soft giggles coming from Arthur.

So you went to see them, you were faced with the sweetest sight you´d ever seen. The little girl was asleep on Arthur’s lap snuggled against his chest, sucking her thumb, her other tiny hand firmly holding onto Arthur´s shirt. He was absorbed by the TV, absently rubbing the back of the kid. You slowly approached and kissed the top of his head, he had this look of pure happiness, he grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles.

“I think she likes you” you whispered tenderly. He gazed at her lovingly, then back to you.

“Jealous?” he replied grinning, ‘was it that obvious!?’

“Hum…maybe” you admitted, chuckling, you leaned towards him and gave him long and slow kiss, you backed up, but he tilted his head to give you one more.

“Yuck!” exclaimed Sarah interrupting you, the both of you burst out laughing.

The end of the afternoon was on the same rhythm; Sarah was full of energy, always running everywhere. You had to admit that you liked the mood she brought in your home but it was also exhausting, thankfully Arthur never ran out of ideas. Now she wanted to roleplay, you and Arthur sat in front of her, legs crossed, attentively listening to her.

“I am a princess!” she declared touching her chest, and then she pointed her finger at Arthur.

“Artie is a pwrince and Y/N you are a dwragon!” you opened your mouth shocked ´but why is it always me!?´ you thought, a bit jealous that she was taking Arthur all for herself. Arthur snorted, putting a hand on his mouth to hide is laugh, your face must have been priceless because Arthur couldn’t hold it anymore and lied down on the floor, holding his ribs. You gave him a gentle smack on the shoulder, then focused your attention on Sarah.

“Then, run little girl, cause I’m gonna eat you!” you declared trying to make a ferocious face, as you started to pursue the kid on all fours. You didn’t see the time pass between you climbing on every piece of furniture you could find, and Artie being a noble prince even when fighting you, the dragon, with gentleman manners and Sarah which acting skills were glorious.

Knock Knock

The three of you in the middle of the final battle turned your heads towards the sound. You checked the time on the clock and yes it was already the time where you colleague would pick up her daughter. You couldn’t help but sight, it was already over. You got up with Arthur and went to open the door.

“Hi!” you greeted your colleague.

“Hi! So how did the day go?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh it was amazing, she’s a ray of sunshine! Right Artie?” you answered with a big grin.

“Oh yeah, we had a lot of fun!” replied Arthur joyfully.

“Please come in, Sarah your mama’s here!” you called, expecting to find the little girl nearby. She was nowhere to be seen.

“Honey, where are you?” the mom calls, you quickly realized she probably didn’t want to leave and went hiding to stay with Arthur. You glanced at him and he understood. So he decided to play along, pretending to look under the couch, the table, behind the curtains…

“Where is she? Hmmmm…not here either…” he taped his chin with his index like he was deeply thinking “Nope, I can´t find her, that´s a shame…mama I think you´ll have to come back tomorrow” he added in a confident tone, you grinned at his talent with kids as you heard giggles, he headed towards the bedroom and looked under the bed, she was indeed hiding there.

“Come here, give Artie a big hug!” he asked with a pleading pout on his face. She slowly came out and jumped in his arms.

“Oh my god your man is so sweet!!!” your colleague squealed, moved by their complicity.

“Mama!” exclaimed Sarah as her mother hugged her.

“Mom can we take Artie home?” asked the little girl hopefully, you almost choked on yourself at her audacity ‘huhuh no way to take Artie away from me!’ you thought, damn, you were ridiculous, being jealous of a little girl but you couldn’t help it, you loved him so much.

“He’s so funny and…and he makes good food, he’s a magician and a clown!” She added, trying to convince her mother, you had to admit that she was being really cute. Your colleague nodded, impressed.

“Wow Arthur, you made quite an impression on her, I’ve never seen that before!” she complimented him. He looked at his feet, suddenly shy.

“Oh it’s nothing, just a few tricks…” he muttered, shyly smiling.

“I have to disagree on that, he actually managed to make her eat her vegetables! Honestly, he’s just very good with kids” you praised, placing your hand on his shoulder.

“Really? Tell me, how you did you do that?!” she exclaimed, genuinely impressed. He raised his head, a playful glow in his eyes.

“Well…a true magician never reveals its secrets” he replied proudly, which made your colleague laugh. “Y/N you’re a lucky woman!”

“I know…” you answered winking at Arthur.

Sarah kissed you goodbye “I like you Y/N…” she softly told you.

“Well, that’s good because I like you too.” You confessed to her on a secretive tone. Then she kissed Arthur goodbye, he tenderly stroked her cheek.

“Don’t worry we’ll see each other again…I have to take care of my beautiful dragon.” He explained, ending on a teasing note, you tried to pout but you cracked a smile as he kissed your temple. Damn him for being so perfect.

#joker #arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #Arthur Fleck #Joaquin Phoenix #fanfiction

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elusive---ivory · 4 years

Text

Little Clown pt 3

MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU FILTHY ANIMALS!!! It Christmas Eve, and here's my present to you guys 💕💕💕💕 You all are amazing and spectacular. This is a long one boys so hold on tight.

PAIRING: Arthur Fleck/Joker x Oc

WARNING: Smut (in the first half), Sub!Joker, and choking.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Taglist:

@princessgeekface @gloomyladyy @memory-mortis @mijachula

Sandy woke up to the soft sound of water running. She got up noticing her lack of clothing. Last night, Arthur and Sandy had a lot of 'catching up to do'. She smirked, walking into the bathroom, seeing Arthur already in the shower. Arthur's dyed green hair was dripping down his back.

"Hey, your hair is melting." Sandy joked, as she stepped in the shower with him.

Arthur chuckled, turning around, kissing Sandy's cheek.

"Everyone's looking for you. You know that right?" Sandy spoke softly, as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"I know. I'm famous. More so than that Bruce Wayne kid." Arthur bragged.

Sandy laughed. "Joker has really made a name for himself."

"You know it. I'm the king of Gotham." Arthur pulled Sandy close to him. "And you're my queen."

Sandy smiled, but her smile shifted into worry.

"What's wrong?" Arthur smirked, with brief concern in his eyes.

"It's nothing, dear." Sandy threw her hands around Arthur's neck, pulling him into a his.

Arthur kissed down her jaw to her neck.

"Arth-" Sandy's moan was cut off with a hush.

"Joker." Arthur whispered, nuzzled into her neck. Arthur bit her neck hard, drawing blood.

Sandy pushed Arthur away. "Fuck, Arthur. That hurt." She yelled.

Arthur laughed. "I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to hurt you."

Sandy smirked. "Looks like I gotta hurt you now."

Arthur's interest was peaked. He turned off the shower nozzle.

"I'm gonna hurt you so bad." Sandy drew out the word 'bad'.

"Oh? How are you going to hurt me, Sandy?" Arthur teased.

"You'll see." Sandy leaned over biting Arthur's ear.

Arthur moaned, laughing. "That didn't hurt."

Sandy pulled back, placing her hands on his jugular. She tightly squeezed it.

Arthur gasped. His eyes widened as Sandy smiled sweetly, squeezing harder.

"Sandy. S-sandy." Arthur choked out.

Sandy chuckled. "Oh, baby. Doesn't it feel good."

Arthur nodded. He felt her long nails scratch down his neck, leaving marks.

Sandy took her hands off Arthur's throat. "Lay down." She demanded.

Arthur obeyed, feeling his blood pressure rise. He felt mesmerized by Sandy. He had never seen her so dominant before. It was almost if she made a transformation herself. In this moment, he didn't feel like he was inside Sandy, but inside someone controlling her.

Sandy got on top of him, putting her hands back on his throat.

Arthur grabbed onto her hips as Sandy grinded onto him, rocked back and forth on him. He felt himself be in and out of her without lifting a finger. He felt the pressure rise inside of him.

"Tell me, Joker. Could Harley ever ride you like this? Could she make you her bitch? I didn't think so. You know damn well that I can fuck you better than that ditzy blonde. You're already yearning for me, boy. You just try to cover it up with your tough guy person. I know that's all a facade. Doesn't it feel good, Artie. Doesn't just feel like heaven?"

Sandy smirked, keeping a tight grip on his neck, but leaving it a little loose. Red marks appeared all around Arthur's neck as Sandy dug her nails deeper.

Arthur went wild. He had the biggest grin planted on his face. The feeling was too much. He gasped tiny moans as felt himself release. He tilted his head back, breathing heavily.

Sandy let out an breathy moan, leaving her hands to go limp, and fall onto Arthur's chest.

Arthur looked at Sandy with half-lidded eyes. His hand crept up to her cheek, rubbing it softly.

"I love you, Sand-" Sandy cut Arthur off with her lips.

"Dolly." She whispered.

Arthur smirked. "Dolly." He repeated.

Ruth woke up early. Usually, she would wake up after her mother made her breakfast, but today seemed different. Ruth noticed clothes sprawled all over the living room.

To her notice, she also saw the ashtray filled all the way up with cigarettes. Sandy never smoked that much unless she was really stressed out.

Ruth saw him in the kitchen. His green locks shined in the light of the morning sun, smoking a cigarette. Ruth hid behind the kitchen wall. Another thing she noticed was he was wearing her mother's robe. Ruth looked up at him, cautiously.

Arthur saw Ruth's copper hair again the kitchen hallway. He defused his cigarette and walked towards her.

Ruth froze as her eyes met with his.

"Hey, honey. What are you doing up?" Arthur asked, looking down at the frightened girl.

Ruth stuttered. "I was, uh, just getting some, uh, milk."

Arthur smiled. "Oh. Is that right? Ruth, is it?" He asked, trying to remember his own daughter's name.

Ruth nodded hesitantly.

"Your mother picked a beautiful name." Arthur sighed, disassociating.

Ruth looked at Arthur strangely. "Why are you still here, Mr. Joker?" She asked, still very frightened by him.

Arthur didn't understand why Ruth was so afraid of him. He didn't have his clown makeup on. "What's wrong with me staying here?" Arthur asked, kneeling down to Ruth's level.

"My mommy will be upset." Ruth said, obviously making up an excuse. Truth be told, Ruth didn't trust Joker, then again, she didn't trust really anyone. Ruth was told that people in Gotham were cruel and mean. It was up to her to fix it, and make Gotham a better place. Of course, many people would disagree with her.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, your mother would've already kicked me out if she didn't want me here."

Ruth froze. "Um, well, I don't want you here." She stuttered.

Arthur feigned sadness. "Oh, looks like I'm gonna sleep out on the streets." He mocked, fake crying.

Ruth felt bad. "I'm sorry. You can stay, but my room is off limits."

Arthur smiled again, pulling Ruth into a hug. "Thanks, Ruthie. It means a lot to me."

Sandy stood in the hallway, fully dressed. "Ruth, come over here." She called, from the living room.

Sandy sat Ruth down, gently. "I'm sure you've gotten well acquainted with Joker, here."

Ruth nodded. "Why is he here?" Ruth whispered, hushed.

"It's complicated, my dear. You see, Joker is, well, your father." Sandy uttered those words hesitantly, expecting Ruth's reaction.

Ruth's eyes widened. "This isn't true, is it? Mommy?" A tear fell down Ruth's face.

Sandy's face soften as she wiped the tear of her daughter's face. "It is."

Ruth looked over at Joker, then looked back at her mother. She furrowed her eyebrows for a sec, then all emotion wiped off her face.

"I'll be in my room, Mommy." Ruth spoke, monotonously. She pushed past Sandy, and slammed her bedroom door.

Sandy sighed, frustrated. She felt immense guilt about lying to her daughter. Keeping the charade up for this long wore on Sandy.

Arthur lingered in the doorway, smirking. "She'll learn to like me. I may not have fantastic looks, but at least I have a charming personality." He mocked, flopped onto the couch next to Sandy.

"You have good looks too. You're easy to fall for." Sandy smirked, nuzzling up to Arthur.

"Awww, shucks, Dolly. You're too kind." Arthur smiled.

Sandy smiled. "You got me falling for you even more."

Arthur smirked, kissing Sandy softly on her lips. "And, I've gotten very attached to you. I thought about you a lot. I couldn't keep my mind on anything else in Arkham. The first time you didn't show up to our visits I was worried. It was so lonely in the hospital. I just wanted you in my arms. When I was let out to the common area, I spoke to no one. I isolated myself, until Miss Quinn said I was spending too much time lingering on the past. I would roll my eyes. I didn't care much about what she was saying, but she promised me freedom. I like to think about that morning me and you met. How elegant you looked. You remember, don't you? In that very elevator, you actually talked to me, and looked at me in a way no one had before."

Arthur held Sandy close to him, softly petting her hair. "I never want to be apart from you, again, Sandy."

Sandy's head rested on Arthur's chest, hearing his rapid heartbeat from his ribcage.

"Who was Harley Quinn in Arkham, anyway?" Sandy asked.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh. "She was psychiatrist that lost her mind in Arkham. I don't remember how, because I didn't really listen to her. I do remember meeting her in the common room."

Arthur scoffed. "She said she couldn't stand to see me in Arkham, seeing as miserable as I was. I told her that I needed someone to watch after you, so she did. Harley told me she wanted to escape this hellish life in Arkham and wanted to run away with me. I don't remember the answer, but it wasn't no. I was upset and heartbroken, because I was convinced that you left me. What changed my mind about Harley was because she threatened to hurt a kid."

Arthur paused for a second, feeling the rage build up in his chest. "Before, I even knew that she was my kid." Arthur trailed off.

A loud scream came from Ruth's bedroom. Sandy and Arthur both got up and headed for the door.

"RUTH!" Sandy yelled, kicking down the door.

The window was broken, along with vines crawling up the window.

Sandy dropped to the ground sobbing.

#joker x reader #joker arthur fleck #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x oc #joker x oc #little clown #oc: Sandy Dolere/Fleck #oc: Ruth Fleck #arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader

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eagesoldartblog · 5 years

Text

*dabs* Guess what time it is Das rite Its Lance the father timE Whumptober Trigger warning for implied and referenced child abuse

Tear Stained, Scars

There was one thing Lance wanted to promise himself when he left his family and started his shop. After years of bending to the will of his sisters and brothers, Lance made it clear to himself that they will not be relying on him anymore.

That's the one thing. That's it.

... Of course, how can he turn away an eight year old boy shivering on his doorstep with a backpack dangling from his tiny wrists and looking at him with a doe eyed expression.

“Step on in, you’ll get frostbite if you stay out there.” Lance says, stepping to the side and ushering to the inside. Arthur peers inside, passing over everything quickly for a small moment. It seemed almost foreign, and in the kids defense, it was. Lance took the small moment to glance in himself. Every inch of his home was in spick-span-shape, not an ounce of dust on any wall. On top of that, everything that could be considered dangerous was also safely locked away in the garage, a necessary precaution the government wanted him to take to ensure Arthurs safety.

He didn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would.

Finally, Arthur starts in, ducking down with his shoulders up to his ears as peering around like a deer in headlights.

Lance shuts the door and herds Arthur further in, making his way to the kitchen, “Feel free to put your bag anywhere, Art. Dinners cookin’ now, so take a seat in the living room and relax.”

“Uh.. Lance?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Lance catches Arthur following him into the kitchen, still glancing around like it’s the first time he ever seen the place.

“Yeah?”

“.. Where’s my room..?” Arthur asks, holding his bag in front of him, blocking everything besides his head and two little stick legs. Lance snorts.

“Remember that room upstairs you always slept in?”

“Mmhm?”

“Right up there, I didn’t know how you wanted it to look so I didn’t do much to the look of it. But I bought you a few posters if you’d like to hang them up.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, before Arthur finally smiles, “Thank you, Lance. Can I go upstairs now?”

“Yeah! Knock yourself out, take a nap if you need to. It’s a Saturday remember?”

“But it’s night time!” Arthur shoots back, a laugh backing his tiny voice, and Lance smirks in his direction.

“And? Sounds like the perfect time for a nap. Head to bed, you, I’ll wake you up when dinners ready.”

Arthur smiles back at him, and not too long after there’s footsteps stamping above him, and the even louder screech of Arthur's new bed.

He’ll be just fine, Lance reminds himself, smiling entirely to himself.

The night was easy enough, Arthur adjusted well enough for the first night, and it seemed like the first night would have gone swell.

Had not for the scream jolting Lance awake.

A loud, piercing shriek has Lance throwing off the blanket fast.

Throwing open the door, Lance dashes across the floorboards and slides out of the room, “I'M COMIN’, ART-“ Lance throws open the door, hand smacking for the light switch.

The lights switch on, basking the room in a horridly bright light. The screaming stops quickly afterward, leaving only a faint whine and whimper. Squinting past the bright glaze, Lance quickly spots out the source of the noise.

Arthurs bundles under his blankets, curled in a frightened ball, staring at the window with an unruly amount of terror.

“Wha- whats happenin’?”

“I- I..!” His voice trembles and trips over itself, and he mumbles into his blankets.

Sitting on the bed across from him, Lance rubs a hand along Arthur's shoulder, frowning when he flinches back and tries to bury himself further.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry lance I didn’t- I didn’t mean to yell..! I got scared and-“ Arthur bursts into tears, rolling down his chin as he tries to bite his quivering lip.

Sighing, Lance nods, reaching for Arthur and pulling him into a hug, lifting Arthur from his spot and into his lap. A hand nestling into Arthurs unruly mane, another pressed against Arthurs back. “It’s good, boy.. let it out…” he murmurs, “I don’t mind if you cry here. It’s safe.”

Arthur shudders, his whole frame shaking under Lance’s hold, tiny hands unsurely shaking, before crawling to wrap around the older figure.

“I- I didn’t mean to.. I-“ Arthur weeps, his cries starting to seep into Lance’s shirt.

“It’s alright, you.. just relax. Ain’t nothing gonna hurt you while im here, you hear?”

His weeping didn’t subside, not until Arthurs leaning into him, with nothing less than gentle whimpering and heavy sighs.

What on earth had that woman done to ya, Artie? Lance wanted to ask, but he kept those questions to himself.

He didn’t need too.

He already knew of the scars littering Arthurs back and legs. His mothers abuse disguised as discipline.

Brutal beatings. He heard of all of it.

The damned wench can rot for all Lance cared.

“I’ll keep you safe, Arthur. I promise.”

#whumptober2019 #mystery skulls animated #arthur kingsmen #lance kingsmen #tw: child abuse #Child abuse

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erisgregory · 5 years

Text

The Reason Is You Chapter 19/21

cross posted to AO3

or start with chapter 1

Authors: Crysty09, erisgregory

Crysty09′s tumblr

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M/M, Multi Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Relationship: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes/Kyle Valenti, Alex Manes/Kyle Valenti Characters: Michael Guerin, Alex Manes, Kyle Valenti Additional Tags: background Isobel Evans/Maria DeLuca, background Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M, Angst and Fluff and Smut Summary: Michael has been gone five years and when he finally returns to Earth it’s to find that Alex is married to Kyle. Isobel is about to be married to Maria and Max and Liz have a son. The world isn’t as he left it, which he should have expected, but now how will he find a place for himself? Will he ever get used to the new normal?

Michael woke early before either of the other two. He slipped out of bed and dressed in the dark. Then he quietly left so he wouldn’t wake them. Max probably didn’t want to see him at six in the morning but Michael wanted to catch him before work. He stopped for coffee so at least he wouldn’t be empty handed then hurried off to Max and Liz’s and knocked on the door. The sun was just beginning to rise. Hopefully Max was still a light sleeper and Michael wouldn’t wake anyone else.

Max woke to the sound of knocking, the house was still mostly dark and he frowned glancing at Liz who was still fast asleep and then over at Arty, her tiny doppelganger. They could both sleep through the apocalypse, he thought to himself as he rolled out of bed and slipped on a pair of pajama pants before moving to the door. When he opened it, he frowned, "what the hell Michael? Are you okay?" He asked, his voice still raspy from sleep.

“Yeah. I’m sorry it’s so early but I need your help. And advice.” He added. Then Michael held out a coffee as a peace offering. “Can we sit out here and talk?” He asked gesturing to the chairs on the front porch. He was a little nervous to lay it all out for Max but he felt certain this was the right call.

His frown deepened but he accepted the coffee with a nod and stepped outside, closing the door behind him before moving to sit down. He took a few sips from his coffee, his eyes on Michael and then sat forward, "ok what's going on?" He asked. He had a feeling he already knew but needed to see what all Michael wanted to share.

Michael sat on the other side of the little table and sipped his coffee. “Has Liz told you about Alex and Kyle?” Michael started. It would be easier if Max has even a small idea of what was going on.

Max nodded, "yeah, she said you guys are trying this whole polyamory thing?" He said with a small smile "and that until last night things seemed to be going pretty good."

“Yes. Things are— were going great. Last night we went to dinner together and Alex’s brother Flint showed up. I don’t know exactly what was said but they traded blows and apparently Flint threatened me and Kyle. Alex was completely shaken.” Michael explained. “My first thought was to take myself out of the situation to keep them safe, but then I thought maybe you could help. Help me figure out what’s best. I don’t want to mess things up.” He admitted.

Max nodded along as Michael talked, "well first of all, the fact that you are here talking to me instead of in a jail cell or off on some vigilante mission tells me that you really care about them and making this work." He took a sip of his coffee, "I will say, you can't try to take on the Manes' brothers by yourself, so please promise me you aren't going to go after them," he pleaded with his eyes.

Michael didn’t want to promise that, even if he knew it was best to leave it to the law, but he nodded all the same. “I won’t. That’s why I’m here, I didn’t want to do anything rash.” He knew himself well enough to know how easily he might go off the rails.

"I'm glad you came here first," Max said, "I would say that if Flint made threats, the three of you need to come to the station and file for a restraining order." He paused, thinking back to something else Michael had said, "and for the love of God, do not run from this."

Michael thought about that. “How did you do it? How did you settle down with Liz?” He asked. Clearly things were working out for them, but Michael still felt, in a very small corner of his heart, that maybe he didn’t deserve to be this happy.

Max looked at Michael and down into his coffee cup with a raised eyebrow, it was really early for this kind of chat, "um well, I have loved Liz since we were kids and I honestly have never really loved anyone else so settling down with her was the most simple thing I have ever done," he shrugged. He spent a minute studying his brother, "if you love Alex the way I think you do and if you feel like there is a chance for this thing with the three of you to work, then you just have to learn to trust it. Trust them, trust yourself."

Michael closed his eyes for a moment. He did love Alex, deeply. He had for so long. And now Kyle, Kyle was becoming someone equally important. He opened his eyes with a sigh and looked over at Max. “It’s that easy, huh?” He gave him a small smile. “Trusting isn’t exactly my strong suit, Max.” Michael pointed out.

He watched Michael process his words, "it's not always easy, it's scary sometimes," he bit his lip, "and I know trust isn't easy for you but if they make you happy like Liz and Maria say they do, then maybe you should consider letting them into your bubble with me and Iz," he gave Michael a small shrug, "for what it's worth, Alex and Kyle have always had your back, even when you were gone."

“What do you mean?” He asked. He couldn’t imagine what Max was talking about. Of course for him, it was his love for Alex that kept him going all that time. That eventually brought him home. But he was curious to know whatever it was that Max was talking about.

"Once Alex got over the initial pain, they went over and cleaned the airstream up and they kept it and your truck clean and in working order while you were gone," he smiled, "and a lot of the reason Alex was so on top of shutting his father down was to make sure you were safe and Kyle was there with him and Liz on all of those late nights."

Michael had one time suspected as much but it just as easily could have been Isobel and Max. Knowing now that Alex and Kyle were the ones keeping the home fires burning so to speak, Michael was more determined than ever to keep them. To stay with them. To grow this relationship into one of mutual love and trust. But first they needed to handle Flint. “It must have been hard, on both of them.” He said softly. “Doing that without knowing if I was ever coming back.” He ran a hand through his hair and took a sip of coffee. “Thank you, Max.”

Max nodded and stood up, he could hear Liz moving around inside and Arty babbling and he smiled, clapping Michael on the shoulder, "you have a lot more family than you realize," he said, turning to step inside, "see you all in a bit."

Michael drove slowly back out to the cabin. He knew it hadn't been fair of him to leave without a word, but he hoped they hadn't missed him for long, if at all. If there was an errant tear here or there on the drive back, well, no one needed to know. Max had given him a lot to think about and now Michael was sure it was the right thing to stay and try to find other ways of keeping them safe. However, when he got back he could hear raised voices inside and he immediately felt like a shit. He quietly opened the door and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Would you please sit down," Kyle was staring at a borderline hysterical Alex, a look between worried and irritated on his face, his eyes still sleepy and his hair a mess.

Alex was fluttering around the kitchen, sponge in hand, mumbling about his family ruining everything.

Kyle paused when Michael slipped through the door and for a moment the annoyance won over, "Alex," he said, a bit louder, causing the airman to stop and frown at him as he nodded towards the door, "see I told you he would be back."

With some trepidation, Michael stepped toward the other men. Alex looked a mess and Michael hated himself a little bit for causing such distress. "I went to see Max." He said softly, by way of greeting.

Kyle came out of the kitchen, his lips pursed. "You can't just leave with no word. Especially after last night." He said. His tone was calm, but he looked completely exasperated.

"Oh," was all Alex could say for a moment, glancing sheepishly at Kyle, "he went to see Max." He ran a hand through his hair, as he turned back to Michael,"I'm not sure what I expected but it wasn't that."

"I can tell you what you expected," Kyle chuckled, "you woke me up spouting pretty much every possible," he glanced at Michael with a raised eyebrow, "and some not so possible, theory about where he went." He shook his head glancing at Alex who was now blushing and looking at his hands.

Michael glanced between Alex and Kyle before stepping all the rest of the way in and going to Alex. He took Alex's hands in his own and squeezed. "I shouldn't have left you like that. I'm sorry I made you worry." He was sorry, Alex looked terrible and Michael had done that to him. "I needed some advice, but next time I need to talk to someone I'll leave a note at the very least."

Alex looked up at him, "I kind of freaked out a little," he admitted shyly, his cheeks tinged bright pink.

Kyle snorted, "that a bit of an understatement babe," he teased, walking over to them and touching Alex's shoulder lovingly.

Alex bit his lip and looked at Michael, "so did going to see Max change anything?" He asked, suddenly nervous again about the answer.

“It just made me certain that I’m not willing to let Flint ruin what we’re building.” He explained. “In fact I’m hoping we can all drop by the Sheriff’s station and file a report. And a restraining order.” He added. He didn’t know Kyle’s schedule, but maybe there was time.

With a sigh of relief, Alex closed his eyes for a moment, thankful for whatever Max had said, "good I'm glad," he breathed, smiling at Michael before glancing over at Kyle, "what do you work today? If you have a bit, we can have some breakfast before we go?"

Kyle smiled at Michael's words before glancing at Alex, "I have a couple of hours unless they call," he said.

Alex grinned, "you go get ready and I'll start food," he said, kissing Kyle's cheek before turning to Michael, "wanna help?"

Michael gently let go of Alex, but leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Put me to work.” He said, knowing full well he’d not be much use. “Maybe I can do the coffee again?” Michael asked.

Kyle looked at them both with a smile. “And now that this is under control, I’m going to shower and get dressed.”

He couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head at Michael, "just like Kyle," he nodded towards the coffee pot, "if it wasn't for me, he would life off of TV dinners and frozen burritos." Alex moved to start mixing up pancake mix, glancing over at Michael every so often.

Michael laughed. He knew he was hopeless but it was also kind of nice to know he wasn’t the only one. He went about getting the coffee going and once it was, he hopped up on the counter to watch Alex as he worked. “Maybe at some point you could teach me. Something. Easy.” He grinned.

Alex glanced up, he loved the sound of Michael's laugh and he couldn't help but join in. He poured the batter into a nearby skillet and glanced up with a grin, "if you want WE can make dinner for Kyle tonight?" Alex raised an eyebrow, "unless you have to work?"

“I’ll probably work.” He said. “No one’s called in yet, but it’s early. I’m down for helping with dinner if I’m done by then.” Michael’s schedule still hadn’t fully picked up yet so he expected to be back in time. “Word hasn’t completely gotten around that I’m back.” He admitted.

"Sounds good to me," he grinned, stepping over between Michael's legs to kiss him gently before moving back to the stove. Alex felt completely at ease for the moment, flipping the pancakes before moving to scramble a few eggs as he worked.

A few minutes later Kyle rejoined then as Michael was setting the table. He was dressed in his scrubs and Michael took a moment to just appreciate the picture he made. He was a good looking guy to begin with but the uniform definitely did something for him. He poured himself a cup of coffee and Michael did the same.

Alex glanced at his husband, smiling softly when he saw Michael watching too. He finished the pancakes and handed them both a plate, "he looks hot huh?" He asked Michael with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Kyle blushed slightly at the comment, looking between them as he sat down.

Michael laughed at being called out. “Definitely.” He said giving Kyle a wink. He dug into his pancakes as a sense of ease stole over him. Maybe they were going to be okay after all. “Thanks for breakfast.” He said to Alex. The pancakes were delicious which was no surprise at this point. Still he was thankful to have a hot breakfast and a cup of coffee before they had to face Max again and give their report.

Alex sat down with them, relaxing as he ate a few bites. He was sure this wasn't completely over with his brothers but for today, going to see Max seemed like a victory. Once he finished he glanced at the other two, "think you guys can manage clean up while I get dressed?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure.” Kyle said, standing up.

“Yeah.” Michael echoed. He also stood up and began helping clear the table. Kyle did the washing and Michael dried. There might have even been a few flirtatious glances, but the dishes eventually got done before Alex came back out.

Then they took separate cars to the Sheriff’s station. Max helped them file all the necessary paperwork and took down Alex’s statement. Hearing exactly what Flint had said made Kyle and Michael both mad, but all three of them felt safer when they parted ways after to go about their day.

#mylex #mylex fic #mylex fics #roswell new mexico fic #eris writes fics #the reason is you fic

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noahsfreckles · 5 years

Text

Keeping Secrets from Strangers (chap 3)

I wake up around ten the next morning, Lexi is still sleeping so I reach over and grab my phone.

3 texts from Jamey🐱

1 twitter notification

1 Snapchat

I open Twitter and check my mentions.

'@winafreeiphone: win one free iPhone. Click link in bio!'

I click the bio then the three dots at the banner and select block @winafreeiphone. I start to close the app when I go back to my timeline when I see a tweet from Jamey.

“@browneyedboy: what's it mean when every dream is about you now? _🎶

I copy the tweet and look up the lyrics. Criminal by State Champs. I click the YouTube lyric video and start listening to the song.

"Are you listening to State Champs?" Lexi asks and scares me.

"When did you wake up?"

"Derek's voice always wakes me up," she says and wiggles her eyebrows.

"Ew, wait who's Derek?" I ask confused.

"The singer in State Champs duh," Lexi says as she rolls her eyes. "Why are you listening to them?"

I look at her bite my lip a little, "Jamey."

"Oh okay," she says and rolls back over like she's going back to sleep. "Whose Jamey?" she asks but stays facing away from me.

"Browneyedboy."

She suddenly flips over and looks at me. "His name is Jamey?"

I nod slowly and look at her. "Yeah."

My phone vibrates in my hand and I look down at the banner; Jamey🐱. I try not to smile when I see he texts me.

"And who is that?"

"Jamey."

"You gave him your number, Mia?!, she says and jumps up on the bed and sits on her knees.

"Yeah. What's the worst could happen?"

"He could stalk you, kidnap you, and murder you!'

"Lexi, he's not going to do anything like that. I didn't tell him where I live or anything and I won't. I pinky promise." I hold up my pinky to her. She looks at it and then at me then back at the pinky.

"Pinky promise on your love for Noah that you won't tell him anything personal?"

"I don't love Noah, but I pinky promise."

We hook pinkies then kiss our thumbs and she eyes me. I pull away and she says, "okay tell me everything."

I tell her everything that happened last night which isn't much and she just looks at me.

"What?"

"Well what did he say /today/?"

I had totally forgot he texted me and I look down at my phone and unlock it and open the iMessage app.

Jamey🐱: morning Mia 😎 @9:17am

Jamey🐱: I hope you have a great day. @9:17am Jamey🐱: hope to talk to you later 😎 @9:18am Jamey🐱: Stuvi says meow. @10:12am

I show her my phone and nods. "I approve," she says and jumps off the bed.

"You approve?"

"Yup."

"Um okay?"

She just laughs as she start to change into her clothes. "He seems nice so I approve of this friendship, but if he steals you away from me it's on!"

I start laughing. "Where are you going?"

"I have to be home by eleven. Didn't I tell you?"

"No." I make a sad face at her.

"Aww my lil Mia I still love you. Don't be sad. I'll come back later." Lexi says and comes over and hugs me tight.

"Only cause you're coming back that I'm okay with it now," I say as we squeeze each other.

We slowly let each other go and she leaves.

"Now what am I going to do?" I say out loud to no one.

I look down at my phone and unlock it.

Mia: morning Jamey 🐱

I open snapchat and see who snapped me when I see it's just from Snapchat. I close the app and open Twitter.

'@heyitsmia: well @heyitzlexi had to leave me and now I'm all alone and bored.'

'@heyitzlexi: sorry babe I still love you though. 💋💋💕💕

'@heyitsmia: you better. 💋💋💕💕

My phone buzzes; Jamey🐱 texted you.

I click the banner; Jamey🐱: wanna play a game?

Mia: what game?

Jamey🐱: twenty questions.

Mia: was that your first question?

Jamey🐱: was that yours? 😋

I giggle a little.

Jamey🐱: did you have any dreams last night?

I think for a minute, did I?

Mia: I don't think I did. Mia: were you dreaming about someone last night? 👀👀

Jamey🐱: maybe 🤐

Mia: Aww that cute

Jamey🐱: I never said I did.

Mia: but you didn't deny it so you did 😛

Jamey🐱: ☹️

Mia: don't be sad Jamey I bet they would be honored to be in your dreams. ♥️

Jamey🐱: ♥️ Jamey🐱: how tall are you?

Mia: 5'5

Jamey🐱: you're tiny.

Mia: yup 🙁 Mia: how tall are you?

Jamey🐱: 6'1. 😎

Mia: whoa you're tall 😲

Jamey🐱: celebrity crush?

Mia: umm Shawn Mendes

Jamey🐱: he's cute 🧐

Mia: you're a dork. Whose yours?

Jamey🐱: Selena Gomez 🥰😍

Mia: She's cute. 🤩

Jamey🐱: are you mocking me?

Mia: is that your question?

Jamey🐱: ☹️

Mia: Jaaaaaaammmmmeeeeyyyyy don't be sad I'm only joking.

Jamey🐱: you're mean. 🙁

Mia: I'm sowwy 💋💋

Jamey🐱: still mean. 😕

Mia: Jamey I will come steal Stuvi if you don't smile.

Jamey🐱: YOU WOULDN'T!

Mia: are you going to smile?

Jamey🐱: 🙂

Mia: I will leave Stuvi alone.

Jamey🐱: thanks. Do you have any pets?

Mia: does Lexi count? 🤣

Jamey🐱: ohh I'm telling her!

Mia: ohh Stuvi. Here kitty kitty.

Jamey🐱: 😲😲😲 I won't tell!

Mia: 🤓 no I don't have any pets.

Jamey🐱: I should of never told you about Stuvi.

Mia: you should be happy that I actually like him enough to wanna steal him. Mia: fave song right now?

Jamey🐱: that's a hard question Mia probably anything by Bazzi.

Mia: I've never heard of Bazzi but I'll give it a listen.

Jamey🐱: what's yours?

Mia: probably Save Me Tonight by Arty I always dance to it no matter where I am.

Jamey🐱: hey I know that song!

Mia: yeah I saw it on one of Noah's tweets and listened to it and fell in love.

Jamey🐱: that's where I heard about it too. Jamey🐱: hey can I text you later? My buddy's here and we're supposed to go to the gym.

Mia: oh yeah that's fine, I'll be here all day being bored

Jamey🐱: I'll be back sooner than you think missy. 😋

Mia: go before I change my mind mister. 🤔

Jamey🐱: bye Mia. 😎

Mia: bye Jamey.

I get up from my bed and realize it's almost noon and I'm starving. I head down to the kitchen and grab a box of frozen waffles and heat up two in the toaster.

It's oddly quiet for a Saturday at my house. I start looking around while my waffles cook when I notice a note on the table;

Honey we decided to go out and visit your aunt Sheryl and I know how much you're allergic to Sammy that we didn't ask you if you wanted to go. Be back around 3

Love you bunches

I put the paper back in the table as my waffles pop up. I grab the Reese's spread and a butter knife and start 'buttering' my waffles. I put the knife in the dishwasher and grab a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and head back up to my room.

I get comfy on my bed and grab my laptop from my backpack and start watching The Kissing Booth while eating my waffles.

I grab my phone once I'm finished and notice I have a notification from Twitter. I click the notification and it opens up to Noah's page.

"Of course you work out," I randomly say. I laugh a little to myself. I get up off my bed, leaving the movie playing and head downstairs to put my dish in the dishwasher.

I head back up to my room. I grab my phone and start googling hair styles when I see a girl with pink hair and I fall in love with it. I go to her Instagram and look at her pics. I open Twitter and put up a poll;

What color should I dye my hair?

Pink

Lavender

Turquoise

Set timer for 1 hour.

I close the app and continue watching the movie.

Around an hour later I get a text.

Lexi🤪: PINK!!!!

I just laugh.

Mia: I was wondering when I would get this text.

Lexi🤪: let me do it!

Mia: but I wanna do it today 🙁

Lexi🤪: okay but you gotta let me do it next time

Mia: I promise. 💕

Lexi🤪: what are you doing?

Mia: going to get the dye and maybe some Starbs and kinda waiting for Jamey to get back from the gym.

I bite my lip at that and wait for Lexi to freak out on me again.

Lexi🤪: you better not replace me or me and him are gonna fight. 😡👊🏻💥

Mia: I'm not replacing you love. I'm just bored and he's bored too well till his friends came over.

Lexi🤪: I'm watching him 👀👀

Mia: you're a dork.

I get up and start to get dressed; a blue crop top and some black leggings with cut outs up the leg and socks with my Nike's. I throw my hair in a messy top knot and head out to my Jeep.

I head towards Sally Beauty, once I'm parked I get out and head inside when I hear a whistle. I look over at two guys; one trying to hide and the other one brightly smiling at me. I wave a little and walk in the store.

I buy the dye and head back out to my Jeep when I see the guys from before. The one who was hiding is already in the Jeep and the other is still outside so I whistle and he quickly turns, I laugh then wave and get into my Jeep.

I make my way to Starbucks when I see the Jeep again. A__re they following me?

I pull in the parking lot and park as their Jeep pulls through the drive-thru but then decide I don't wanna go in so I get in the drive-thru behind them. They move up in line to pay and wait, my phone vibrates in the cup holder so I pick it up;

Noah tweeted; why is @KyleMcCarthy so embarrassing in front of cute girls?

I click on Kyle's name and follow him, I sit my phone back down and we all move up on line. I order a seriously strawberry venti and a pb&j protein box.

"Is that all?" The barista asks.

"Yes, thank you."

We all pull forward and the Jeep pull off and parks in a parking spot. I pull up to the window and the barista smiles and say, "hi. Here's your drink." I take it from her and sit in it my empty cup holder. "And your protein box." I take that from her and put it in my passenger seat. I turn back to the window, "how much?"

"Oh the guys in the Jeep took care of it for you."

"Oh how nice of them. Thank you have a good day."

"You too," she smiles and closes the window.

I pull up beside their Jeep and roll down my window, and look over at their Jeep. The passenger side window starts to roll down when I hear yelling from the window. The guy I whistled at smiles while the driver is turned and looking in the backseat.

"Hey, thanks for the Starbs," I smile and say.

"Oh that wasn't me, that was my rude buddy, whose too busy looking in the backseat instead talking to a beautiful girl.

"I'm trying to find something!" Comes from the window.

"Okay bro I'll just keep talking to the beautiful girl. Hi beautiful. What's your name unless I can keep calling you beautiful?"

I laugh a little, "Mia but beautiful works too."

"Hello beautiful Mia, I'm Kyle and the loser next to me is No-."

"Jason!" I hear from the other guy.

"Hi Kyle and Jason."

"Hi!" I hear from the other guy again when Kyle turns to look at him and they start quietly arguing.

I just look at their Jeep and wait for Kyle to turn back to me, but then decide I better go.

"Um Kyle? Im just gonna go. I need to get home."

Kyle turns around, "oh okay, hope to see you around Mia," then he winks.

"Bye Jason."

"Bye Mia."

I wave bye when I roll up my window and back out of the parking spot and head home.

#to all the boys i've loved before #the fosters #noah centineo imagine #noah centineo #noah centineo x orginal character #noah centineo fanfic #sierra burgess is a loser #sbial #tatblib #keeping secrets from strangers #noah centineo fanfiction

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echoes-of-realities · 5 years

Text

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 1/25

* * *

[Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Next Chapter]

Summary: When the production stage manager for George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker, starring one Brittany S. Pierce, is fired seven shows into its run, Santana is hired and thrown into the production with barely any preparation.

Notes: So remember that little something for Christmas I mentioned back in November? Yeah, this is that. And by “little” I actually mean a 25 chapter fic I’ve been working on since October. This is why I haven’t posted anything for so long, because I’ve been working on this since then. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure that I’d be able to finish it, but here it is! I’ll be posting one chapter a day until Christmas, hopefully around the same time everyday but I can’t guarantee that for sure lol.

If you have any questions about the technical terms in the theatre just ask and I’ll try my best to answer! Obviously not everything will be perfect since most of my theatre experience is from the pit band and what I’ve learned from Broadway videos, but artistic liberties and all that. I’ll also be adding links to each chapter for the ones before and after once I post them too! So hopefully it will be easy to navigate on tumblr, and if not just go to ao3 or fanfiction lmao.

All chapter titles are from “Smile at Snow” by dodie.

Chapter 1: how were we to know

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“Simpatico, it’s Italian for ‘sympathetic.’ Hearts beating to the same pulse. That’s what music does for one, you know—I mean, for two. For more. It trains hearts to lean in the same direction. Sympathetically.” ― Gregory Maguire, Hiddensee: A Tale of the Once and Future Nutcracker

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When Santana accepted the job offer as production stage manager for The Nutcracker, a prestigious and professional production, she didn’t really think that she was going to be thrown right in the deep end; she assumed that the old production stage manager was taking a leave of absence and she would be able to shadow him for a couple days, not that he had been unexpectedly fired on Friday morning and that she would be shadowing the assistant stage manager for two shows on Saturday and running her first one by the Sunday matinee.

And yet, here she is, dodging half dressed dancers and props bigger than she is, only two hours before the matinee, trailing after two blonde women who are frantically talking on their phones, occasionally exchanging them before resuming their frantic conversations. Usually Santana thrives on the organized chaos of a production, but she can do little more than duck under stretching limbs and just try to keep track of the flashes of blonde ahead of her.

It’s not that she’s overwhelmed, per se, she’s done other ballets and she’s done Broadway, she’s done community theatre and she’s done a short stint for an opera, she’s done touring companies and she’s done Off-Broadway, she’s even done a couple other productions of The Nutcracker itself; she’s been working as a stage manager for years, and she’s damn good at her job. It’s just, usually she has weeks or months of rehearsals before a show begins; at the very least, she usually gets to meet the rest of the stage management team before she’s thrown in the deep-end for the first show.

Holly and Quinn, the director and the assistant stage manager, eventually make it to the call desk, a tiny little alcove just off stage right, with monitors on the front of the stage and the pit. There’s a man in a wheelchair already squished in the tiny space, his glasses slipping down his nose, staring intently at the screen and muttering into his headset.

“Artie,” Quinn greets, and the man offers her a half-hearted salute. “Artie,” Quinn repeats, waiting until the man finally glances up before she gestures to Santana, “This is Santana Lopez, the new production stage manager.”

Artie blinks and offers her a grin, reaching over to shake Santana’s hand, almost running over Holly’s foot in the tiny space. “Nice to meet you,” he says, “Your resume is a mile long.”

Santana shrugs as she shakes his hand; it’s a little clammy and she wipes her hand on her black jeans as subtly as she can as leans back. “It kinda has to be to land this job.”

Artie laughs and nods as Holly finally hangs up the phone. “I forgot how frantic this place is outside of rehearsals,” she groans. She rummages around on the tiny desk, much to Artie’s poorly-concealed annoyance as she displaces knickknacks and rearranges papers, until she produces Santana’s new prompt book. She passes it to Santana, who’s fingers are already itching to crack the spine of the binder and start writing her own notes in; Artie hands her a spare pen with a knowing grin. “Today’s show is going to be a little insane,” Holly explains, “But you’ll do fine, sweet cheeks. You have a steep learning curve.” Santana’s not really sure how Holly could possibly know that, seeing as the last time they worked together Santana was still in college and barely an assistant to the assistant stage manager, but she nods anyways. “I’m going to get Quinn to give you the tour while I get ready for the matinee, and then we’ll hole up in the stage manager’s office and go through the show from the screens in there. For the evening show—” Holly’s phone phone rings and cuts her off, and she groans as she answers it, waving Quinn and Santana off towards the vague direction of the rest of the theatre, and they take their cue to leave just as Holly starts getting heated with whatever poor soul is on the other end of the line.

Santana flips through the book as she trails after Quinn, half-listening to her explanations and introductions; it’s second nature to dodge props and racks of costumes and stretching dancers by this point, even in the dimmed lights of backstage, so she keeps most of her attention focused on reading through the calls even though she’s never actually seen the blocking. She inwardly groans, the next couple shows really are going to be absolutely insane.

When Quinn takes a breath in her explanation of the Christmas tree prop and the mechanical issues they’ve been having lately, Santana finally glances up from the prompt book. “So why didn’t they just promote you?” she asks, “Seems like it would have been easier that way.”

Quinn’s head whips around to glare at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snaps. Santana glances up at Quinn and frowns at the look on her face. “Wow, cool the fires there, Beelzebub. I meant why would they hire someone new when you obviously know the show already.”

“Oh,” Quinn says, and she has the grace to look a little sheepish, “This is only the second production I’ve worked on, and it’s my first big one too. They offered, since I’ve been working with the show since the very beginning, but I’m nowhere near ready to run a production myself, especially something as big as this.”

Santana nods and returns to flipping through the prompt book while Quinn returns to narrate what seems to be the entire history of the theatre. It’s not like Santana’s uninterested in learning about how old this production is, or how they use the original props, or what famous person happened to sneeze right where they’re standing, it’s just priorities; Santana’s supposed to be running this production by tomorrow and she hasn’t even skimmed through the second act in the prompt book. Holly warned her that it would be crazy during her interview, because Holly had to be across the country for a mandated meeting tomorrow morning and would be leaving Santana, who only knew the names of about five people in the entire building, to fend for herself.

It’s not that she doesn’t love a good challenge, it’s just frustrating when her pay-check and reputation hinges on said challenge.

She ducks under a large candy cane swinging towards her head and groans at the thought.

Quinn leads her to the principal hallway, squeezing between stray dancers wandering the tiny hallway. The walls are lined with racks of costumes and wigs, and Santana takes a moment to admire the care put into the costumes; Quinn said that this production has been reusing their costumes from the very first performance, all the way back in 1954, and despite the slightly musty smell clinging to the fabric, they’ve obviously been well cared for. Quinn knocks on a door halfway down the hallway, and Santana quickly snaps out of her admiration to catch up to her. The name on the door reads The Nutcracker/The Prince, and a man Santana already knows well opens the door.

“Santana!” he exclaims, “I didn’t realize you were actually starting already!” Quinn blinks and glances between them, her face a picture of confusion, as Mike pulls Santana into a tight hug.

“You two know each other?” she asks slowly.

Santana rolls her eyes and halfheartedly struggles to escape from Mike’s embrace. “Unfortunately he’s been dating my best friend since college,” she complains as Mike finally releases her, but not before giving her an obnoxious kiss on the crown of her head. Santana swats at him a little but he just continues to grin at her; dating my best friend is an understatement of their relationship, because Santana counts him as one of two people she truly trusts with everything and anything, but it’s not like she’s going to acknowledge that when he’s being irritatingly affectionate just to annoy her.

Quinn’s hazel eyes glow with amusement. “Oh, so you’re the infamous Santana that Tina’s always talking about.”

“All bad things, I promise,” Tina calls from the couch.

“Oh, shut up,” Santana snipes as she turns a withering glare on her. Tina just rolls her eyes, as unfazed by Santana’s snark as she was their first day of college, and continues reading her magazine, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Alright,” Quinn says slowly, “Uh, I guess we should go meet Brittany then.”

“She’s not in yet,” Mike says. “She had that appointment, remember?”

“She said she’d be here in time for half hour,” Tina adds.

“Right,” Quinn shrugs and glances at Santana, “I guess you’ll meet her between shows then.”

“I mean, I still don’t know half the stage management team,” Santana says dryly, “One more person won’t make a difference.”

Tina chuckles. “Brittany’s just lucky that she doesn’t have to see your annoying face for a couple hours yet.”

“Get me out of here before we have to send the understudy on,” Santana comments mildly, Quinn grins and leads them out the door.

“Love you, Santana,” Tina and Mike chorus.

“Yeah, whatever,” she grumbles as she pulls the door shut firmly so they don’t see her begrudgingly fond smile; of course, being her best friends, they don’t need to see it to know it’s there.

Quinn weaves through the theatre and points out people that Santana’s sure she’s going to forget about in roughly three seconds. Usually by this point Santana has all the company and crew members memorized, but she’s starting to realize that this entire experience is going to be one stumbling improvisation after another for the first little bit. She meets the conductor, Will Schuester, who Quinn introduces as Schue; Kurt Hummel is the head of costumes and he talks rapid fire as he explains some important quick changes while Santana scribbles down notes in her prompt book; Finn Hudson and Noah “Puck” Puckerman, who leers at her and Quinn while Santana resists the urge to make fun of his nickname, work in props and are running the department while the head, Emma Pillsbury, is out sick; Quinn rolls her eyes when she introduces her to the sound crew and its head, Blaine Anderson, and the sound his voice already sets Santana’s teeth on edge; Unique Adams explains some of the more complicated lighting calls from her booth and Santana adds some more notes into her prompt book; Quinn points out the head of the automaton department, Dave Karofsky, who is busy wrestling with some of the ropes on a fly; Lauren Zizes is the fourth and final member of the stage management team, and she gives Santana a wide smirk and a good luck before turning back to talking to Artie over her headset.

Quinn also introduces her to some of the corps dancers and kids, but she doesn’t pay much attention because she has more important people to memorize before the show starts, like the name of every department head that she’s pretty sure she’s already forgotten.

Quinn hands her a headset with an apologetic glance. “I know it’s pretty overwhelming—”

“I’m not overwhelmed,” Santana protests automatically. Quinn just keeps staring at her blankly. “I’m a little bit whelmed at the most,” Santana finally concedes, and Quinn snorts in amusement.

“This is going to be interesting,” she says as the announcement booms throughout the theatre for half hour.

Santana settles the headset over her ears, and it eases her instantly; there’s a crackle of static as Quinn stands too close, but she quickly takes a couple steps away and then she grins at Santana, her teeth flashing eerie blue in the dim backstage lights. “I usually run stage right while Zizes does stage left, and Artie runs the call desk,” she explains. “I’m not sure where Holly is but—”

“In the stage manager’s office, sweet cheeks,” drawls through their headsets.

Quinn glances at Santana to point her in the right direction, but Santana is already heading that way.

Holly barely pauses in her near constant stream of phone calls to talk to her. It’s been years since Santana last worked with Holly as a director, back when Santana was just an overtired and overworked college student, but if she knows one thing about the older woman it’s that Holly’s practically a professional at improvising on the fly.

Which means she’s barely surprised when Holly explains that her flight got moved up and that Santana will have to learn the entire show from backstage with Quinn instead of from the comfort of the office where Holly could teach her the blocking over the screen pointed at centre stage. Santana’s done The Nutcracker three different times in three different cities, so she knows the show, which only marginally helps her out because every single production has its quirks, and she has absolutely no clue what to expect with this one.

But she tries not to think of that, and instead nods at Holly and adjusts her headset, clutching her prompt book like it’s a life preserver that’s going to keep her from drowning, which, she realizes, is actually fairly apt. She heads out of the hallway of theatre offices to find Quinn backstage, absently listening to her have an argument with that Blaine guy from sound over the headsets until Zizes interrupts with a particularly harsh quip regarding Blaine’s mother and where, exactly, he can stick it, and the argument dies pretty quickly after that. Quinn is pinching her nose when Santana arrives, only a couple minutes before the five minute call. She seems grateful that Santana’s there and pushes her headset off her ear for a brief moment, tugging the mic away from her mouth and waiting until Santana does the same. “The dance captain for the flower corps just called and she’s stuck on the subway in Brooklyn.”

Santana glances around. “Okay?” she says slowly.

“What do we do?”

Santana blinks at Quinn. “I barely know who the fuck any of these people are, what exactly do you expect me to do?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “This is a you problem, you’re the production stage manager.”

“For like a three minutes,” Santana mutters but flips through the prompt book anyways. “The flower corps don’t come in until the end of the second act,” Santana says slowly, “If she’s not here by intermission we’ll deal with it then.”

Quinn nods and pushes her headset back into place so she can relay the order to Zizes and Artie. Dancers have already started to gather in the wings, doing last minute stretches, and the team of stagehands Santana still hasn’t met yet dart between them for last minute checks. She spots the two lumbering guys from props heading towards the Christmas tree before they’re hidden behind the fly being lowered to the floor, and then the lights are dimming and the announcement to put cellphones away is booming, and the curtain rises as the first strains of the orchestra fill the theatre.

Santana’s thankful that she already has some experience with the show, because otherwise she would be making even less sense of the chaos backstage than she currently is. Santana mostly ignores Quinn, instead focusing on the blocking and comparing it to her prompt book in the dim, but somehow still harsh blue light backstage. Santana finds herself slipping easily into her position, and soon enough she’s adding her own voice to Quinn’s on the headset. Santana’s always had an instinct for stage management from her very first experience in a theatre, for the mechanical, repetitive, and yet still unpredictable nature of the job, and the instinct has served her well over the years, and before she knows it, intermission is starting and Quinn is clapping her on the shoulder with a grin.

Despite the chaos around them and the too warm weight of Quinn’s hand, Santana has a feeling she’s going to really like the challenge of this production; it will keep her busy and distracted, at the very least, which is something she always needs during the month of December.

Santana’s always found the second act of The Nutcracker to be a little boring without the frantic energy of the party and then the battle in the first act, and she feels almost lazy as Quinn helps herd children into place in the wings; they may be tiny professionals, but it’s only the eighth show so far, and the chaos of backstage can be a little overwhelming, especially for the younger dancers. It’s not until Quinn nudges her and points out the Sugar Plum Fairy, giggling and whispering with some kids, that Santana finally notices the presence of third principal. The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy is always the most interesting to Santana in the second act because the energy of the audience always changes and perks up as soon as that first pluck of the string section drifts through the theatre. Santana creeps closer to the front of the stage as the Sugar Plum Fairy, Brittany, leaves the safe darkness of backstage and emerges into the harsh onstage lights.

The strings pluck the first chord as Brittany enters the stage en pointe, her limbs long and poised with an easy grace, her stiff classic tutu moving easily with her waist as she makes her way to centre stage. On the first note of the celesta, Santana can see the exhilarated smile on Brittany’s face for a split second before she blinks and falls into character even before the second note is ringing out. She moves with the music as if the conductor is pulling on her puppet strings and Santana forgets to concentrate on the blocking and the musical cues in favour of just watching Brittany.

She looks like something off of a ballerina music box, beautiful and delicate, but as she spins across the stage Santana can see the strength and power in her legs, the certain grace and ease in her movements, the concentration and glow in her eyes. Santana’s seen a lot of dancers through her years of stage managing, enough to recognize that spark that differentiates people who dance for a living and for those who live to dance, and Santana can’t help the wide smile spreading across her face as Brittany draws to a stop and the crowd bursts into applause; having that spark in one of the principals is rare, and more than Santana could ever hope for in any production.

She manages to survive both shows with only a little bit of nausea at the thought that she’s supposed to be in charge of the entire production tomorrow; Holly left during intermission of the first show, but Quinn, Zizes, and Artie already work well together, and Santana just needs to find a way to fit herself among them without causing too much friction.

She wanders down the principal hallway, on her way to meet up with Tina before leaving the theatre, when she hears a persistent, loud banging against the wall right beside her. Santana jumps but manages to bite down on her shriek and glances wildly at the wall. The banging pauses for a second before resuming and Santana makes her way to the closest door, poking her head in without knocking; it’s not like anyone would hear her knock over the banging anyways.

She finds the Sugar Plum Fairy, her blonde hair still pinned up but dressed in loose sweats and a baggy sweater, smacking her ballet shoes against the wall with a focus Santana’s rarely seen in anyone, least of all in someone banging their shoe against a wall. Santana clears her throat and Brittany starts a little and quickly glances up.

“Hi,” she grins, giving the shoe one more firm smack against the wall, “You must be Santana.”

Santana swallows the retort on the tip of her tongue when the bluest eyes she’s ever seen land on hers, somehow sparkling even in the poor lighting of the dressing room. She manages a nod as Brittany bends her shoe a little before tossing it onto the coffee table where another shoe, a tiny sewing kit, a hot glue gun, an x-acto knife, and a small pile of resin are scattered. Santana glances at the wall, littered with tiny smudges of pink from Brittany’s banging, and laughs a little, finally realizing why Brittany’s beating the wall with her shoes so violently. “Who knew the Sugar Plum Fairy bangs her own shoes,” she says.

Brittany’s face creases in a smile, thin lips curling up a little lopsided on one side, her cheeks scrunching her blue eyes until they’re catlike and sparkling, and Santana’s chest does this weird spasming, fluttering thing that she tries to ignore. “Well, the Land of Sweets is pretty low on funds,” she says easily.

Santana laughs a little before she steps forward, holding out her hand. “Santana Lopez,” she formally introduces, “Mostly confused, new production stage manager.”

Brittany takes her hand, her fingers sure and strong as they wrap around Santana’s. “Brittany S. Pierce,” she says, “Sugar Plum Fairy and professional shoe banger.” Brittany’s nose wrinkles adorably as she realizes what she just said. “Ew, not like that.”

Santana giggles and only briefly wonders at how easily Brittany coaxed that sound out of her; usually it’s only Tina and Mike that make her comfortable enough to giggle instead of smirk, and that’s mostly because she’s known them for far too long, but there’s something easy about Brittany’s smile that already makes her drop her guard a little bit. “That wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing I’ve seen someone in the company bang,” Santana whispers.

Brittany’s eyes widen comically and she leans forwards eagerly. “Seen?” she exclaims.

Santana shudders, suddenly regretting that she brought it up when the image burned into her memory starts replaying for her. “Unfortunately.”

Brittany giggles and clasps her hands together, rocking backwards on her heels. “Like a train wreck, right?” she asks knowingly.

Santana blinks out of the memory, focusing on the much more pleasing image of Brittany’s sparkling eyes. “Definitely.”

Brittany laughs a little, relaxing again, and there’s a small lull that would normally make Santana fidget with her hands, but Brittany just smiles softly at her and Santana finds herself smiling in return. “So, are you ready for the shows tomorrow?” Brittany finally asks, her voice quiet and warm.

Santana shrugs. “They’re going to be,” she pauses and glances up at the ceiling as she thinks of the right word, “interesting, to say the least.”

The fingers of Brittany’s right hand twitch towards her arm, but freeze a moment later and drop back to her side. Santana wonders what it would feel like to have those clever fingers grazing over her skin, but manages to snap out of her daydreaming with only a little bit of heat in her checks when Brittany speaks again. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” she says easily, “I was talking to Quinn after the show and she was saying that you were a quick study.”

Santana blinks. “Really?” she wonders. It’s not that she thought Quinn would hate her or anything, but, in Santana’s experience, shoving a new person into the production this late always ends up having issues; when sometimes she covers for other stage managers there’s almost always a little bit of tension as everyone tries to adjust to each other.

Brittany nods easily, a small smile curling her lips. “She said that you fit in really well.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was so worried that everyone would hate me or something,” Santana says, before blinking in surprise. She hadn’t meant to admit that, she’s barely talked about her reservations regarding this job with Tina or Mike, yet somehow Brittany is on the receiving end of Santana’s sudden lack of a filter. “Um, you were amazing tonight, by the way,” she redirects quickly.

Pink blooms in splotches across the peak of Brittany’s cheeks despite the fact that Santana knows that this can’t be the first compliment that Brittany’s ever got. “Thanks,” she mumbles bashfully, and something in Santana’s chest twists when she realizes she really wants to see that blush again, and she’s about to go about doing just that when a voice interrupts them from the door.

“Santana?”

Brittany and Santana both turn to the door, finding Tina smirking from the doorway. Santana feels her face heat up for absolutely no reason as Tina’s eyes dart between her and Brittany. “I thought I heard you in here,” she explains, “I see you’ve finally met Brittany.”

Brittany brightens a little. “Your battle scene was great today,” she greets, “Sam said you actually nailed him in the eye.”

Tina laughs, her face opening and brightening at the compliment. “I threw it weird and didn’t even think I would hit him, but he slipped on his turn and instead of missing him I got him right in the face.”

Brittany grins. “Mike said it was glorious.”

Tina chuckles before glancing at Santana. “You coming? Mike’s already impatiently opened a bottle of wine at home to celebrate your first day.”

Santana hesitates. “There’s two shows tomorrow,” she protests weakly, “And I’ve gotta go through the prompt book a couple more times.”

“The matinee’s not until one,” Tina says easily, more than used to having to drag Santana away from her work.

Brittany glances back and forth between the two friends before settling her eyes on Santana, and the warmth in Brittany’s gaze makes that thing spasm in her chest again. “You only have one first day,” she says wisely.

Santana sighs and glances between the two. “Fine,” she mutters. Tina cheers from the doorway, but Brittany just gives her a quiet smile.

“Have fun,” Brittany says.

Santana sucks in a sharp breath through her nose before offering Brittany a small smile in return. “Thanks,” she murmurs, “See you tomorrow.”

Brittany waves her goodbyes to them as Tina drags her out of the dressing room, marching Santana to the stage manager’s office so they can collect Santana’s jacket and prompt book before she can change her mind and insist on going back to her apartment without celebratory drinks. Tina’s lucky enough to have a good parking space in the building’s parkade, being a principal and all, and they head to the elevators that will take them to the parking level in comfortable silence.

“So what do you think?” Tina says as she starts her car and backs out of her parking space. “How do you think it will go?”

“It’s going to be challenging,” Santana admits, “But, interesting, I think.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Santana bites her lip but once she realizes Tina is sufficiently distracted by watching traffic for her chance to pull out of the parkade her reluctance fades, “I have a good feeling about this show.”

Tina apparently wasn’t distracted as Santana thought she was and glances at Santana out of the corner of her eyes, her eyes curious and intrigued in the brightness of the streetlights and taillights around them. “Really? I haven’t heard you say that about a show in years,” she says carefully.

Blue eyes and a soft smile come unbidden to her mind, and Santana’s thankful for the darkness because it hides the blush she can feel creeping along her cheeks and the back of her neck. “Yeah,” she finally says, “I have a really good feeling about it.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)#trying to keep this under wraps has been Hard because Christmas is like my favourite time of year and I've been really excited to write this #also I don't actually know how big of a production this version of the nutcracker is #so I took some artistic liberties with the backstage crew #like some big productions on broadway will have a production stage manager #and then assistant stage managers who run the stage wings and the call desk #and then a team of stage hands #but that's for Big productions so we're going to pretend george balanchine's the nutcracker is that Big #because actually finding that info is Hard #also some shows have a cast a and cast b but george balanchine's doesn't Seem to from what I found online so that's what I went with

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