#we are living out in tha middle of nowhere now. leave us alone

[creaturefeaster]

This may be a stupid question, and I’m sorry if you’ve answered it before, but why do the mimes do everything they do?

Not a stupid question at all. It's a pretty broad question, however, so it may have been answered in bits and pieces in the past throughout several other asks. So I suppose this is a chance to put it cohesively:

They are of a different realm. The physical realm is not their own, and though they have existed for eons, they have only lived life in the physical part of the universe for a tiny sliver of time. So more often than not, they have almost no clue what they're doing.

They've also just finished fighting a war, and are aware that fate is not on their side when it comes to sticking around in the physical realm, so they are very ready and willing to fight. Their kind as a whole goes a bit overboard though, as I'd argue they wipe out maybe a good 70% of the living people on the planet alone within a couple of days.

The mimes in the focal lense of the story-- the ones you see me draw and talk about-- are no exception to this behavior. Some of the first things they do when they arrive is kill. Out of curiosity, fear, adrenaline, or out of a feeling of necessesity. None really out of hate, though, and none with initial malicious intent (...perhaps debatable, depending on how you look at things ^^;)

Once the crazy phase is over, about two or three days after the Fault, a lot of the immediate hostile behavior slows down. Everyone's had a chance to get used to their new world, and has had the time to understand the meaning of what life is. Though they are against the main 15 living protagonists, they actually try to avoid outright killing them. The persuasions of fate fortune the protagonists, so it makes it a little more difficult to get rid of them anyways, but a lot of the mimes often opt to thwart the living's plans rather than continue the cycle of brutal hostility.

Some mimes are just more hostile in nature though, or some more chaotic, but some are just trying to enjoy their new life. Their motives and aspirations are all over the place. Almost all of them though just want to remain despite the destruction they've already caused. The living, of course, want their world back to the way it was, so they continue on. And so the mimes must as well.

#jarna is here to hunt for sport more often than not. #calamea just doesnt give a fuck and does whatever always #rede would be so much more violent if it wasnt for Chickenstab holding him back so often #but past those three none of the main mimes are here to be brutal #twiddle acts like he is but news flash he isnt. he just thrives off of making enemies #foxglove doesnt even wanna be here at all so shes just doing what she thinks she has to #brambleramble #tyv and uppsulka pretty early on actually go. yknow fuck all this mess. idk if we might disappear again one day. #we are living out in tha middle of nowhere now. leave us alone #(alas. they cannot escape the. Shenanigans) #some mimes even help work towards the living's goal #as they accept their fate- realise they'll both be doomed if it isn't done- and that their doomed fate would be worse than-- #--simply having their fate reverted.

[itsmelaurel]

Begin Again

Summary: When your best friends move away for college, you think life is officially over. However, you find yourself making new friends including the blonde surfer from the other side of the island.

—————————————————

three.

The first time you physically see the boys again is a whole month after they move.  It was prospect weekend at their university which meant all high school seniors who were interested in the school were invited to tour the campus and attend a football game.  For most high school seniors it was their first taste of what college would be like next year.  

For you, it was just another weekend at your parents alumni college. It was where they met and fell in love. They had been bringing you to sporting events here every year and basically assumed you would follow in their footsteps.

When you got to campus, they boys met you outside their dorm. Each took a few extra seconds to hug you with Topper actually spinning you around. It felt good to see them, to hug them. This was the longest any of you had gone without seeing each other.

You were currently sitting at the tailgate they dragged you and Sarah to. Ward and your dad had left you both there to visit the alumni tailgate, which was probably a bad idea since Kelce immediately poured you a shot as soon as they left.

All of them had promised not to leave your side, professing that they wanted to spend as much time with you as possible while you were here. That didn’t last long though as they were quickly swept up into a game of beer pong with their fraternity brothers.

Since they were preoccupied, you and Sarah had been people watching from the side of the tent. Several people who graduated from Kildare Prep also went to school here. It was the most popular college choice for Kildare's finest.

“Is it just me or does this feel like a KP reunion?” Sarah asked looking around the tent.

“Definitely feels like a reunion.” You agreed with a grimace.

It’s quiet for a moment as you watch people taking shots, shotgunning beers and quickly becoming blacked out drunk.

“I don’t think I want to go here.” Sarah rushes out quickly and you whip your head around to look at her with wide eyes.

“I- I don’t think I do either.” You stutter. It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted it out loud to anyone. It had been a small thought in the back of your mind for a few weeks now, but you kept ignoring it.

Your parents had been planning on you attending this school since you were a baby. The boys didn’t even think there was another option for you because wouldn’t you want to be where your best friends were?

It was where you always thought you would end up, but it didn’t feel right all the sudden. It didn’t feel like home.

“I haven’t told anyone- well, except John B.”

“Me either minus the part about John B.”

Both of you just stare at each other for a moment, letting the reality of your words sink in.

“Y/n! Sarah!” Kelce was shouting your names as he made his way over to you. Your eyes quickly glance back to Sarah’s, a silent understanding passing between y'all. “Come on, I called next for y'all at pong. You're up against Top and Rafe.”

After winning two games of beer pong, both you and Sarah let another team take over your spot. You were a little tipsy even after switching to water during the second game. All of the guys around the table were in awe of you and Sarah sinking almost every shot.

“That’s my girl!” Rafe shouts when you made the shot to win the first game, even though he and Topper lost because of it.

You and Sarah head towards the coolers to get more water, bending down to open the cooler when a heeled bootie slams the lid shut.

“What tha-” your eyebrows wrinkle in confusion as you look up to see three girls standing on the other side of the cooler.

“Um, can we help you?” Sarah asks as you stand up straight next to her.

“The prospect tailgate is on the other side of the quad.” The blonde in the middle says, her nasally voice like nails on a chalkboard.

“We’re here with friends.” You say, eyes scanning the area for Rafe, Topper or Kelce. Of course they are nowhere to be found.

“Oh really? Who?” The brunette on the left asks, trying to catch us in a lie.

“Topper Thornton, Rafe Cameron and Kelce-” you don’t even get to finish before all three girls are cackling. You and Sarah share an annoyed look.

“No way you're friends with them.” The other blonde on the right says.

“Actually, I’m Rafe’s sister and this is their best friend, y/n.” Sarah says. All of their smiles falter for half a second before they turn their gaze solely to me.

“They’ve never mentioned a girl best friend-”

“Maybe you don’t know them that well.” You taunt. It causes all of them to chuckle again.

“Honey, we’re with those boys literally every single day. They’ve never mentioned you.” The one in the middle brags.

“They call themselves the three amigos. I’ve never heard them utter anything about anyone else.” The brunette chirps.

“And you aren’t on their instagrams anywhere. I would totally remember if you were.” The other blonde adds, all three girls now wearing similar smirks.

A frown settles on your face. You know for a fact you are all over their instagrams. From prom pictures to spending the day on the water, you know you're on all of their pages hundreds of times. Your whole lives have pretty much been documented on their social media accounts.

Thankfully, Sarah has the complete opposite reaction of you. She laughs out loud, hand on her stomach as she leans back slightly - intentionally mocking the girls. People are starting to look at the scene near the edge of the tent.

“Can you imagine trying to intimidate two high school girls because of who they're friends with?” Sarah says loudly so everyone on this side hears. The girls' faces fall at her words.

“Because bitch, we can’t relate.” Sarah throws her hand up in the middle girl's face, a clear dismissal of their childish behavior. She grabs your hand and drags you behind her, away from the tent and the three wicked bitches from hell. She doesn’t stop until a small clearing opens up next to the brick stadium entrance and you're all alone.

Once stopped, the first thing you do is pull your phone out. Opening up Instagram you check all three of the boys Instagram pages hoping that bitch was lying. Your heart sinks when you realize she wasn’t.

There isn’t a trace of you on any of their pages. Tears well up in your eyes and you clench your eyes shut to prevent them from falling.

“Don’t cry, you are way too pretty to cry over those assholes.” Sarah says gently, pulling you into a hug.

“How could they erase every single picture of me? Like I haven’t been there for every moment of their lives.” Your voice cracks a little as you try to keep the emotion from spilling out.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to beat their asses. Then I’m going to roundhouse kick Peggy, Susie and Betty in their faces for messing up our day.” Sarah pulls back slightly to look at you, the determined look on her face makes you giggle.

“Hey! There you are. We were just headed to the boys tailgate to get you so we can head into the game.” Ward says as he and your dad walk up to you.

“Everything okay?” Your dad asks, head tilting as he notices your watery eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You lie, pushing down every single emotion your feeling as the four of you make your way into the game.

When you find your seats, Sarah asks her dad to take your picture. He takes a few then she holds her phone up for some selfies.

Your phone is blowing up, so you take it out to see who it is. There’s at least ten texts in the group chat asking where you went.

Then there’s two texts from a certain blonde haired, blue eyed surfer. The first one asks if you made it and the second one is a picture of the pogues all with sad faces at your and Sarah’s absence.

You send him a picture of the field to let him know you made it, then you make Sarah take a picture just like theirs and send it with a red heart emoji. You immediately regret sending a red heart, but he sends one right back.

Sarah is staring at you as you stare at those little red hearts, her eyebrows raised as she watches you smile.

“What?”

“Just wondering if I look like that every time I text John B.” She shrugs before looking back out to the field. A blush graces your cheeks as you roll your eyes, both of you giggling which catches your dads attention.

“Hey, there’s no giggling in football.” Ward says, snapping his fingers to get both of you to stop. It only fuels your laughter on more.

—

After the game, the original plan was to meet the boys back at their tailgate before getting on the road. All four of you are headed that way, talking about the big win when you look up towards the tailgate. Through the crowd of people, you can see those three girls from earlier talking to Kelce, Topper and Rafe. The site makes you falter your steps until you are completely stopped.

As much as you want to go over there and prove that your friends with the boys, you can’t and it’s not because of those girls. You can’t face the boys right now. All of the emotions you pushed down earlier start to bubble up and you refuse to let them see you cry.

“Um, actually, can we go get the truck?” You ask nervously, eyes trained only on your dad as he stops a few steps ahead of you. He squints his eyes at you, confused at your behavior.

“We need to say bye to Rafe.” Ward comments as he looks back to the tent. Sarah also looks towards the tent, noticing the scene before looking back at you and your glossy eyes.

“We'll go say bye to the boys, y’all go get the truck and pick us up on the corner. It will probably save us all some time.” Sarah makes a plan before y’all go your separate ways.

It’s quiet as you and your dad walk side by side towards his truck, the only noise between the two of you is a faint sniffle as you try to keep yourself from crying.

“So, you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks softly. He stops walking, turning his whole body to look at you. His face is full of concern and you can’t hold it in anymore.

You tell him about those bitches at the tailgate, the fact your best friends practically erased every memory y’all had together and then you accidently let it slip that you don’t want to go to school here anymore. He pulls you into a hug, repeatedly telling you that it’s all going to be okay as he rocks you back and forth.

Both of you stay like that for a few minutes until your crying slowly fades into a few tears and hiccups. He sweetly dabs the tear stains with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I promise it’s all going to be okay, sweetpea.” He whispers reassuringly before he pulls you into his side and continues on to the vehicle. His words are comforting, but it does help the ache you feel in your chest.

When you pick up Ward and Sarah, she is practically glowing when she climbs in the back seat with you.

“You should have seen those bitches-” she begins but Ward shoots her a look at her word choice. She rolls her eyes but continues on “they looked like they were going to throw up when we walked up. When the boys kept asking where you were, their faces paled.” She laughs and even Ward chuckles from the front seat.

“Did they say anything?”

“Oh yeah, they said they were just joking around with us. So I told the boys everything they said. I honestly thought Rafe was going to punch their little blonde leader. When the girls left, Topper said they’ve only seen those girls twice at swap parties.”

“You should have seen them leave, total embarrassment as this one actually laughed.” Ward says from the front seat pointing back at Sarah. That little bit of information makes you feel a little better.

“Did the boys say anything about Instagram?” You ask, unsure if you really want to know. She shakes her head no.

“They were too hyped up on shutting those girls down. I’m sure they are blowing up your phone right now though.” She points to your purse. You can feel it vibrating repeatedly from the inside.

When you pull it out, the amount of texts and calls popping up is causing your phone to go slow. You decide to put it on Do Not Disturb, not ready to talk to them yet. Plus, they’re probably still drunk. The conversation that needs to be had would be best sober.

When you get home, you quickly shower to wash the tailgate and stadium funk off. You just finish putting on pajamas when there’s a light knock on your window.

You slowly approach the window, peaking through the blinds to see who it could possibly be. The only boys who have ever snuck through your window don’t live in the banks anymore.

“JJ?” You're completely confused, but you pull the blinds up and open up the window anyways.

“Hey” he whispers as he stands on the roof landing outside your window. His eyes rake over your face before taking in your light pink silk pajamas.

“What are you doing here?”

“John B had to drop something off at Sarah’s, so I thought I would come see you.”

“Well, come in.” You whisper stepping back so he can move inside. He doesn’t, but he grabs your hand pulling you back to the window.

“I can’t stay long. He told me to meet him back at the van in a few minutes.” He explains, his thumb running across the back of your hand.

You don’t even realize your pouting at the fact he has to leave so soon until his other thumb brushes across your bottom lip before moving up your jaw. He drops that hand quickly as if he's been burned and lets out a shaky breath.

“Did you have fun today?” He asks quietly, frowning when you only shrug in response. Before he can question further, his phone beeps.

“That’s John B letting me know my times up.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” you reply softly.

“Anytime, sweets.” He says making you giggle. He backs away from the window before turning around to climb off the roof making you close the window then the blinds.

You haven’t even moved from the spot when another knock makes you jump. You reopen everything to see JJ standing there again.

“I forgot something.” He whispers as he gets closer to the window.

“Wha-” you don’t even get to finish the word when his lips land on yours and his hand comes up to cup your jaw. The kiss is soft, almost tender as your lips move against his sparking electricity between the two of you.

It only lasts for a few seconds before his phone goes off again. He reluctantly pulls away, leaving you both wanting more.

“I’ve got to go.” He says against your lips and you nod in understanding.

“Goodnight J” you whisper as he backs away for the second time.

“Sweet dreams baby” He says with a wink before climbing off the roof.

The kiss is the only thing you can think of as you slowly drift off to sleep, completely exhausted from the long day. Not mean bitches, shitty best friends or anxiety of your future.

Only JJ Maybank’s lips on yours.

taglist: @dreamsndior @rafej-cambanks @prejudic3 @katiaw2 @sometimesicryintheshower @bibliophilewednesday  @edgymuffin @stargazingandmoon @rae131415 @httpstarkey @k-k0129 @sunshineitsfine44

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj obx fic #jj x y/n #sarah cameron #topper thornton #rafe cameron #kelce obx #pogues x reader #obx fic #obx x reader #soft!kooks #soft!pogues

[lazywriter7]

Five Bells

Written for @lightsonparkave prompt one and two. Cheers to the delightful @firebrands for all her words of encouragement.

Summary:  

After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

First few lines of dialogue taken from Avengers: Endgame. All other lines in italics, as well as the title, are taken from Kenneth Slessor’s Five Bells.

________________________________

“How long is this gonna take?”

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.”

  Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not my time

the flood that does not flow.

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

  “You know which bagel,” Steve says – mostly distracted. Cross-legged, notepad on thigh, he is drafting new training plans for the team; Pietro is proving to be a unique challenge.

“I do?” Tony queries, standing above his shoulder. The couch is low and he towers over Steve. “I don’t remember that being covered by the history books… unless I’d fallen asleep, of course.”

Steve freezes. No, no, he stills. The setting sun angles over Tony’s cheekbone, a deep, burnt red.

Steve lowers his gaze, his skin shivering with the afternoon chill. “Sesame seed, please.”

  Why do I think of you, dead man

 You have gone from earth,

Gone even from the meaning of a name;

  It is in the little things. Natasha’s surprised blink when Steve brings her a peanut butter sandwich, the hollow silence when he curses on the comms and no one chimes the L-word back at him.

It is nothing. It should pale before the face of the big things, the earth-shattering, the miraculous – the reality of getting to hear their voices, see their faces, unblemished, every day.

Even Christmas. Clint snags a thumbnail under the wrapping paper and peels it open from the middle; lifts the box set of Jurassic Park colouring books in the air and shakes it. “Right, ‘cause I’m the toddler of the team, I geddit. Thanks, Cap.”

It’s for Cooper, Steve thinks; it’s dumb, I couldn’t help myself, you haven’t told us and I’m so sorry–

“Did you not have presents in your time?” Tony asks, part snark and mostly befuddled, the multicoloured gleam of fairy lights dappled in his hair.

I didn’t have you in my time – and. And. It is in the little things.

  Yet something's there, yet something forms its lips

And hits and cries against the ports of space,

Beating their sides to make its fury heard.

  “They’re shiny. Silver.” Tony says, bruised eyes, dim with a kind of terror Steve has lived through first-hand. “These big, heaving whales in the air… and everything else is dark. All of you are dead.”

It’s been twenty-three days since Steve told him about December 16, 1991. New traumas evoking older nightmares.

“And I’m alone.”

It wasn’t real, Steve should say. That is the correct response to a nightmare.

It was real, in another, deliberately forgotten lifetime. Five years, and they weren’t even the worst of it.

“We can prepare,” Steve fists his hands by his sides, so as to not reach for Tony’s trembling ones on the kitchen countertop. Everything around them is night and still, but for the flickering of the bulb overhead. “We’ll be ready for them when they’re here.”

It’s like a face shifting from the shade into the light; the gratitude moving over Tony’s features.

The kettle whistles, Tony pads over to the stove – and for an instant, it’s as if a cloud passes and Steve is convinced this is a BARF memory. There by the corner, the real Tony stands with shoulders curled in – gaunt, emaciated, mouthing words.

Liar. Thief. Liar, liar.

  Are you shouting at me, dead man, squeezing your face

In agonies of speech on speechless panes?

Cry louder, beat the windows, bawl your name!

  Tony, Steve breathes – and Tony catches it on his lips.

This has never happened before. Steve has no memories to compare it with, and catalogues every detail to add to a rolodex of sensations, for safekeeping; Tony’s eyelashes fluttering against Steve’s skin, the way the callus on his thumb digs into Steve’s chin when he’s holding it steady, the soft skin in the crevices between his fingers as their hands wound tighter together, the happiness of an impossible moment.

Tony pulls back, smiles softly.

Steve closes his own eyes, brushes his mouth over the corner of Tony’s, where the wrinkles begin – the place missing just a few extra lines.

  But I hear nothing, nothing...only bells,

Five bells, the bumpkin calculus of Time

Your echoes die, your voice is dowsed by Life

  “I have… Arlington.” Steve awkwardly presses himself against the wall of the overfull coffeeshop, paper cup oozing warmth through to his palms. Sometimes, if he lets himself forget, the crowds piling through the street and bustling indoors can still stun him. “There’s a memorial there, I mean. But if I could pick, after I eventually… Brooklyn, probably. In the Barnes family plot, if they allow it.”

“What,” Steve asks – turned morbid by the laughter and press of people around him. Fifty percent. It never happened here. “What about you?”

Natasha looks at him, brow crooking high enough to reach her hairline. Steve used to think that blistering colour came from hair dye, but he knows better now.

“Where I’d want to be buried?” She summarises bluntly. It’s like a wound getting cauterised – relief and pain making everything insensate.

The answer is a farm that isn’t supposed to exist, in the middle of nowhere. “Minsk,” Natasha says instead, and it doesn’t sound like a lie he’s heard before.

  Nothing except the memory of some bones

Long shoved away, and sucked away, in mud;

And unimportant things you might have done,

Or once I thought you did; but you forgot,

And all have now forgotten

   “Happy Sputnik Day!” Tony choruses, Thor’s deep base rumbling alongside his. Bruce is in the attached kitchenette, peering at jar labels in the shelf; Clint and Natasha playing Borderlands on the couch.

Steve comes further in from the doorway, gaze flitting incorrigibly from person to person. “What?”

“You know, Sputnik. The day all of humanity became a little cooler, and the Russians successfully launched the first satellite into orbit, driving the Americans insane.” Tony springs to his feet, wide grin approaching for a morning kiss. “October fourth.”

He barely catches Steve, fingers clamped about the arms, just as Steve pitches into the floor.

One year, one year one yearoneyearone –

Past, present, future swirls together in his serum-perfect brain, gibbering over two words, a fact so carefully forgotten; his breaths grow shallower and shallower, pain shooting through his chest with every hitch, black-spots-inverse-stars shimmering in his vision–

“You’re dead.” Steve rasps out, Tony’s face shuttering in confusion. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it. “You’re dead.”

  Where have you gone? The tide is over you,

The turn of midnight water's over you,

As Time is over you, and mystery,

And memory, the flood that does not flow.

  He’s curled on the couch, apostrophe-like; dry-mouthed but breathing slower against Tony’s denim-covered thigh. Tony drags blunt nails over his scalp, quietly humming under his own breath.

I’ve watched you, Steve thinks hazily – watched you raise a child, watched you be blissfully married, watched you speak to Howard, father to father, and dole out more understanding than he deserved, and let me walk you away from your pristine life and give me more trust than I had ever earned. I watched the silver grow from the temples of your head to the longer hair-strands, to the scrub of your goatee, up to the fleck of your brows. And the longer I keep watching you now, the more I know I’m watching someone else.

“Was so sure,” He can hear his voice reverberate off the floor, more of a croak than anything– “tha’ I wasn’ gonna leave you this time.”

Tony regards him, hum falling silent. There’s a dam there, in those eyes, holding back a wave of slowly stirring anger and injury that Steve fully intends to weather – but is leashed now, for some reason.

This Tony doesn’t have grey in his beard yet, but even as his lips move and Steve braces himself, he says–

“I’ll forgive you.”

  The night you died, I felt your eardrums crack,

And the short agony, the longer dream,

The Nothing that was neither long nor short;

But I was bound, and could not go that way,

But I was blind, and could not feel your hand

  After he’s said his goodbyes, Natasha follows him back to his room.

“Is he still in the plane somewhere?”

Back at the beginning, when he’d been dropping off the Tesseract at Camp Lehigh – he’d briefly considered it. Dropping off an envelope on Peggy’s desk with the coordinates of the Valkyrie, so that the other him could find… something. Maybe a happy ending, maybe just a chance. But all of time and its knowledge had been laid out before Steve, and he hadn’t resisted one extra indulgence.

It was only time before he met Scott, after all. One extra Particle than he had, one trip to the forties and back – and his self could be spared the pain of thirty years in the ice.

In twenty-twelve, Steve changed the course of history merely by showing up; all deep sea vessels, search parties in the Arctic called home. Captain America was alive and well.

“Seventy five, point two three zero six north, ninety nine point one one three zero west.” With every blink, Steve can see her memorising the numbers. “Find him, kick his ass into gear. Don’t let him run.”

She nods, and remains waiting in the doorway. Steve is motionless on the bed, the looming weight of the future wrapped around his wrist.

He looks at her. Natasha’s lips curve straight up, soft and reassuring.

“See you in a minute,” Steve whispers, and disappears.

  If I could find an answer, could only find

Your meaning, or could say why you were here

Who now are gone, what purpose gave you breath

Or seized it back, might I not hear your voice?

  Back on the platform, Bucky runs to him first. His brows are furrowed with faint surprise.

In that other past, and now that was The Other – Peggy had set him free in the seventies, aided by information that Steve left behind. When Steve re-emerged in twenty-twelve, he had no idea where Bucky was and how the years had passed for him – fettering his impulses in steel, and letting it remain that way. His interference would accomplish little, and Bucky had always managed on without him.

Or maybe that had just been easier for him to believe.

“Not the end of the line just yet,” Steve says.

The surprise smooths out of Bucky’s features, so does the staidness; he squeezes Steve’s elbow once and for a second, that grin seems alive.

“I hate running alone,” Steve tells Sam, who’s standing but two paces behind. He strides forward to catch up, reaches out and wraps Sam’s solid fingers over the strap of the shield in one motion. “Hold this for me, will you? Be back soon.”

He turns and walks. It’s a short one – the lakehouse property isn’t really big. There’s grass everywhere, and dandelions, and no headstones.

Just a tall, stately oak towards the side – foliage in full summer splendour. There’s already a circle of dropped acorns around the base, ready to sprout into a hundred, newer lives.

“Hey.” Steve strokes his fingers over the burnished bark. “I’m back.”

 I have lived many lives, and this one life

 Time that is moved by little fidget wheels

Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.

  Outside the lakehouse, Laura is bundling the kids into a van. Clint steps down from the porch, murmurs something to her, then jogs over to where Steve is watching, arms folded.

“She did have family,” Clint says, almost as an aside. “Sisters, a few others.”

Steve breathes the news in. The scent of summer is strong in the air, lilacs and crabapples and the soil itself.

“I have a few of her effects. They must’ve heard, already, but someone should tell them in-person.”

“I’ll find them.” Steve affirms. Clint nods, and walks back to the van, where Cooper sticks his head out of the open windowpane and gets his hair ruffled teasingly for his efforts.

Steve watches, the warmth of the sun beating down his arms and back. He has a feeling Minsk is pretty nice this time of year too.

#lightsonparkave #stony #steve/tony #steve pov #time travel #grieving #endgame fix it #canon compliant #yup it's both #bittersweet #poetry #nat and tony live #in another timeline #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha romanov

[burtlederp]

Grant(3), Caleb(4), Caetan(35), Tiburon(49) oops,, its a lot, huh? Your characters are just awesome hAHA sorrYY

Nooo don’t apologize thank YOU!!! I’M sorry for taking so long to respond!!!

Putting stuff under a readmore because holy hell there’s a lot of it

3. What is/was Grant’s relationship with his father like? tw: drugs, drugs, and more drugs; child abuse a la neglect

He’s laying on his back in the middle of his apartment, staring at the domed ceiling overhead. Coherent thoughts are far and few between, his mind muddled by the haze that fills it, fills the room, the whole apartment. Before he’d started smoking, he’d known he’d regret stealing so much weed, but for now, he didn’t. He floated in a peaceful bliss, utterly serene. No thoughts in, no thoughts out. Just smoke, curling and floating around him. Shapes moved amongst the haze, too faint to identify, passing, shifting forms. People, perhaps, walking by, walking around him. Legs passing by, nobody ever stopping to look down at him. People milling about, paces slowing, soon they’re coming and going. They enter the room, they talk, they leave after a brief exchange of currencies. His father is sitting behind him, on the couch. He’s high too, he’s always high, Grant can just barely see the shadows of his father’s hunched form when he tips his head back. His father never relaxed when he was high. He always became even higher strung, if that was possible. He only calmed down when he had heroin in his veins, or something stronger. 

Grant couldn’t see the face of the smoky form of his father. There wasn’t one. In his memory, there never had been. His father in the transient construction of smoke was as accurate as any depiction Grant could have conjured on his own. Never present, never really there, always drugged out of his mind, never sober. Just the same as the haze that filled the house permanently. 

4. Has Caleb ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed him? If so, does anyone else know? tw: war is hell, child abuse a la war is fucking hell, no I’ve not read the Silmarillion I just like the idea of Tom Bombadil don’t @ me

Caleb scrubbed his face on his arm and shivered, pulling the tattered cloth he called a blanket tighter around himself. It’d been raining for days now, with no end in sight, and it had transformed the prairie into a mudscape. He and one other lone figure huddled around a tree that stood tall in the midst of the brown sea, one solitary rise of solid ground, one lone spot of relative shelter. 

“B-beautiful weather, innit?” the other, the stranger, chuckled. It was the first thing they’d said since they arrived. They’d showed up last night, flopping down against the tree and falling asleep. Caleb had kept his distance, kept still, not showing any inclination of actually being alive. He didn’t reply to the stranger’s comment on the weather.

“Not in th’ mood ‘fer talkin’? Thas’ a’ight…” they sighed after a long minute, realizing Caleb wouldn’t respond. “An’ I know yer’ not asleep, ‘cause iss’ too cold t’be sleepin’ right now.” Caleb still didn’t respond. He was wary of the person. There was no such thing as a stranger with ulterior motives. 

“Don’ worry, I got enough words fer’ th’ both of us,” the stranger, a man, Caleb realized over the constant sound of rain, scoffed. Caleb looked heavenward, praying silently. 

Please, no, don’t let him talk, Caleb prayed, but unfortunately the gods were not on his side in this moment. 

“I’ve met a god before. Now, I know what yer’ thinkin’--’you? Dionisio? Seen a god? Ha! As if!’ But I tells ya’, I met ‘em. Hell if I’m to know which one he was or what he did or whatnot, but I met ‘im and he was a fabulous fella. Called ‘imself Tom, of all things. Can ye’ believe that? A god, named Tom! Ah, I hardly believed it myself when ‘e said it.” Caleb sighed, rubbing his face. The man’s name was Dionisio, and he was crazy. Excellent. I’m stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a crazy man who’s likely going to kill and eat me. 

A distinct crunch cut off Caleb’s train of thought. It wasn’t a sickening crunch, like a breaking bone or the like, but like a bite into an apple, a fresh, crisp apple. Caleb spun around, looking around the tree to see the man, as crinkled and wrinkled and dirty and filthy as he had sounded and smelled, leaned comfortably against the tree. His dark, beady eyes twinkled as Caleb stared at him.

“Mm, I knew that’d get yer’ attention!” he laughed, a hand lowering to his side. Before Caleb could react, jump back from the man’s drawn sword--he realized the man hadn’t drawn a sword at all. It was another apple. He held out the bright red fruit to Caleb. “Go on n’ take it, lad, y’probably more starved than I am!” 

Caleb sat there, hesitating, eyes flickering between the apple and the man, weighing his options. He could take the apple, but… what did he want in return? Was the apple cursed? Poisoned? Was this a trick? He backed up a step warily, like a shy animal.

“Ayee, I’m not gonna ‘urt you! I jus’ wanna give y’ somethin’ t’eat. I swear I ain’t mean nuthin’ by it,” Dionisio insisted, holding the apple out further. Caleb stared, waiting. Dionisio tilted his head, giving a wry smile. “C’mon laddie. I ain’t mean ye no harm, c’mon.” His voice softened as he spoke, getting a little quieter, more gentle, not so rough and abrasive like the coarse mud that surrounded them. Caleb swallowed, his stomach twisting. It’d been days since he’d eaten. He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten. And here it was, food, offered with no strings attached. It was too good to be true. But his hunger overrode his instincts now and he snatched the apple from the man’s hand, leaping away right after. 

“Aye, there we go, there we go, see? An’ I didn’ even ‘urt ye!” Dionisio chortled, watching as Caleb devoured the apple. The old man kept smiling, but it faded somewhat as the small, one-armed boy ate. “Ye been hit as ‘ard as anyone else by this war, ain’t ye?” 

Caleb, chewing, looked up briefly at the man through messy, curly, wet black hair that fell in his eyes. He nodded, ever so slightly. 

“Ye… Ain’t we all…” Dionisio sighed, letting his head rest against th’ tree. “I got more apples fer’ ye if ye want ‘em after that ‘un.” Caleb frowned.

“Why?” Caleb was surprised as the sound that came from his throat was not one he recognized. It was a croak, rough and unused. Though it had been… well, Caleb didn’t even know the last time he’d spoken. He cleared his throat and tried again, questioning the man. Dionisio huffed a laugh.

“‘Why’? Whaddya’ mean, ‘why’?” the old man looked to him with a grin. “‘Cause I want to, and ye look half-dead, and ye barely a child! Ye need it more than I do.”

“But….” Caleb looked down at the core of the apple in his hand. “You could last so much longer if you kept them to yourself.”

“But you’ll last so much longer if I don’t, won’t ye?” Dionisio pointed out simply. “That’s reason enough fer’ me.” A spot of red appeared in Caleb’s peripheral vision, and he raised his head to see another apple being offered to him, Dionisio smiling. Caleb took it slowly.

“No… no other goal…?” Caleb asked cautiously, and Dionisio shook his head.

“None. I jus’ wanna see ye get outta’ this war alive, lad.”

Caleb leaned back against the tree as Dionisio kept telling his story, listening out of one ear as he thought about the apple. Food, so precious in this time of war and chaos, and he’d given it away freely. 

Perhaps there are good people in this world, still… Caleb thought as Dionisio talked and talked and talked, and it rained and rained and rained.

35. How does Caetan behave around people he likes? in a word: badly tw: implied to-happen noncon/r*pe

Caetan drummed his fingers on the bartop, chin resting in his other hand. He nudged his drink around a bit, bored. He didn’t really know what he was here for. Well, he did, he knew very well. He’d been more than busy the past couple weeks, and was yearning for some company. But he wasn’t sure what mood he was in. 

And then someone sat down a few seats from him at the bar and he did a double-take. A man, maybe 6-foot-one, with short, dark hair that was well-kept, well-styled. Lean, well-muscled, but not brawny. His face was narrow, and by god that was the most perfect nose Caetan had ever seen in his life. 

Caetan realized what mood he was in and got to his feet.

“This seat taken?” Caetan inquired. The man turned, looking up at him with deep, chocolate-y brown eyes that made Caetan pray the man said no because his knees were about to give out. The man shook his head, and Caetan tried to slip into the seat without giving away how weak he was already. “You here alone tonight?”

“I am,” the stranger responded, eyeing Caetan somewhat warily. 

“That’s a shame,” Caetan shook his head. “A beautiful creature like yourself on your own on a Friday night? I’d say that’s a crime against humanity.”

The man stared at him, and Caetan suddenly second-guessed everything he’d said or done already. What had he done wrong? Could he fix it? What--

“I’m straight.” Ah. That’s what’s wrong. Caetan’s face fell a bit.

“Well, damn. You sure?” Caetan sighed.

“Very,” the man replied stiffly.

“That’s an even bigger shame, then,” Caetan grunted, motioning the bartender over. “Let me buy you a drink then, to save some face.”

“No thanks,” the man said quickly, getting to his feet. “Have a good night.” With that, the beautiful stranger turned and walked away. Caetan watched him go, and slowly got to his feet, moving stealthily through the bar as the man headed to the door of the bar, and he followed him out into the night.

49. If Tiburon was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through. I had no idea what to do with this for a looong time, ngl cw: cannablism(?), consumption of human flesh, gore, Tiburon doesn’t give two shits about your ‘ethics’, he’s got his own that he’s following; oh and implied kidnapping, planned torture that never happens

It occurred to Tiburon, now too late, that perhaps he was in over his head. ‘Infiltrate the mafia,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said. ‘You surely won’t be forced to torture and kill someone!,’ they said, he thought bitterly as he stood in front of a man tied firmly to a chair, a black bag over his head. His head was bowed inside the bag, but he wasn’t unconscious; Tiburon could hear the man choking on sobs, shoulders shaking. Tiburon had killed people before, he’d eaten people before, he had no issue with that; it was the torture that made him hesitate. Every time he’d killed, he’d taken special care to not let them suffer, he hated suffering.

And now here he was, being compelled to do it. Well, he would be, it hadn’t happened yet. He was trapped in this shipping container, another man standing by the door, waiting, watching, playing witness to Tiburon’s actions to let the boss know he was legit. Tiburon sighed, rubbing his face. What a fucking inconvenience. Six months--six fucking months of work, all down the drain, just like that. He tortured this man, made him suffer, or they would kill Tiburon. Well, they thought they would. Unfortunately, they were currently on the docks, so Tiburon would make his getaway before they ever knew he’d changed his mind about the work. 

He turned away from the sobbing, bound man to face the guard, crossing his arms. The man, at least a head taller than Tiburon and fifty pounds heavier, every ounce made of muscle, eyed him.

“What?” The man’s voice was exactly what Tiburon had pictured--deep, raspy, heavy. Appropriate.

“Nothing,” Tiburon replied, looking away with a sigh. He rubbed his jaw, thinking. He had to cut to the chase before things started getting iffy. He turned back around and walked close to the guard.

“What’re you doing?” the guard grunted, sizing up the supposed torturer while the supposed torturer did the same to him. Tiburon did not reply, not verbally, grabbing the man by the head and pushing him against the wall. The guard barked in alarm and fought back, but Tiburon was quicker and slippery. Before the large brute could get a good grip on him and make the whole ordeal a lot more trouble, he leapt forward and sank his teeth into the man’s throat. The guard’s shout of alarm quickly twisted into a scream, then into a gargled wail that was silenced as Tiburon pulled away, trachea still in his teeth. The guard slumped to the floor, grasping at his own neck with wide eyes, and Tiburon hated it. A swift kick, and the guard’s body shuddered and went still, skull dented. Tiburon chewed thoughtfully on the trachea for a moment, surveying his work, and went to the captive man. The poor creature yelped in alarm at the touch as Tiburon cut through the zipties, but went quiet as the black hood was yanked off. The man’s eyes went wide as he saw the cartilage in Tiburon’s mouth, the dead body, and scrambled backwards with a terrified shriek.

“No, no, no no no please!” he begged, tears rolling down his cheek, one hand outstretched protectively. Tiburon frowned.

“Don’t worry, I won’t, I just figured it’d be cruel to leave you alone in the summer heat. Toodles.” With that, the merman turned and stepped out of the shipping crate, walking to the edge of the water, at some point discarding the trachea (cartilage wasn’t good eats anyhow) along the way. He dove in, relishing the cool ocean saltwater as it closed over his head, pleasant in the summer heat. 

Six whole months… he thought again as he swam away, his legs fusing into a long tail, skin becoming rough, teeth sharpening. Ah well. Now I know; the mafia isn’t worth the work.

#burtlederp writes #FOR ONCE #i actually did a lot of this other day when i was still working at the hotel #i am not anymore #but i almost feel like ill write more because of that #idk #this is the first of a few asks i've finished #back when i was like #every ask a project #every ask NOT a project #projects are hard and depression is real #burtlederp answers #took her like three years but it got done #cw: violence #cw: implied rape #cw: war is hell #cw: drugs #cw: drug abuse #i have too many characters and not enough bios #oh well #these ocs shall remain informally introduced #whump #whump writing #caetan is bi btw #i figured someone would ask #he's also awful #which is unfortunate

[bangteen]

Hello! This is my first time requesting something and I’m kinda nervous, but could you maybe do a lee know angst where y/n is one of the other members sibling and she joins them for dance practice and she is learning the choreography too, for fun. Her crush for lee know is present and only her brother knows about it, but he starts getting mad at her when she starts to mess up, and he tells her off and she leaves or something, it can end in fluff!

a/n: oh my gosh hiii!! Literally thank you so much for requesting!! I’m so honoured to be the first person you went to to request something!! I get what you mean; I was a little bit nervous when I made my first request too, but you totally don’t have to be! It’s actually a lot of fun to request, and it’s also a lot of fun for the writer writing it as well (at least in my experience)!! I’m so sorry this took so long. I wanted to make sure I was happy with it and it would be something that you hopefully enjoy! If you ever want to request something from me again, please don’t hesitate!! Request as much as you’d like!! I always love receiving them, and your’s was a really fun one! Thanks so much again for requesting, and I hope you enjoy!!

Making the Same Mistake | Lee Minho

⇥ Genre: angst + fluff

⇥ Summary: Minho teaches Chan’s sister, Y/N, one of their dances for fun, and after she makes a few mistakes, Minho gets upset, causing her to break down and leave.

⇥ Word count: 1.6k

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

“Y/N,” his voice was full of guilt as he brought his gentle fingers to your cheek, drying the painful tears that ran down your face.

You removed yourself from his touch and faced the window again, sniffling and wiping your tears with your own hand before you felt him take it in his.

• Two hours earlier

The living room was filled with laughter created by you and the members as you watched the movie playing on the TV.

“Oh crap!” Chan yelled as he checked his phone. “I didn’t know it was so late already! We gotta go! Sorry, Y/N. We could finish the movie later.”

“Oh,” you said slowly, the sadness laced in your voice slightly audible, “yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

All of the members began standing, taking a few of the many snacks back to the kitchen.

“I’m really sorry,” your brother apologized. “I do really want to keep watching bu—”

“Hey, Chan?” You interrupted.

He turned around with a bowl in each of his hands and smiled, ready to listen.

“Um, would it be ok if I came with you guys to, you know,” you paused, “watch?”

A small smile crawled onto his lips.

“Are you sure you want to come just to ‘watch’,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “and not for something else?”

You looked at him, confused for a moment before realization hit you, and you smacked your brother’s arm.

“Be careful with your words around here!” You whispered, and he laughed softly. “And, yes, it’s because I want to watch all of you dance. But, I mean, you're not wrong about the ‘something else’ part.”

He laughed, shaking his head while smirking.

“Of course you can come, Y/N. To watch all of us, even though I know you’ll only be watching a certain someone,” he winked.

“Hey!” You whispered loudly and hit his arm again. “Be quiet!”

“Ow!” He flinched. “Jeez! Ok!”

•

You sat against the wall while the loud music blared throughout the room as the boys danced. Chan was right: no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of one boy. Since Chan introduced you to all of the members years ago, you managed to create and maintain close relationships with each of them, but you just got along with one of them a little bit better, resulting in the feelings you currently have for him.

“Hey, Y/N! Minho wants you to dance with him!” Jeongin yelled over the loud music before Minho, with wide eyes, hit him on the shoulder.

“I didn’t say that!” Minho said defensively.

“Yeah, you said that she looks bored and that you want to teach her the dance,” Jeongin replied.

You looked at Minho, slightly shocked.

“Teaching her was just a suggestion! And I didn’t say I wanted to dance with her, one on one, just us two.” he said, making eye contact with you shortly, before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I didn’t exactly say tha—“

Hyunjin cut in, “Y/N, can I teach yo—“

“No, I will!” Minho interrupted. “Y/N, come dance with us! It’ll be fun! I’ll teach you!”

You giggled nervously.

Seungmin noticed the hesitant look on your face and responded, “I don’t think she wants t—“

“No! I’ll do it! It sounds like fun anyway!” You smiled, reassuring him that you’re okay.

You stood up and made your way to the boys in the middle of the room, noticing the obvious smirk on Chan’s face.

After Minho lead you through a quick warm up—with the other boys too—Chan proposed the idea of beginning from the first pre-chorus. They decided to teach you Woojin’s parts in honour of him, and they told you how happy and proud he would be that you were learning his parts.

Minho was the one teaching you the most, but you weren’t complaining. It gave you an excuse to be close to him whenever he would come behind you to correct your positioning, his hands on yours.

“Remember, Y/N, your shoulders move with your arms too, and don’t bring your arm out on the last one. You just do it once.”

You just hoped no one noticed your burning cheeks every time he would come close to you.

“Ok, should we run it? Y/N, I think you’re ready to give it a go!” Minho said.

“Let’s do it!” You shouted.

Chan started the music and ran to his position before you all danced together. You focused hard to get all of the moves right, watching yourself and the others in the mirror. You made a few mistakes throughout the dance, but considering you were running through everything you learned with music for the first time, it wasn’t bad.

After, most of the boys came running up to you, giving you high fives with large smiles on each of their faces.

“You did so good!”

“That was awesome, Y/N!”

But Minho didn’t seem to be giving you any words of encouragement or do anything to cheer you on.

“Minho, what’s up with you?” Chan asked.

You turned to look at Minho too and noticed the upset expression on his face.

“Hey, what’s wro—?”

“Y/N,” Minho raised his head to look into your eyes and began to speak, “how many times do I need to keep telling you that at that part you don’t open your arm!”

Your worried expression quickly turned into shock, “what?”

Chan instinctively walked in front you protectively, blocking you from Minho.

“I’ve told you so many times, and you still make the same mistak—“

“Dude, don’t be so hard on her!” Chan budded in angrily. “It was literally her first time dancing to it with music. You can’t expect someone to do it perfectly the first ti—“

“That part is so simple, and she still can’t get it righ—“

“Y/N!”

You ran out of the practice room, tears on the verge of spilling out of your eyes.

Chan sent a strong glare towards Minho before running out after you. Minho sighed before his expression turned into guilt. He threw his head back, with his hands over his face, before he followed after you as well.

“Hyung!”

“Don’t you dare follow me after what you just did to Y/N! What you did was so unreasonable!”

“Hyung plea—“

“You know, you probably completely broke her heart. You don’t understand how much she talks to me about you and how much she loves you.”

“What?”

“She likes you, Minho. She really really likes you.”

His eyes went wide, turning to run after you again.

•

“Y/N?”

You didn’t need to see who the muffled voice belonged to; you could recognize it anywhere.

You didn’t respond.

“Can you open the door?”

You ignored him for a few seconds before unlocking the car.

He took a seat beside you, “thank you.”

You didn’t respond.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he apologized. “What I said was completely unfair. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or said any of that. I guess I was just frustrated because I’m always a perfectionist when it comes to dance.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see he was staring at you. You turned your head to look out the window.

“Look,” he continued, “when I first learned the choreography, I was nowhere near as good at the dance as you were just now. I had no right to say those things to you, and I’m so sorry.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

“Will you forgive me?” He asked you softly.

You faced him, and you two just looked into each other’s eyes for several seconds before he noticed the water welling up in your eyes.

“Y/N,” his voice was full of guilt as he brought his gentle fingers to your cheek, drying the painful tears that ran down your face.

You removed yourself from his touch and faced the window again, sniffling and wiping your tears with your own hand before you felt him take it in his. You turned to him before he removed his hand from yours, instead, cupping your cheek softly. Your eyes widened as he leaned in quickly, capturing your lips with his. Taking a moment to process, your eyes slowly shut as you kissed him back, feeling him smile against your lips. You pulled back shortly after and just looked into his soft eyes.

“I forgive you,” you gave him a slight smile before a small laugh escaped your lips, and he started laughing too.

You noticed Chan running up to the car and stopped, out of breath, and you opened the door.

“Looks like you two are okay now,” Chan commented as he caught his breath.

You smiled and Minho nodded.

“Judging by my brotherly instincts, I’m sensing that something’s going on here, and I think I know what it is,” his smirk transitioned into a small smile. “I’m happy for you two.”

You laughed, “thanks, Chan.”

“I guess I’ll leave you two alone then!” He said before waving goodbye.

You and Minho looked at each other again before breaking out into a small laugh.

“Wanna go back and try the dance again? I won’t yell at you, I promise.”

“Sure,” you smiled. “Let’s go.”

Just as you were about to step out of the car, he grabbed your wrist, causing you to turn. Your face was full of confusion before Minho quickly pecked you on the lips. When he pulled back, you smiled shyly with your bottom lip in between your teeth. Minho just watched you, admiring how cute you are before you slowly opened the car door and stepped outside, making your way back to the building together.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz angst #skz fluff #skz minho #skz lee know #skz writing #stray kids writing #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids minho #stray kids lee know #skz lee minho #lee minho #minho x reader #minho #minho fluff #minho angst #minho imagines #kpop writers #kpop writing #kpop imagines #kpop angst #kpop fluff #skz x you #skz x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #requested

[thetakenpokemon]

Act 2 - The Outside World

[Time: Present Day] [PoV: Yinomi]

Although it has only been a day since we’ve left the isle, I already feel myself being in high spirits. Although a change of scenery is incredibly refreshing, the biggest reason...is the food.

Currently the three of us are gathered around a firepit we made within a clearing. The freshly killed and cleaned carcass of a Sawsbuck lays speared over it with the use of several sharpened branches, cooked to perfection - with my own fire I might add.

We do have plenty of food on the isle. There’s an abundance of trees that hold a variety of fruits, countless vegetables and root plants, and other miscellaneous edible plants and herbs. For those who require meat in their diet, there’s quite a bit of fish from the surrounding ocean. Wild game or any other meat? That is something we don’t have on the isle.

So when we found a Feral Sawsbuck while making our way to the town, it was only natural that the first thing in my and Miyako’s mind was to hunt it. Miyako killed it before it ever had the chance to react, ending its life with a swift slash to its throat after a giant leap.

Although I would never admit this in the open, I must agree that one thing that Miyako has over me is her impressive speed.

My fangs dig into the leg of the venison, uncaring about the grease that’s dripping down my chin. I can find a stream to wash myself later. The biggest priority right now is to enjoy this very rare delicacy~

Across the firepit I see Miyako currently tearing into her own piece, already getting down to the bone. With a loud gulp she turns to Iniko - said Medicham who is silently sitting to the side.

“Hey, want some?” The Lopunny asks, wiping her face with an arm before gesturing to the meat in the center.

Iniko doesn’t respond verbally, but instead gives Miyako a deadpan look before gesturing to her own face with a hand - or more specifically, her lack of mouth.

Miyako smiles awkwardly. “Oh yeah, right...”

So much for being in high spirits... I roll my eyes at her cluelessness. Although most cases I would add a remark, my mouth is currently full.

“It’s okay, Miyako.” Iniko sighs. “Regardless, I already got my fill from the previous stream we found. Its energies should last for the rest of the trek.”

“I still keep forgetting that you ‘eat’ by absorbing energies from running water.” Miyako muses as she takes another bite into the venison, before continuing speaking with her mouth full. “Do you ever miss normal food?”

Swallowing my bite, I give the Lopunny a glare. “You have the decency of a child, Miyako. Speak only when you don’t have food in your mouth.”

In response, the Lopunny gives me the middle finger before chewing slowly with her mouth open, looking me dead in the eyes.

I let out a growl at this, a puff of purple fire escaping from the large maw hanging behind me.

“It’s not any running water that I get my energy from!” Iniko speaks up hastily, trying to divert the subject back in order to stop the forming feud. “It has to be something like a stream or river, however the most fulfilling is from the ocean itself.” She laughs awkwardly. “And even though I have thought about it, I only miss normal food...occasionally. But absorbing energy from water is a fairly different thing compared to standard eating, and in some cases I’d say it’s much more satisfying and filling.”

Her attempt at drawing our attention away from each other ended up succeeding - mostly at least, since my anger towards Miyako has died down to something more along the lines of simple irritation.

“Huh, that’s pretty cool, actually.” Miyako comments, thankfully saying said thing after swallowing her bite of food. “But I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’d ever give up the chance of eating meat! It’s just so damn good~”

I couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Even though you never ate meat before you became a Bearer?” I point out with a smirk.

She glares at me. “Hey, just because my biology was different before, it doesn’t make it any less different now.” Her free clawed hand clenches. “You saying that my opinions mean less due to the fact that I was-”

“Why don’t you both finish eating so we can be on our way sooner?” Iniko speaks up in a serious tone before giving me a glare. “Because right now we are kinda using up precious time.”

“Hmph, very well.” I snort before resuming my feasting.

Miyako holds her glare on me, but ultimately decides to drop the subject as well. “Sure, whatever...”

---

After finishing our meal and cleaning ourselves up, we’ve resumed our travelling and actually made very good progress towards the town. As of currently the forest we’re in is already thinning, thus meaning that we’re getting close.

“So Richard Dick is located just outside this forest?” Miyako asks to no one in particular, her arms crossed behind her head.

“It’s...called Richmond.” Iniko slowly replies, trying to contain her own laughter. “And yes. Outside the forest is nothing but grasslands along with a big river. Richmond is built beside said river, which I assume is where they get a good source of their food. The place is fairly hilly as well, but we should be able to see the place the moment we step out of the woods.”

I’m currently just staring at Miyako. To confuse ‘Richmond’ with ‘Richard Dick’... Feeling the energies coming from her, I knew it was intentional, so the only reason I can think of is...

She looks at me, a smirk quite plain on her face.

Yeah, she’s definitely doing this to annoy me. What makes it worse is the fact that she’s succeeding.

“Speaking of which, we’re very close!” Iniko speaks up, drawing my attention away from the infuriating dragon rabbit and towards the path in front of us.

As the Medicham said, the forest ahead seems to stop short. After we pass through, the scenery ahead of us changes drastically. 

Before my eyes are nothing but rolling hills of green. The landscape is covered all over with deep emerald blades of grass, and scattered among the earth are several late-blooming flowers. The sky is relatively clear, leaving a rich blue to properly compliment the scene, making it almost seem like a work of art.

This...is definitely nothing like our home isle, where it’s nothing but forest.

“Whoa...” Miyako says in awe, voicing my own thoughts as well.

“That...truly is quite a sight.” Iniko agrees breathlessly.

Seeing that this alone is enough to make all of us catch our breath? I seriously need to speak with Xiomara once we return. We really are missing out on a lot of things by staying on that isle for so long, I’m sure that the others would be more than happy to see something as simple yet beautiful as this.

“And there it is!” Iniko shouts, pointing into the distance with a finger. “The town is just ahead!”

Having my gaze follow the direction she’s gesturing, I do indeed see several buildings just poking out from the hills.

“Last one there has to volunteer to be part of Seikani’s next experiment!” Miyako laughs before dashing towards the town, each bound of her feet causing earth to spray into the air as her form propels itself across the hills, not unlike that of a living bullet.

“Miyako-” Iniko starts to shout before sighing. “Great... Hopefully she won’t cause too much of a problem before we get there.”

I instead grind my teeth together. “I swear... If she causes any sort of trouble before we arrive, I will make her regret it.”

Iniko looks at me nervously. “Uh, well...Hopefully it won’t come to that, let’s hurry and catch up to her!” She says hastily before running after the Lopunny.

With a growl I follow suit, images of me thrashing Miyako flashing in my mind.

---

It took us a good several minutes before we reached the town. Besides my violent thoughts involving Miyako, the first thing that came to my mind is to say that it looks rather...quaint.

Thatched roofs, walls made of wood boards or logs, smooth dirt roads... It...definitely reminds me of the buildings I used to live in before I became a Bearer of Reshiram’s Power. The only difference in this town though are the lampposts scattered around the place, each of them housing a glass jar with an unlit candle inside.

Placed around the square of the town are various stalls, Pokemon of all shapes and sizes selling food and supplies that you’d only find in a place like this. Seeing that this is a small town in the middle of nowhere, I quite doubt that they actually use any normal form of currency.

...Not that we have any to begin with. Probably something we need to discuss with Orabelle and Zenoclio when they pop by for the next meeting.

Another thing I notice involving the various townfolk is that...well, they’re staring at us.

“I see Miyako.” Iniko whispers to me, gesturing to the side.

My gaze immediately turns to the direction, my face transforming into a scowl. Said expression quickly dissipates once I see what Miyako is doing.

Currently she’s sitting on a wooden bench, surrounded by children. From my current distance I can’t tell what’s exactly going on, but from what I can assume? She’s...merely talking with them.

As the two of us approach her and get closer, we discover that she’s answering the various questions they’re asking her.

“-so you’re part Zekrom?! Do you have lightning powers?!” One of them eagerly asks her.

“Sure can! Watch!” She laughs before pinching two claws together, causing a blue spark of electricity to arc between the two appendages.

The collective young audience immediately let out a chorus of ‘Oohs’, ‘whoas’, and ‘wows’, completely enraptured by the simple display.

Noticing us approaching, Miyako dispels the energy before waving at us. “Ey, ‘bout time you both came here!” She turns to the children before gesturing to us. “And here they are~ These two are the sisters of mine that I told you about.”

One of them raises their hand before asking, “They’re your sisters? But they don’t look anything like you!”

“Sisters are merely something we call ourselves. We’re not directly related.” Iniko answers their question gently.

“Why do you call yourselves that?” Another child asks.

This time I speak up, albeit in a guarded tone. “That...is something we can answer for another time. Do your parents know that you’re speaking with strangers?”

Collectively they all start looking at each other nervously, but eventually one of them does speak up. “Yes...?”

Even without my Reshiram powers that allow me to detect deceit, I can fully tell that they’re lying due to their obviously guilty face and tone.

“I would best advise that you go to them, otherwise you will get in trouble.” I respond flatly.

Although there were a few scattered protests, a stern glare was enough for them to scatter.

“Killjoy.” Miyako complains before standing up from the bench.

“We’re on a mission, Miyako.” I growl at her. “There’s no time for this.”

“Hey, I was merely waiting for you guys.” She shoots back with her own glare. “Not to mention there’s no harm in talking with people. I mean, I interact with you guys all the time. It’s actually nice to talk with someone that’s new!” She turns to Iniko. “No offense, that is.” She turns to me. “In your case? Full offense.”

My eyes twitch.

“Can you both...not?” Iniko hisses angrily, visibly controlling her tone. “Like, not here? In public? Where everyone is watching?” She tilts her head both left and right, drawing our eyes to the surrounding townsfolk.

Who are staring at us...and also murmuring to themselves.

Taking a sharp breath, I let out a sigh. “...Understood.”

Miyako rubs the back of her head sheepishly. “Yeah yeah... Understood.”

“Good.” Iniko sighs, relieved. “Now I recommend going around and asking about the phenomenon. If you find anything of importance, come back here.”

“What if people asks questions in turn? Like about us?” Miyako speaks up.

Before I’m given the chance to say anything, Iniko quickly responds. “If they have questions? Feel free to answer. Obviously hiding our identity isn’t much of a priority here.” She brushes a lock of blue hair over her shoulder. “Not to mention it’d give the people here a chance to become more familiar with us, which should help us in gathering information.”

Miyako gives a thumbs up. “Gotcha~”

“So if there’s no other questions, let's split up?” She half asks half says, looking at the both of us.

“Yup~” The Lopunny chuckles before turning and walking away.

I merely nod and choose the opposite direction Miyako went, leaving Iniko behind to select her own path.

Interacting with the populace of the outside world, huh? This...is definitely gonna take some getting used to...

#yinomihattram #miyakoloprom #inikomedifini #plot

[the-dragons-knight]

Prompt #6: Father’s Family

Entry six for the FFXIV Write 2019 hosted by @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

Prompt: “First Steps”

Rating: T for alcoholic beverages references

Relations: None

Warnings: Light mention of Alcholic drinks

After losing her entire home and everyone she has never known, the only other option Katsum had was the knowledge that her father came from an island known as La Noscea, and that’s where she would find his tribe and maybe his family. She, however, arrives to find that perhaps she was not told the entire story.

- - - - - - - - - -

“So then...let me see if I ‘ave this straight then.” The dark-haired Miqo’te swirled the tankard in her hand thoughtfully, a scowl on her face as she paced in front of the table where Katsum sat, “Yer G’rajaooh Tia’s daughter ya said...”

Katsum nodded.

“An’ ye came here from yer...kingdom on an island in t’ middle o’ t’' sea that is...surrounded by storms, aye?”

Again, she nodded.

“T’ find his birth tribe an’ hopefully his family ‘cause ye had nowhere else t’ go. ‘ave I got it all right so far?” The woman didn’t even wait for a response, raising her tankard to her lips to take a long drink of whatever it was. Katsum was sure it was a kind of alcohol judging by the pub they sat in, but knew nothing more than that and was not about to ask questions. The woman slammed the tankard down after a few moments, noticing how Katsum did not flinch, grinning and chuckling as she pulled out a chair and plopped herself down in front of the young, light-haired Miqo’te, “Well, ye don’ seem t’ startle easy fer as young as ye are. Maybe ye are me niece aft all.”

Katsum blinked in surprise at this, “Wait, you said you knew my father, but you mean that…Why did he never tell me about a sister?”

“Prolly ‘cause he didn’ like me, dear. Not a good wench with good morals like dear ole Dad dear. Quite th’ opposite,” Her grin widened with satisfaction as she lifted the tankard for another gulp, “Which is funny ‘cause in that logic, ‘twas ‘im that was th’ black sheep, not me.”

A look of total confusion covered Katsum’s features, and something in the back of her mind made he start to feel uncomfortable. She felt the woman watching her, felt the eyes of the other members of her party from across the room staring at her. Her eyes and ears began to shift about her to catch any odd sounds around her, growing more uneasy by the second. Her gaze met with the woman’s again, seeing the dark-haired Miqo’te’s eyes narrow as she watched her. Then she leaned forward, causing Katsum to lean back.

“Tell me, lass,” She set her empty tankard down and leaned her elbows on the table eyeing the young woman, “Wha’ did yer father tell ye o’ his birth tribe? Wha’ did he say was th' reason fer 'im leavin'?”

“He...actually didn’t really say much. He of course said he was from La Noseca, on the Eastern shores, which is what lead me here. And he said that he and the few other Miqo’te that came with him were treasure hunters before they came to the island, skilled seafarers looking for hidden riches left behind by shipwrecks.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, “Anythin’ about bein’ disowned by his family an’ kicked out o’ th’ tribe?”

Katsum’s eyes widened, “What?”

“Well I suppose tha’s a bit dramatic actually. ‘twas his leavin’ that caused th’ tribe t’ disband aft all...” She sighed, rasing a hand for another drink and a waitress nearby scurried quickly to go and get one, “Alright, look. Yer father was a rare sort. Smart, courageous, highly skilled in fightin’ an’ in pilotin’ a ship. He would ‘ave been th’ perfect Nunh had he not decided he didn’ quite like th’ idear o’ a tribe o’ women only lovin’ one man.” She gauged Katsum’s shocked expression and chuckled, “I see he didn’ explain how that works either, but ye hang around here long enough, ye’ll figure it out. Ye’re a smart lass.”

The waitress from before arrived then and set a new mug in front of the woman, quickly grabbing the empty one and scurrying away before a word could be said. Katsum blinked in question, and the other woman only muttered in amusement. She picked up the newly filled tankard and continued, “Lon’ story short, yer father got where he’d had enough bein’ talked down to an’ pushed aroun’ so gathered his thin’s an’ left. Ne’er looked back an’ ne’er saw ‘im again. We all assumed he an’ his wee band o’ misfit followers died out thar on th’ seas…An’ yet here ye be. Th’ daughter o’ me long lost brother. Settled down an’ got ‘imself a castle, did he? Wha’ a lucky wee bugger.” She tipped her head back as she lifted the mug for a good swig of alcohol.

It made sense now. Her father had always said that he didn’t like to remember where he came from and how he used to live, but he’d never told her why. He’d only said that only she and her mother mattered to him now. He’d never mentioned any of his family other than the only other Miqo’te on the isle, those that had come with him to live in peace. Now, she was starting to see why. These were pirates after all, and she knew every one of them was eyeing the golden necklace with the blood red gem around her necklace like flacons staring down their prey. Her hand reached up to be sure it was still there, her eyes darkening as she watched every move the woman made now.

And of course she noticed, “Figurin’ it all out now are ye? A smart lass, aye, but ye’ve got t’ be quicker than that if ye’re goin’ t’ survived in these lands here.”

Katsum froze, reaching for the shortsword’s pommel in response as the woman took another took another drink, expecting an attack for some sort. The woman sighed and shook her head, “Girl, if I’d o’ wanted t’ rob ye or hurt ye, I would ‘ave already done so by now without tellin’ ye all that I ‘ave. Calm yerself. This one time ye don’ ‘ave t’ worry yer pretty wee head about bein’ attacked.”

Katsum remained on edge, but let go of her sword.

The woman shrugged, “Fair ‘nough. Tell ye wha’. I owed yer dear Daddy a favor way back when,” She had an annoyed expression on her face as she said that, “An’while I ain’t th’ type t’ keep scores straight an’ fair...what he did gave me wha’ I ‘ave now, an’ so bein’ Llymlaen’s jus’ give me th’ perfect way t’ balance th’ scales again an’ ‘ave me debts paid. In honor o’ yer father, I’ll help ye.”

This dumbfounded the young Miqo’te, “Wait are you saying-”

“Don’ get it twist’d, girl! I’ll help ye get on yer feet, find some Gil an’ get somewhere ye can make a life fer yer self, but tha’s all! Cause thar’s no free hand outs here, dear, ye understand?”

Katsum nods.

“Ye’re not afeared t’ work hard are ye? T’ fight fer the right t’ live an’ breathe amongst th’ hundreds o’ others in these countries?”

Katsum again nods, “I’ll do what I must to survive and keep my family's legacy going. I survived this long for a reason...and I shan’t let it go to waste.”

The woman grinned amusingly, “How very noble. Raised ya t’ be a knight er somthin’. I might know of jus’ the place fer ye then. An’ it ain’t Limsa.” She lifted the tankard again tipping it all the way back and finishing it off and set it upside down on the table to show she did not want any more.

“Regardless, ye’ll do alright. An’ me Gil won’t be wasted.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out two small sacks of what Katsum guessed was coin, placing one on top of the tankard and the other she threw in front of her, “Find ye somewhere t’ sleep for the night and find ye some new clothes. What ye’re wearing is to rich looking for a lass with no money to ‘er name. Will draw much unwanted attention.” She stood to her feet and gave Katsum a blank look, “Meet me back ‘ere in the mornin’ and we’ll set up yer journey to Thanalan.” She turned to go.

“Wait!” She paused and looked back at Katsum curiously, “I just...wanted to say thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. ‘Tis only cause of me debt that I offer ya help. An’ aft tomorrow, ye an’ I wont see each other again, savvy?”

Katsum sighs, but nods, “Can I at least know your name? As Father never told me.”

“Does it really matter, lass?”

“Perhaps not to you, but to me, yes.”

“Heh...Jus’ like yer Dad...fine. Name’s G’rarsu. An’ that’s th’ name o’ th’ pirate ye won’t hear from again aft ye’re on yer way. Mark me words.” And with that, she turned and went to join back with her crew mates, leaving young Katsum alone to her thoughts, a hand still shielding her Draic necklace from prying eyes.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #katsum almor #miqo'te #final fantasy #warrior of light #FFxivWrite2019 #Pre-A Realm Reborn #ffxiv writing challenge #ffxiv writing

[ancientbooshartifacts]

All There Is To It

Author: IDeserveYou

Year: 2012

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Naboo/Saboo

‘Oh, shit.’ Saboo comes to an abrupt halt. ‘What is it now?’ Saboo seethes inwardly at the barbed tone of that ‘now’. Yes, they’ve had a bad day. But no, it hasn’t all been his fault. Except perhaps for accepting this job in the first place. It all sounded rather simple the way the Head Shaman put it: ‘you just go in there, help the Bearer to retrieve the stolen Amulet, and get back to wherever you parked the carpet…’ Yeah, right. The Amulet is a vitally important shamanic artefact, and the fee was good, with a reward from the King promised on the top of it; but Dennis really should have mentioned that the thief was a mad art collector who lived in a fortress in the middle of nowhere, that said fortress was extremely well guarded and under a magical no-fly zone, and that the recovery mission would need to be completed during the hours of daylight to have any chance of success. Oh, and he really should have said who the Bearer was, too. Or Saboo really should have asked, or simply stuck to his guns about doing fieldwork alone. Because of all the people to be trapped in the wilderness with, after a dangerous and rather exhausting afternoon… Naboo peers vaguely at the sheet of water blocking their path. ‘Don’t see what you’re all that bothered about. Okay, my shaman-senses have navigated us a bit far to the norf, but at least we’re out of the forest now, an’ we can just go round the lake. Which way d’you reckon’s shortest?’ ‘Shorter,’ Saboo grits through clenched teeth. ‘Tha’s what I said. We’re almost out of the zone, you can see the pointy rock where we left the carpet, look.’ He points across the lake. The rock is a couple of miles away, no more; but Saboo’s memorised the map and knows that although the lake is narrow, it’s long, cutting through the low hills like a sword-blade. Whichever way they choose to go around it, darkness will have fallen long before they get anywhere near safety. ‘Naboo, you plum, we don’t have time. Those – things – will be on our tracks as soon as the suns have set. There’s only one thing for it. We’ll have to swim across.’ He strips briskly down to his underwear and packs his clothes into the rucksac (wondering bitterly why he has been the one carrying it all day; surely an amulet can’t be that heavy). ‘Good job this has a waterproof liner. At least we’ll have dry clothes on the other side… Oh, come on, get those robes off, will you? There’s no time to lose.’ Naboo shakes his head. Saboo loses his temper. ‘Now listen, you total titbox, I’ve about had it to here with this mission. We wouldn’t even be here if you’d taken better care of the Amulet in the first place and not left it in your Shamansbury’s trolley for any Tom, Dick or Harry to steal.’ ‘It wasn't Tom, Dick or Harry. He’s called Stewart,’ Naboo protests. ‘I don’t give a toss what he’s called. You may have trapped him for all time in his own display cabinet, but we’re still in danger, can’t you get that into your head? We’ve already avoided at least two unpleasant deaths each today.’ He glares at Naboo, somehow resisting the impulse to throttle him and make the third the charm. The little shaman still has not moved. ‘You’ll have to leave me behind.’ ‘What are you talking about? You can’t be left behind. You’re the Bearer of the Amulet.’ Naboo holds out the glittering golden pendant, still on its chain about his neck. ‘Not if you take it willin’ly.’ ‘Well, I don’t. I’m not falling for that. It’s your responsibility, laid on you by the King himself… Come on, for fuck’s sake, do you want to be torn to shreds by the Guardians? You saw that – that body they’d left in the moat.’ There is a terrible fear in Naboo’s dark eyes. He looks more scared than Dennis faced with a line of coke. ‘I can’t swim,’ he whispers. Saboo sighs. ‘You accepted a mission to retrieve your Amulet from a fortress in the Xooberon Lake District, a moated fortress mark you, and you can’t swim.’ ‘Yeah, that’s about it.’ ‘Well, I’m not leaving you, I’d never hear the last of it from Dennis. Now strip.’ Saboo’s command-voice has always been a good one. Naboo automatically pulls his robes off over his head, kicks off his curly trainers, and hands over his turban; Saboo stuffs them all in the bag. ‘And the rest.’ Naboo hesitates, head bowed, hands at the waistband of his flimsy silk trousers. ‘Listen, any clothing’s just going to drag you down. Get ’em off.’ Naboo starts shivering, though the air’s not cold; two of the three suns are still in the sky and there’s an hour or so yet before the real night-chill kicks in. Saboo’s impatience almost chokes him. ‘This is no time to come over all shy. If what Dennis told me is true, you don’t have anything to be shy about, anyway.’ In exasperation, he strips off his own underpants. ‘Look, we’re all square. Happy now?’ Naboo looks up and then hastily away; pushes the trousers down, and steps out of them. He’s so thin, and what Dennis said was true, the dark hair on his body just stops and then there's – Saboo concentrates hard on the job in hand. ‘I think the bag will float, if we seal it. Put the Amulet in there, and you carry it, then you’re still the Bearer, right?’ Naboo gives a small nod. He’s biting his lip; he looks as though he might cry. Saboo hopes fervently that it won’t come to that. He wouldn’t know what to do; he might even cry himself… He takes a deep breath. ‘Right. Put your left arm through the straps and let me put the belt on.’ He fastens the clips, tightens the strap around Naboo’s narrow waist, trying not to look, trying not to touch that soft white skin… ‘You’ve left my trousers out,’ a small voice says. ‘I know.’ Saboo picks them up and knots the legs together. ‘We’re going to use them as a tow-rope. You hold this end and don’t let go. I hold the other, and pull you across. Keep one thought in that drug-addled mess you call a brain: hold on. And if there’s room for another thought in there, trust me. OK? Hold on, and trust me. That’s all there is to it.’ He wishes he felt as certain as he sounds. The water’s cold on his bare feet. Naboo hesitates on the bank, trembling, clutching the bag to his chest. It’s obvious he’s never going to get started on his own. Saboo picks him up bodily and carries him into the lake. He weighs barely anything; the rucksac’s probably heavier. Saboo can feel him trembling, trying to pull himself together. His eyes are tight shut and his heart’s hammering against his ribs. ‘I’m going to put you down now.’ Saboo speaks as calmly and clearly as he can, setting aside his anger for the time being. There’ll be plenty of chances to despise Naboo for this later, but right now he could panic and lose it at any moment, and they can’t afford that. ‘It’ll be cold, and you’ll be out of your depth, it’ll be a shock, but don’t forget to breathe.’ He lowers the small body into the lake, despite Naboo’s pathetic cries of protest; at the first touch of the water the little alien thrashes desperately, clinging to Saboo, gasping and heaving for breath. One might almost feel sorry for him. ‘Stop it, stop moving, lie on your back and let the water hold you up. Breathe in, the more air in your lungs the better you’ll float.’ ‘I can’t, I can’t do it, help me, don’t leave me, don’t let me go down…’ ‘I’m not going to leave you. Just stop. If you stop trying to swim, then you’ll float. Two thoughts, Naboo, just two thoughts, what were they?’ ‘H – hold on, and trust you…’ ‘Right. If there’s any swimming to be done, I’ll do it. Now let’s get going.’ He wades in deeper, towing the whimpering Naboo behind him; launches himself into the water and sets off with an awkward, one-armed side-stroke. The improvised bag-float helps a lot, but even so it’s hard work. He’s grateful Naboo isn’t six foot like Dennis. About half way, he stops to tread water and catch his breath. Naboo gasps, and flounders. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Nothing, little one. Just resting a moment. How are you doing back there?’ Naboo stills his panicked movements and floats, staring up at the darkening sky. ‘Fine,’ he says resolutely. ‘Bloody liar.’ ‘Takes one to know one,’ Naboo lisps. ‘That’s the spirit.’ Saboo takes a deep breath and sets off again, his heart pounding in his throat, his feet numb, his left arm aching from gripping the towrope. The second half of the lake is much colder and wider than the first. But eventually the shore draws nearer. ‘Can’t take much more,’ a weak voice says behind him. ‘’M havin’ a panic attack…’ ‘We’re almost there. Hold it together.’ Saboo tests the depth of the water, cursing as a sharp stone catches his foot. A couple more strokes, and he can stand up. Naboo is whining now, his eyes rolled back in his head, his breathing shallow. Saboo picks him up again and carries him the rest of the way. ‘There. Dry land. Well done, we made it. Told you so.’ Saboo’s teeth are chattering. Naboo makes no response. Saboo lowers him onto the turf above the shoreline and awkwardly undoes the rucksac belt, then prises Naboo’s rigid arm out of the straps. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly, and Naboo lets out a sudden sob and clings to him, shaking all over, ice-cold and terrified. This really ought to be so embarrassing. Once the worst of the attack seems to have passed, and a little warmth is returning to their chilled bodies, Saboo reluctantly lets go and reaches for the bag to find their dry clothes. ‘Here you go.’ He helps Naboo into his robes; jams the turban back onto his head; fastens his laces. Then he scrambles hastily into his own shirt and trousers, welcoming their scanty comfort. The air’s getting chilly now. He puts his own jacket around Naboo’s shoulders. The little one needs it more. ‘W – won’t you be cold?’ ‘I’ve been swimming. Swimming for two. I’ll be fine.’ Saboo puts the Amulet chain over Naboo’s head, and as an afterthought he pulls out his feather boa from the bottom of the bag and wraps it in fluffy layers around Naboo’s slender neck, tucking the ends into the front of the jacket. ‘Now we need to get moving. Walk.’ ‘Can’t.’ ‘Can too.’ Saboo pulls his companion to his feet. ‘One foot in front of the other, and don’t stop.’ They set off across the rough grassland, both a little unsteady. Saboo’s legs feel like jelly, and his arm aches fiercely. After a little while he’s warmer and moving more freely. Naboo’s breathing is easier and he’s not tripping over his curly trainers so much. Honestly, you’d think a mighty shaman would have some more practical footwear for doing outdoor fieldwork… ‘Sorry.’ A small voice breaks in on Saboo’s thoughts. ‘I owe you one, big-time… an’ I feel such a twat.’ He’s obviously expecting Saboo to despise him for his weakness, and Saboo was expecting it too, even looking forward to it; but somehow the thought of that deferred scorn has lost its savour. ‘It’s all right,’ Saboo says gruffly. ‘We made it, and I don’t… I wouldn’t mock you. Wouldn’t wish that sort of fear on my worst enemy.’ Naboo is quiet for a few paces, then asks with polite interest: ‘D’you have a worst enemy?’ ‘I do. But it’s not you.’ He doesn’t want to talk about that, although maybe some sort of conversation would help make the journey seem shorter. The question he knows he shouldn’t ask is out of his mouth before he can bite it back. ‘Why are you so scared of swimming?’ ‘Long story.’ ‘We’ve got half an hour or so,’ Saboo says, in what he hopes is an encouraging tone. Naboo takes a deep breath. ‘I had a worst enemy. Another kid in the foundlings’ home.’ ‘Home?’ ‘Yeah, I was abandoned as a baby, I guess I was an anomaly, a throwback in an un-magical family, they put me out. It happens. Not everybody’s got twenty generations of shamen in the family, like Dennis or Diane. Didn’t fit in…’ ‘Is that why you’re stubborn and self-reliant?’ ‘No, it’s why I live in exile with several drug habits an’ a fuckin’ huge gorilla for a familiar.’ Naboo sighs, and walks a little closer to Saboo’s side. ‘I was bullied all the time, in the home an’ at school, thankfully my magic was powerful or I wouldn’t have made it.’ ‘Can’t have made it any easier being so small.’ ‘They didn’t do it because I was small. They did it because I had a speech impediment an’ a stupid name.’ ‘Naboo’s not particularly stupid.’ ‘No, but Randolph Roppity-Poppity… I ask you, who calls their kid that? Someone who doesn’t intend to keep him, maybe.’ He stumbles over a loose stone; Saboo puts out a hand to steady him. ‘Spent years tellin’ people: I’m not Randolph, I’m Naboo, that’s who. Changed my name as soon as I legally could, an’ applied for a scholarship to the Shaman Academy.’ ‘Is that where you met Dennis?’ ‘Yeah, he was my swordplay tutor. He was a bit useless, but at least he took an interest in me.’ ‘And what happened to your worst enemy?’ ‘He got an Academy place too, an’ although I didn’t have to live under the same roof any more, by that time he’d found out I was thirdsex an’ he couldn’t handle it, never missed a chance to call me weirdo and pervert an’ get me beaten up. He tried everythin’ to make me give up, or get me thrown out.’ ‘What was his name?’ ‘I can’t say it.’ ‘I suppose it would bring it all back.’ Naboo looks up with mild surprise. ‘No, I just can’t say it. He was from some place out in the Provinces where the local dialect’s all sibilants… I couldn’t pronounce it if I tried.’ ‘Fair enough. Go on.’ ‘When I’d been at the Academy four years, they told me I was ready to take the Tests. Me, but not him, an’ he was boiling mad. He told me he’d cursed me with a curse that would take away one of my abilities, so I’d be bound to fail.’ ‘What did it do?’ Naboo shakes his head. ‘He didn’t tell me. I did three solid days of checkin’ my skills. Potions, levitation, carpet piloting, edged weapons, incantations, rune translation, the lot. Everythin’ worked fine, so I thought the curse’d miscarried an’ he was bein’ a ballbag. Told him so to his face. He just grinned evilly and said I’d still fail.’ ‘But you did become a shaman.’ ‘No thanks to him. All the Tests went fine, there was just the Ordeal to go… an’ Dennis was named as my Examiner, so I reckoned I was home an’ dry. But I wasn’t.’ He falls silent, looking up the grassy slope ahead of them. ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Saboo says. ‘In fact, you shouldn’t.’ It is written that no shaman should speak of his Ordeal: it is between him and his Examiner. ‘I’m gonna tell you though, I want you to understand. Dennis cast the Examiner’s Runes, and they prescribed Ordeal by Water. So he took me on a nice little stroll to the ornamental fishpond in the old Head Shaman’s private gardens, and tripped me up so that I’d fall in.’ ‘Doesn’t sound that bad. It’s not even a very big pond. Hardly big enough to swim in.’ ‘It’s a very deep pond.’ Naboo shivers. ‘An’ as soon as I hit the water, thrashin’ around among all those fuckin’ huge fish, I discovered that the ability I’d lost wasn’t a magical one at all. It was swimming.’ ‘You could have just climbed out. Summoned a carpet, or a rope…’ ‘The sides are bare mud, slippery an’ vertical. I couldn’t hold on. I panicked. My summonin’ spells didn’t work – Dennis told me later that the gardens are protected, to stop people bringin’ in unauthorised items – an’ the more I tried, the less energy I had. Dennis just stood there lookin’ helpless. He wasn’t allowed to say anythin’, or help me.’ ‘Couldn’t you transform?’ ‘Don’t you think I tried? I tried everything I could think of. But all I could think of, was things that could swim… a fish, a duck, an otter… an’ they all just sank. I couldn’t swim no matter what form I was in. The surface an’ the sunlight were getting’ further and further away, an’ I was gettin’ weaker an’ weaker. I’ve never been so scared.’ He stops at the top of the hill, panting for breath. ‘Look, there’s the track. Not far now,’ Saboo says quietly, and realises he’s got his arm around Naboo’s shoulders, holding him. Naboo doesn’t seem to have heard, or noticed. ‘I went right down to the bottom, where it was cold and pitch black and full of slimy things writhin’ around. I was choking, drowning, I had hardly any energy left, an’ less magic… all I could do was turn into a worm, a miserable little worm, an’ crawl through the mud hoping nothing would notice me an’ eat me. I had gills, I could breathe just about, but all that water was pressin’ down above me, I could feel it, an’ for ages I thought I was crawlin’ in a circle… was just about to give up when I started goin’ uphill, an’ it got steeper an’ steeper an’ thankfully when I got to where I could see the light, there were no fish – Dennis was chuckin’ bread in at the other end an’ they’d all gone after it – I crawled up the mud an’ onto the path an’ Dennis looked round an’ saw me an’ changed me back…’ ‘Dennis saved your life.’ ‘He did. But don’t ever tell anyone. He’s good at bendin’ the rules, ’s probably how come he got to be head shaman... He declared me qualified an’ gave me gifts. A really neat radio alarm clock, still got that, an’ an extra magical ability to make up for the one I’d lost. He couldn’t make me able to swim, but I can send my consciousness into another being anywhere in the universe.’ ‘Cool.’ ‘Didn’t use it much, to be honest, but it saved my life when I was about to be executed for losin’ that shaman juice. Dennis bent the rules again an’ reminded me what he’d given me. He’s always looked out for me. That was a bad time. But that Ordeal…’ ‘Stop thinking about it. You survived.’ Saboo holds on a little tighter. ‘Yeah, but not unchanged. I’d used up such a lot of energy, there wasn’t enough left to get me back at full size. ’S why I’m a short-arse. I’d still be six foot if it weren’t for that. Cheers.’ He leans on Saboo for a brief moment, then pulls himself resolutely upright. ‘We’re all scarred by our Ordeals,’ Saboo says quietly, as they start walking again, down the hill. ‘I know. Dennis’s was by Fire. Dunno exactly what happened to him, but that’s why he’s bald and his eyes are all milky. He sees mostly by magic…’ ‘Mine was by Air. My Examiner pushed me off the South Cliffs, with no warning.’ ‘Did you levitate?’ ‘No, I transformed into a bird. Flew back up on the updraft and crapped on the bastard’s head, I was so angry. He didn’t fail me for it though. Said I’d shown initiative and humour. But I’ve been angry ever since.’ ‘Was it a raven?’ Saboo looks at his companion in surprise. ‘Who told you that?’ ‘Nobody, I just thought… you know how ravens are, dark, handsome, clever… bad-tempered an’ a bit up themselves… an’ solitary.’ Naboo grins. ‘You should have one as a familiar. It’d be perfect for you.’ ‘Never had a familiar.’ Saboo doesn’t say that he’s always dreamed of it; or that he’s never been called handsome to his face; or that ravens mate for life… ‘Why not?’ ‘Could never find a creature willing to make the bond.’ ‘Well, you don’t exactly make it easy. You keep telling people you don’t like them.’ ‘I don’t. I don’t like many people. They don’t like me, either.’ Naboo giggles. ‘Tony Harrison does.’ ‘Yes, well, I don’t want to go there… and it’s not exactly mutual.’ Saboo sighs. They reach the track that runs along the valley, and turn onto it, towards the faint shimmer in the sky that marks the point at which they’ll be able to fly to freedom. ‘You don’t like yourself much, do you?’ Saboo trips over a rock in the path, and rights himself with a curse. ‘Look, you little plum, will you stop asking damned insightful and overly personal questions that for some reason I feel compelled to answer? No. No, I don’t. I’m fucked up and angry and I prefer to work alone.’ ‘And you’re lonely.’ ‘Yes, well, that kind of goes with the territory, doesn’t it? Ah, look, there’s the rock where we left the carpet. Just in time to save me from further embarrassment. Come on, only a few minutes more.’ The last rays of the sun vanish behind the hills; at the same moment something gives a terrible, tearing howl, echoing off the rocks all around them. ‘The Guardians,’ Naboo whispers. Another howl, closer this time. ‘They’ve crossed the lake. Run.’ Saboo grabs Naboo’s hand and they stumble down the stony track, breaking through the magical barrier with a faint crackle like static electricity. Saboo fumbles in his trouser pocket for the remote carpet ignition; frantically presses the button. ‘Come on, come on…’ ‘I’m doing my best,’ Naboo says indignantly. ‘I meant the carpet, you prune.’ A sleek dark shape appears over the crest of the hill to their right, moving with unearthly speed to cut off their escape. ‘Come on, you bastard…’ The carpet still isn’t responding. Naboo’s breath is sobbing in his throat. He trips, dragging at Saboo’s arm. ‘I’m slowing you down, leave me.’ ‘Shut it, we don’t need that crap again. Been there, chosen not to do that. We leave together or not at all… Ah, here it comes. Thank fuck.’ The carpet glides towards them, passing right in front of the Guardian, which slashes at it with a taloned paw, tearing a section out of the fringe. ‘That’s coming off Dennis’s insurance,’ Saboo mutters. ‘It’s not going to get here,’ Naboo whimpers. There are pounding footsteps on the gravel behind them, the sound of harsh panting breath. ‘Jump!’ Saboo flings Naboo onto the carpet, hurls himself flat behind him, and steers a wobbly course upwards and away. There is a fierce snarl, and something snags their flight for a moment before tearing free; a heavy body thuds to the ground. ‘You OK?’ Naboo shouts, above the whistle of the wind. ‘More or less.’ Saboo grits his teeth. A fiery pain is spreading from his ankle, all the way up his left side. ‘Sounds like less rather than more.’ As the carpet levels and steadies, Naboo turns to face him. ‘What’s wrong?’ Saboo tries to speak casually. ‘I’ve been bitten. Damn things have venomous fangs.’ ‘Which means what exactly?’ Naboo’s brows crease in a frown. Evidently there’s no point trying to fool him. ‘Which means I’ve got about ten minutes before my heart stops.’ ‘No.’ Naboo’s face in the moonlight is deathly pale. Saboo’s heart is already fluttering erratically. He reaches out a hand to the immobile Naboo. ‘Can you do anything to help?’ ‘Well, I guess I can hold your hand…’ ‘I meant, can you do anything practical?’ The little shaman shakes his head sadly. ‘Not really. I’m not much good with poisons.’ He wipes his nose on his sleeve. Then he brightens. ‘Hang on though, I’m bein’ a numpty here aren’t I, we’ve got this.’ He pulls out the Amulet on its chain. The carpet swerves and bucks; Saboo is losing control of it. ‘Don’t crash within the next thirty seconds, an’ we might have a chance.’ Naboo leans over to look at the damage. ‘Shit, that looks horrible, but I’ll try… it’s gonna hurt like buggery though. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault…’ A drop of something cold falls onto the wound, and Saboo’s language turns the air blue. Even the Moon looks shocked. The cold seeps into the heart of the pain, at first unbearable, then little by little putting out the fire, leaving a dull glow in its wake. ‘How’re you feelin’ now?’ ‘Better,’ Saboo says thickly. ‘Can you… can you do the other thing as well? The not-practical one?’ ‘Are you high?’ Naboo asks, with mock-severity. ‘You tell me. You’re the expert.’ Naboo puts a hand on Saboo’s forehead; looks deep into his eyes. ‘Yeah, you are. You’ve got some potent toxins swillin’ round in your system, it’ll take a while for your head to clear.’ The carpet heaves again. ‘You’ll have to fly,’ Saboo says, grabbing Naboo’s hand, ‘fly us to the castle, fly me to the moon, fly south for the winter, fly…’ ‘OK, I’ll fly. You sleep.’ ‘Is it… are we going to be alright now?’ ‘Course we are.’ Naboo squeezes Saboo’s hand and smiles, a rare and beautiful smile. ‘Hold on, and trust me. Like you said, that’s all there is to it.’

Naboo heaves a sigh of relief as his weatherworking spell makes the mist over the mountains swirl and part, revealing the battlements of the King’s Castle perched on its crag far below. Saboo stirs and mutters: ‘Are we there yet?’ ‘Just about. Let go of me, ya ballbag, I need both hands to land a carpet this size.’ Concentrating hard – the damage to its fringe makes the carpet horribly unstable at low speed – Naboo manages to come down on the courtyard’s spotless flagstones with only a couple of bumps. Wouldn’t have passed his shamanic driving test with that one, but then when he took his test he hadn’t been doing dangerous fieldwork all day. There’s no time to say anything else to Saboo before people come running from all sides, waving their arms and shouting in what Naboo presumes is a traditional greeting ritual. He stays sitting on the parked carpet, smiling politely. He doesn’t want to offend against protocol, and anyway he’s pretty sure if he stands up too quickly he’ll just fall over again. The shouting dies down, and there’s an awkward silence. It’s almost a relief when the crowd parts and the King strides out, his robes billowing and his white beard gleaming in the torchlight. ‘Bamboo, my old friend,’ he intones sonorously, spreading his arms wide, ‘you have returned.’ Naboo gets cautiously to his feet. The ground is swaying a bit and the walls don’t seem to be quite fixed in place either. ‘Er…Yeah.’ What else is he supposed to say? Oh. ‘Sire.’ ‘And did you retrieve the Amulet?’ ‘Yeah, Sire.’ Naboo’s voice sounds very small in his own ears. ‘Splendid.’ Beaming with delight, the King takes Naboo’s hand and presents him to the crowd, turning him this way and that so they can all murmur their appreciation. ‘The Amulet is restored to us! We shall feast on lentils tonight,’ he declares. ‘And chickpeas too. Possibly haricot beans as well, if they are ready in time. The Minstrels are already rehearsing the greatest hits of Steeleye Span. It will be a great celebration.’ Saboo groans. Naboo is tempted to do the same. The King peers with mild concern at the crumpled figure on the carpet. ‘What is wrong with your companion?’ ‘Oh, he’s… a bit tired. Sire. It’s been a long day, y’know?’ Naboo digs Saboo in the ribs and bends over to speak into his ear. ‘Wake up, the King’s here.’ Saboo sits up stiffly and rubs his eyes. ‘Greetings, my liege.’ ‘And the same to you, Bassoon.’ ‘Saboo.’ ‘Yes, whatever.’ The King is still grinning inanely. A dark figure rushes into the courtyard, pushing through the assembled throng. ‘I came as soon as I could, my liege.’ ‘Balloon?’ the King says, letting go of Naboo’s hand and turning to the newcomer. ‘So many names to remember, it’s all a bit confusing really.’ ‘Banoo,’ the shaman says. He kneels, bows his head, and speaks with great earnestness. ‘Command me, Sire.’ ‘Erm, to do what?’ the King asks vaguely. ‘To do your bidding, Sire. I put myself at your service. The Amulet is lost. I, Banoo, shall find it though I perish in the attempt.’ Saboo struggles to his feet, leaning on Naboo’s shoulder. ‘I hate to break it to you, you tit, but we’ve already found it and not perished.’ Banoo frowns. ‘Oh. I see. You do look a bit peaky, though.’ He’s not wrong there. Saboo is sweating, and Naboo can feel him swaying on his feet. At least, somebody is swaying on his feet. Either that, or the ground really is moving… He concentrates hard on staying upright. ‘Let the feast begin!’ the King proclaims. Nightmare. ‘Erm, your Maj, could we perhaps freshen up first?’ Naboo asks. ‘Certainly, Buffoon, certainly… you recall where your guest chambers are?’ ‘Fink so, yeah. Sire.’ ‘Then I shall see you in the great hall in an hour.’ A worried-looking fat bloke in a chef’s hat whispers something in the King’s ear. ‘Ah. It seems the haricot beans are still as hard as… very hard things. Two hours, then.’ ‘OK, laters.’ ‘As you say in your curious idiom, laters.’ The King strides away, with Banoo trailing in his wake; the crowd begins to disperse. Naboo picks up the bag and hails the footman who has come to roll up the carpet. ‘Couldn’t get this repaired for us, could ya? Cheers. Send the bill to the Head Shaman’s office.’ Naboo turns back to Saboo. ‘Looks like we need to get you a bit more repaired as well.’ The corridors seem endless and Naboo’s not quite sure of his way; it’s a relief when they finally come out on a spiral staircase that looks familiar. ‘I have a horrible feeling I’m going to be sick,’ Saboo mutters, as they start to climb. He’s limping painfully on his injured ankle, and progress is slow. By the time they’ve got to the top of the staircase, which thankfully is the right one, Naboo can see that the horrible feeling has become a horrible certainty; Saboo’s forehead is clammy and his mouth is set in a tight line. Naboo pushes open the arched door of Saboo’s chamber, with its hinges in the shape of snarling dragons. Saboo stumbles through and straight into the palatial marble bathroom. ‘Oh, gods,’ he groans, as Naboo holds his head over the hand-gilded porcelain toilet bowl, ‘it’s green, it’s… fucking… green…’ ‘That’s a good sign.’ Naboo does his best to sound calm and professional. ‘It’s just the poison comin’ out of your system.’ ‘Along with just about everything else… oh… go away. I don’t need anyone… see me like this…’ ‘I’m not leavin’ you in this state,’ Naboo says firmly. ‘Stubborn little sod…’ Saboo chokes, and heaves again. ‘Fucking hell, this is worse than one of Kirk’s cocktail evenings.’ Naboo pats him on the back. ‘Better out than in.’ ‘Don’t say that, you sound like my mother.’ ‘I haven’t got a mother.’ Not that he knows of, anyway; his daft name is all he’s got of her. ‘Wish I did.’ ‘Trust me, you wouldn’t want mine.’ Saboo leans his forehead against the rim of the bowl, utterly exhausted. ‘Is that it?’ ‘For now, yes. Can you… can you get me some water? Please?’ Naboo brings him water and a cloth, cleans him up, and helps him back to the bedroom to sit on the fourposter, head in hands. He looks better, but still not good. ‘What’s your physiology?’ Naboo asks. ‘Ill.’ ‘Not helpful. I meant, what –’ ‘Human.’ Well, that’s a surprise. ‘Thought this was your home planet.’ Saboo sighs wearily. ‘Born here. Father came from Earth on an Academy scholarship under the old Diversity Programme, met mother, never left. His genes seem to have dominated. Doctors had endless trouble when I was little. I was ill a lot.’ Naboo tries to imagine that small boy. Human, fragile and in need of help. Actually, it’s not that hard… ‘Why d’you want to know?’ Saboo asks. ‘Might be able to help a bit. You got a first aid kit in that bag?’ ‘Left side pocket.’ Naboo rummages in the rucksac. ‘Here you go, take two of these.’ ‘You plum. Didn’t you do the interspecies first-aid course? Salt makes humans puke.’ ‘Oh. OK, try these glucose tablets then. They’ll help get the toxins out of your bloodstream.’ Saboo chews reluctantly, and pulls a face. ‘These had better work. They’re disgusting. I hate sweet stuff.’ ‘Sorry.’ Naboo fetches another glass of water and makes Saboo drink it. ‘Any better?’ ‘Not really, no.’ Saboo fidgets uncomfortably. ‘And now I need…’ He gets unsteadily to his feet again. ‘That’ll probably be green too,’ Naboo tells him. The bathroom door slams firmly. Naboo busies himself rustling about in the contents of the first-aid kit until the door opens again. ‘I hate it when you’re right.’ Saboo flops on the bed, shivering. Naboo grins at him. ‘Better learn to get used to it.’ ‘What on earth makes you think I’m ever going on a field trip with you again?’ ‘My shaman-senses foretell it,’ Naboo intones in his best mystical voice. ‘Plus you held my hand for the whole of a four-hour carpet flight… are you cold, by the way?’ ‘Sodding frozen. I haven’t been warm since we got in that blasted lake.’ ‘You’ve got time for a hot bath before we have to put in an appearance.’ ‘Do we have to? I’m not sure I can face lentil surprise in my current state of health.’ ‘Yeah, we do have to. I’m not goin’ down there on my own, I’m gonna need you to keel over an’ create an excuse for us to leave early. You wouldn’t condemn me to all-night folk music, would you?’ ‘I might, if you don’t stop wittering on. Although you did just say two words that made a lot of sense.’ ‘Which two?’ ‘Hot and bath.’ ‘Come on, then.’ Naboo hauls Saboo to his feet again. ‘I… I don’t suppose yours has a shower, does it? Mine doesn’t.’ ‘Nope. Just a huge bathtub – it’s OK, I can manage, thanks – a proper rolltop one with feet… Oh.’ Saboo leans on the frame of the bathroom door and looks at Naboo with a keen eye. ‘Yours is the same, and it’s too big, yes?’ Naboo looks at the floor, his cheeks suddenly aflame. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he mumbles, turning away. ‘I… I wasn’t trying it on… don’t want you to think… but since you mention it… I mean, you have already seen… or, or we could take turns, I just… there’s usually Bollo, you see, an’ he sits outside the door just in case, an’ I never actually need him, it’s more… havin’ someone there…’ The floor is polished marble, with wavy stripes of red and white. Naboo wishes it would open up, and swallow him. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll just go.’ ‘It’s up to you. But for what it’s worth… I’d rather you didn’t.’ Naboo looks up in surprise. ‘I know, that’s not what I expected me to say either, but…’ Saboo gives a cautious, slightly embarrassed smile. ‘I’m still not very steady on my feet. And as you say, it’s… having someone there.’ ‘Alright then.’ Naboo shrugs, and manages a tentative smile in return. ‘I haven’t got much on.’ He follows the red-and-white stripes through the bathroom door. ‘How about this?’ Naboo picks out a pink-and-gold bottle from the extensive selection in the cabinet beside the bath. ‘Ylang-ylang and patchouli.’ ‘Patchouli? Not on your life.’ Naboo raises his eyebrows in one of his many vaguely puzzled expressions. ‘What you got against patchouli?’ ‘Way too girly. And it clings for weeks. I am not having Harrison sniffing and making… comments… while I make my report to the Board. What else is in there?’ ‘Umm, vanilla and raspberry?’ ‘I’m not going home smelling like your poncey fruit-flavoured flatmate, either.’ Naboo sighs, and picks up another bottle. ‘Triple chocolate?’ he says hopefully. ‘That’s just wrong.’ ‘Dragon bollocks?’ ‘You’re kidding me.’ ‘Nope.’ Naboo passes over a green, leathery-textured flask. Saboo takes a cautious sniff. ‘Not unless you want me to throw up in the bath. What’s that last one?’ ‘Sandalwood.’ ‘Chuck it in, that’ll do.’ Naboo giggles as the bubbles billow up into a creamy mound and the perfume fills the room. ‘I bet Harrison still sniffs an’ makes comments. We’re gonna smell the same…’ ‘I’ll take the risk.’ Saboo tests the water, and turns the tap off. They hesitate a moment, then turn away from each other and strip. Getting in is awkward, but only for a moment; Naboo clambers in at one end of the tub, and Saboo looks away until he’s certain the little shaman is well settled under the bubbles. ‘Good thing the taps are in the middle.’ Saboo slides in at the other end, carefully not looking at Naboo although he’s certain Naboo is equally carefully not watching. Well. This is a bit weird, but in a good way. And it’s gloriously warm. Saboo feels himself relaxing; he stretches out, moving his feet to the side when they make contact with Naboo’s… whatever it was they just made contact with. He piles more bubbles on top of himself, to be on the safe side, before looking up. ‘You all right there, little one?’ Naboo is looking studiously at the ornate gilded tracery on the ceiling. ‘Fine.’ The corner of his mouth twitches. ‘An’ I’m not lyin’ to you this time… How’re you doin’?’ ‘Much better, thanks. My head’s cleared. Could even think about eating, if we were anywhere that had decent food.’ ‘Maybe there’ll be some bread or something. An’ if not… we’ll just have to do what we mighty shamen always do when the caterin’s rubbish.’ ‘Get pissed, and make the best of it?’ ‘Yep. Usually works for me. An’ I know the manuals don’t recommend alcohol right on top of life-threatening poisonin’, but I reckon you’ll be OK. Prob’ly.’ ‘With you to look after me, how could I not be?’ Naboo turns his attention from the ceiling to Saboo. ‘Don’t mock. I do my best.’ ‘I know you do, and I wasn’t. Well… not really.’ ‘Just… oh, shut up.’ Naboo throws a wet flannel at him. Saboo does as he’s told, and attempts to wash his hair with the rather over-complicated spray nozzle attached to the tap. He winces, and bites back a curse. ‘You need some help there?’ ‘Well, I…’ Saboo swallows his pride. ‘I could do with it, actually. Can’t reach round the back, my arms have stiffened up.’ ‘Not surprised. It was a long way to swim. Give that here, then. And shut your eyes.’ The warm water cascading over Saboo’s scalp is soothing; the small hands massaging soap into his hair still more so. He stays still, eyes closed, not wanting to do or say anything that might interrupt. He’s never felt so… cared for? Surely that can’t be what it is. This is only what the hairdresser does. A practical service, nothing more. But pleasant none the less… ‘There you go, I think the grit’s all gone.’ Naboo pulls a lock between his fingers. ‘Squeaky-clean. You can open your eyes now.’ ‘I… umm… thank you.’ Saboo isn’t quite sure where to look. He surreptitiously glances down to make sure the bubbles are still in place. Good. Nothing is showing that shouldn’t be. ‘You gonna let me check out that injury?’ Naboo reaches under the water and feels for Saboo’s left ankle, without waiting for an answer. He lifts it clear of the bubbles and peers at it. ‘Think it’ll be fine now – it’s quite clean. Only slightly green, look.’ ‘I’d rather not.’ ‘Suit yourself. Stick a plaster over it when it’s dry, it should be closed by morning. No sign of any swelling…’ Naboo’s hands are sure and gentle and Saboo finds himself wondering how it would feel if they… No. That’s not an appropriate thought to be having half an hour before a formal royal dinner. ‘Is there, erm, anything I can do for you?’ Saboo asks, scooping yet more bubbles over himself. ‘I mean in a practical way, of course.’ ‘Well…’ Naboo looks down shyly. ‘Hairwash’d be nice.’ He wriggles round so he’s sitting with his back to Saboo, between his knees. He’s so thin. It was so easy just to pick him up and carry him into the lake. Either he doesn’t eat properly, or it’s the drugs, or… Saboo finds himself thinking of Naboo’s story of his Ordeal, that desperate little worm crawling through the mud because that was the only thing to do, needing to be rescued but knowing he wasn’t permitted to ask. Saboo understands now, understands exactly why Dennis was prepared to bend the rules. ‘Well? Are you gonna wash my hair or what?’ ‘Sorry. I was… thinking.’ Saboo hastily turns on the water and rinses Naboo’s smooth, fine, jet-black hair in a strictly practical way, then picks up a handful of fragrant bubbles and washes some non-existent dirt from Naboo’s skinny ribcage, acutely aware of every ridge and hollow of the delicate bones rising and falling beneath his hands as the little shaman breathes quietly in and out. ‘S’nice,’ Naboo murmurs. ‘Thanks.’ Saboo takes that as an invitation to continue, although he’s finding it very hard to stay detached, very hard not to enjoy the sensation of wet skin sliding over wet skin… Oh, who the fuck is he trying to kid? He’s never been so powerfully attracted to anyone in his life. Shit. He hopes he can keep it to himself for at least a little while longer. He’ll never live it down once Harrison and the other shamen find out. And what about when Naboo finds out? They’ll need to be a whole lot drunker than they are right now, and even then he has no idea how Naboo will react. He’ll probably just shrug and turn away; he might laugh. Or he might be kind and want to stay friends, which would be the hardest of all to bear. Either way this could well be the last time Saboo ever gets to do this, the last time he’ll be able to look at Naboo this way. He wonders what Naboo sees when he looks at him. Right on cue, Naboo turns his head and looks at Saboo, not in a way he’s ever looked at him before. ‘So… what were you thinking?’ Saboo has to look away. ‘That the water was getting a bit cold… time we were getting out, I think.’ He laughs nervously. ‘Wouldn’t want to be late for dinner, now, would we?’ ‘S’pose not.’ Naboo looks up at the ceiling again, with an expression of vague disappointment. ‘Give us a hand to get out, yeah?’ Saboo climbs out of the tub and reaches a hand down to help Naboo out, not looking, not looking… The bubbles slide down his smooth skin, over his taut nipples, past where his dark body hair stops short, over the smooth blankness where one would expect – Saboo wraps him hastily in a big fluffy towel and finds a bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. It’s ridiculously huge on Naboo’s tiny frame, but it does at least cover everything. ‘Have you got something to wear to dinner?’ Saboo asks. ‘Think I packed a spare robe somewhere. I’ll go an’ have a look.’ Naboo picks up his discarded clothing and stumbles over to the door, trying not to trip on the hem of the bathrobe. ‘See you in ten minutes, yeah?’ It seems suddenly quiet and empty when he’s gone. The gurgling of the water down the plughole seems too loud, echoing off the marble walls. A single black hair clings to the side of the bath… Saboo shakes his head in despair at his own folly, and forces his thoughts back to mundane things. Clean socks, for a start. He feels better once he’s dressed: more like his normal self. Perhaps this ludicrous weakness is just a side effect of the poisoned bite. Not that he can exactly ask Naboo whether that’s the case. His hat’s still in the rucksac and only slightly squashed. It doesn’t look too bad, he thinks, squinting into the mirror. But there’s still something missing from his outfit… The feather boa is lying in a crumpled little heap on the bathroom floor. It smells of sandalwood, but when Saboo buries his face in it he can pick out Naboo’s distinctive perfume underlying the spicy sweetness of the bath oil. He deliberately avoids asking himself why it feels so comforting to wrap it around his neck. He’s got enough to worry about just now. Time to get this blasted dinner over with. Saboo takes a deep breath and goes to knock on Naboo’s door. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> ‘Well, that was a nightmare,’ Saboo slurs. The strains of ‘All Around My Hat’ grow fainter behind them as he and Naboo stagger down the panelled corridor leading from the Great Hall to the tower. ‘An utter, complete nightmare.’ ‘We did think it would be. Good job Naan Bread showed up, and there was plenty to drink.’ Naboo hiccups, and wraps his arm a bit tighter around Saboo’s waist. Saboo’s not sure which of them is holding the other up, but it seems to be working so far. ‘At least you didn’t have the King bangin’ on about how he’d like someone to reign with him an’ organise a different folk concert for every day of the year. I thought I’d knocked that one on the head years ago but no, he’s still tryin’. I kept tellin’ him, I’ve got somethin’ on, but he wouldn’t believe me.’ ‘That’s because it was a bare-faced lie, then as now. You never have anything on. Anything important, anyway.’ Naboo mumbles something that sounds rather like ‘I do now.’ ‘You what?’ ‘Never mind. What about you and Banoo? You were gettin’ on like a house on fire over dinner.’ ‘As in, generating a lot of hot air.’ Saboo snorts. He’s always found the tall, dark, handsome, athletic, talented, over-zealous shaman rather difficult to like. ‘An’ then he remembered he was supposed to be at his daughter’s birthday party an’ not at the feast at all.’ ‘Well, that’s just typical of him, isn’t it? He never did get the hang of managing his work-life balance.’ ‘It was a nice touch of yours, generatin’ him a bunch of balloons out of thin air, though.’ Naboo giggles. ‘Pink ones, an’ all. An’ then the King called him Balloon, an’ you choked, an’ I thought it might be a good time to get us out of there before we actually had to eat that chocolate lentil dessert…’ ‘Please don’t.’ Saboo swallows hard. Naboo looks up at him with concern. ‘Sorry… you gonna be sick again?’ ‘No,’ Saboo says firmly. ‘At least I hope not. I just…’ ‘Let me guess. Lentils are on your list of “things I’ve never liked”.’ ‘Right up at the top. Even higher up than you.’ ‘Thanks,’ Naboo says, ‘I love you too.’ Then he blushes, and asks hastily: ‘Is it left or right here?’ Saboo pretends he only heard the question. ‘No idea, you’re supposed to be navigating. Shut up and let your shaman-senses guide you.’ ‘Left,’ Naboo says decisively. After a long and not very edifying detour via the kitchens, they emerge at the top of the spiral staircase in the guest wing. ‘About bloody time.’ Saboo unwraps himself from his companion and leans wearily against the doorpost. He’s pretty sure he should do or say something now, but he has no idea what; he's tired, his head is fuzzy with real ale and acoustic guitar chords, and his mellow mood has evaporated. Naboo stands in his own doorway, fidgeting from one foot to the other but showing no sign of going inside. ‘What?’ Saboo’s tone is sharp. He’s not sure which of them he’s more annoyed with: Naboo, or himself. This isn’t going well. It’s just going. Slipping past him, leaving him drowning in regret… ‘Well, um, you might not want to, after I got you lost ’n’all, sorry about that by the way, an’ it’s been a long day, but, I wondered, what about, might help you sleep, perhaps you'd like to come in for a nightcap?’ Naboo murmurs diffidently. ‘You plum. That is just about the longest and most ridiculous way of saying “Do you want a drink?” that I have heard in my entire life,’ Saboo snaps. Naboo looks crushed. He turns away to open the door. It’s now or never. Saboo steps across the corridor and lays a hand on his companion's arm. ‘I’m sorry. I meant, yes. Please.’ The little shaman’s face brightens. ‘Alright then.’ He pushes the door wide open, and Saboo follows him in and closes it behind them. Saboo’s heart is pounding. Ridiculous to be so nervous about a simple drink with a colleague, but it’s quite cold in here and they’ve had quite a lot to drink already… ‘Ah. Naboo? I just need to…’ ‘Go ahead. I’ll find you a drink.’ Naboo bends down and rifles through the extensive royal minibar, making rather more noise than he needs to. When Saboo emerges from the bathroom, his erstwhile field partner is grinning broadly. ‘This place is so cool. They’ve got all sorts of Earth stuff, look…’ He has a bottle of chartreuse in one hand and one of crème de menthe in the other. ‘Don’t you dare.’ Saboo flings himself into the armchair by the hearth, where a small clear fire is now burning. ‘Sorry, bit tactless. Couldn’t resist it though.... What do you want to drink?’ ‘Anything,’ Saboo growls, ‘so long as it’s (a) alcoholic and (b) not fucking well green.’ He hears Naboo chuckle behind him, then the gurgle of sticky liquid being poured from a bottle. The small glass that is pressed into his hand contains something deep purple-brown and fragrant. ‘What’s this?’ ‘Plum brandy,’ Naboo says, deadpan. Saboo laughs out loud for the first time that day. Naboo smiles at him. ‘Couldn’t resist that either. Hey, an’ it tastes quite good an’ all… Mind if I smoke?’ ‘Go ahead.’ Saboo stretches luxuriously in the warmth of the fire. The brandy is rich and sweet, tasting of summer fruit, soothing his doubts and fears. Things seem to be going better all of a sudden. Naboo fetches his beloved hash pipe, lights up, sits down on the plush velvet footstool at Saboo’s feet and draws deep. ‘Ahhh. Bloody ’ell, I needed that. Haven’t been high all day. Cheers.’ He breathes out a cloud of blue smoke; looks up, and sees Saboo watching him. ‘You want some?’ He proffers the mouthpiece. ‘It’s a good blend.’ ‘Sure, why not?’ As the pipe changes hands, their fingers touch. Saboo feels a sudden shock of wanting; he wonders whether Naboo feels it too. He can feel Naboo relaxing; leaning on him a little more. It is indeed a good blend. In a little while all the colours grow more intense, the edges of everything softened as though looking through gauze. Rich scents waft through the warm room: woodsmoke, hempsmoke, the sandalwood of their shared bath. ‘What happened to that git from the Academy?’ Saboo asks suddenly, handing back the pipe. ‘Which one? There are loads.’ Naboo takes a long, lazy pull on the mouthpiece, the smoke gurgling contentedly in the belly of the hookah. ‘Your worst enemy. The one who cursed you so you couldn’t swim. Did you get him back, after you qualified?’ ‘It’s another long story.’ Naboo blows a smoke ring at the ceiling. ‘Short version is: Didn’t need to. Stupid ballbag insisted on taking his Tests in the next round. Failed the lot and got kicked out.’ ‘No re-sits if you refer yourself for Testing. That’s what put me off doing it. Had to wait another two years after I thought I was ready, before they called me.’ Saboo reaches down for the pipe. ‘It’s all a long time ago… Where is he now?’ ‘Dunno exactly. He left the planet, went to work for a trading corporation I think. Don’t really care, to be honest. Like you said, it’s all a long time ago.’ Naboo sighs. Saboo rests a hand on his shoulder; kneads at a knot in the muscles. ‘I know who your worst enemy is,’ Naboo says dreamily. ‘No, you don’t. Nobody does. I’m not even sure I do. I have a lot of enemies, you know.’ ‘You’re your own worst enemy.’ Saboo takes his hand away. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ ‘Yeah, you are.’ Naboo sits up and looks Saboo in the face, suddenly earnest. ‘You could be happy but you won’t let yourself. You could be a good person if you didn’t try so hard to be a bastard.’ ‘I’m not a good person.’ ‘Are too. You were good to me today.’ ‘We had a job to do. It’s called being professional.’ Naboo snorts. ‘Yeah right. You threw me onto the carpet first. A proper bastard would’ve got himself on the carpet and pulled me up after him, left me to get bitten. Good fing you didn’t though, you wouldn’t’ve been able to fix me.’ ‘We had the Amulet. I would have thought of that… probably.’ ‘Yeah, but would you’ve cried, if you thought I was dyin’? Would you’ve let yourself?’ ‘Is that what…’ Of course. That one cold drop, falling… Saboo’s heart misses a beat. Naboo stares into the fire. ‘Handy gadget, that Amulet.’ He could be talking about the weather now, he sounds so casual. ‘It turns tears into a universal antidote.’ ‘But only if they’re genuine,’ Saboo says slowly. ‘An’ they were.’ Naboo lays his head on Saboo’s knees. ‘I’d’ve missed you, if you’d gone.’ Saboo laughs quietly, sure of his ground now, and runs his fingers through Naboo’s hair, savouring its silky texture. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ ‘OK then… I’ve never come from havin’ sex.’ Well, that was unexpected. And he sounds so sad; as though there’s a story there that he isn’t quite ready to tell yet. Saboo takes a deep breath. It’s time to start coming clean. ‘Well, you’re one up on me there. I’ve never even had sex.’ Naboo looks up in surprise. ‘No? Wouldn’t have thought you’d have any trouble pullin’.’ Saboo shakes his head. ‘Never needed it. Never really wanted it. It’s always struck me as just too much hassle...’ Naboo makes a small unhappy sound, and turns his head away. ‘Until today,’ Saboo says quietly. He cups a hand under Naboo’s chin, lifts his face, and looks deep into his eyes; what he sees there makes his heart miss several more beats. Naboo’s smile lights up the room. ‘Remind me to let you save me from drownin' more often.’ Perhaps, Saboo thinks, accepting this mission wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Perhaps, he thinks, Dennis is a whole lot smarter than we give him credit for. And then Naboo’s soft mouth is on his, and he stops thinking altogether for a while. There’s a bit of scrambling and fidgeting before Naboo works out how to fit himself perfectly into Saboo’s lap, with his head tucked under Saboo’s chin and the ends of the feather boa tickling his cheek. This is where he needs to be, how he has often dreamed of being: safe and warm with Saboo’s arms around him, his shaman-senses attuning themselves to the rhythm of Saboo’s heartbeat and breathing, the scent of his skin. He sighs happily. He can’t quite believe that he’s allowed to be here, that he isn’t going to be pushed away. All those years of being told he wasn’t even liked… His lips still tingle from their kiss; he can taste brandy and smoke and Saboo himself, and he wants more, a whole lot more. Arousal is already building inside him, slow and certain, an almost-ache in his groin, making his whole body warm and heavy with need. He’ll have to take this slowly though, give Saboo time to get used to the whole idea. It’s clearly been a bit of a shock and he can almost hear the rumble and scrape of the other shaman’s mental furniture being rearranged wholesale as he re-assesses his basic principles. ‘Little one…’ Saboo rests his cheek on Naboo’s hair, and speaks with a softness Naboo has rarely heard from him. ‘You know when you said, you’d never… What happened to you?’ Naboo shakes his head. ‘Don’t ask.’ ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, I just… I thought it might help.’ ‘’S’alright.’ It would help, it would help Naboo a lot, but he doesn’t think it would help Saboo at all, to have all that dumped on him. It’s not going to be easy, this process of getting close to someone who’s never let himself be close to anyone, who’s never even had a familiar... ‘Tell you one day. Not ready to go back there yet, is all. It was a bad time, an’ if it hadn’t been for Dennis…’ ‘I always wondered whether he had an eye to you himself, you know.’ ‘No, it’s not like that.’ Naboo tries hard to find the right words to explain. ‘Dennis is… well… kind of like the father that I never had. He might’ve wanted… once or twice… but he never pushed it. I always thought he should have kids of his own. Maybe he will, now he’s married.’ Saboo quivers with laughter. ‘I can just picture it, can’t you? The D-Man coping with babies…’ ‘Like he copes with the Board. He’d have to find a way to get high on pureed pears or talcum powder.’ Naboo settles himself more comfortably against Saboo’s shoulder. ‘Not that I know anythin’ about how families work. I never had one.’ ‘According to my father, you didn’t miss much. He always said they were over-rated. He was totally smitten by my mother, but I think he could have done without me. Two’s company, three’s a crowd, you know? We never really liked each other.’ ‘Is he still around?’ Naboo is fascinated by the idea that Saboo might actually have a family, however dysfunctional: a proper family with relatives in it, not just random acquaintances and a familiar. ‘No, he was human, with a human lifespan. And he was old-fashioned, wouldn’t drink from the Fountain of Youth, said it was unnatural and one lifetime should be enough. And then when he started getting old, and changed his mind, he panicked and took too much, and it regressed him to oblivion… Mother couldn’t forgive him. Five hundred years on, and she still hasn’t.’ ‘Is she…’ ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you to meet her.’ Saboo gives a short, mirthless laugh. ‘None of us would enjoy that experience. She lost her mind when Father died. Well, when I say lost… she seems to have deliberately kept all the parts that would make her a miserable poisonous old bat, and ditched the rest. She’s in a secure geriatric unit on Twilight Island, and I see her once a year or less often if I can get away with it. She doesn’t really know who I am any more, but she likes to wind me up just the same…’ Saboo heaves a deep sigh, with a catch in it that might be tears. ‘She was beautiful, once.’ Naboo thinks about various things he could say, and then decides that none of them will make things any better, so he doesn’t reply, just burrows closer into Saboo’s embrace and closes his eyes. He can feel Saboo stroking his hair, perhaps finding it comforting. The room is quiet save for the rustlings of the dying fire, and their own breathing. A shaman could fall asleep like this… Naboo smothers a yawn. Saboo stills his hand. ‘I should go.’ He doesn’t sound as though he means it. Humans are so hard to read, they have no telepathic talent. Naboo takes a gamble. ‘It’s up to you. But I’d rather you didn’t.’ ‘You mean that?’ Saboo sounds so glad, so genuinely glad; surely Naboo’s shaman-senses can’t be mistaken. He wishes there were time to make a cup of tea, check the leaves. But it looks like he’ll have to fly blind on this one. ‘Course I mean it. You did say… I mean… that is what you meant, isn’t it? You did mean me? Cos I’ll feel a right numpty if you were talkin’ about wantin’ it with that tit Banoo…’ ‘Little one,’ Saboo says warningly, ‘stop digging. He’s a married man, for starters. And for another thing, he is not only a tit, he’s an idiot, and idiots are right next to lentils on my list.’ He slides Naboo off his lap onto the floor. ‘And another thing…’ ‘What?’ Naboo is grinning like an idiot himself with relief at the unmistakable amusement creeping into Saboo’s gravelly voice. ‘I was talking about you. And I may never have had sex, but I do know it involves taking your clothes off. So that’s what I’m proposing to do, and I suggest you offer no resistance.’ ‘No resistance, just assistance?’ ‘You’re rubbish at poetry. But something like that, yes.’ Naboo takes his turban off and puts it on the gilded footstool. ‘There you go. You can do the rest yourself, it’ll be more fun.’ He stands up, fingering the chain around his neck. ‘Start with this, maybe.’ Saboo lifts the Amulet carefully off. ‘Does it need to go in a box or something? Or be covered, or not in contact with the ground, or…’ ‘What’ve you bin readin’ lately? This ain’t Harry Potter. Just put it on the table, it’ll be fine. Wouldn’t hurt to lock the door though, I s’pose.’ Saboo looks dubiously at the Amulet as he lays it on the table. Naboo chuckles. ‘Yeah, I feel like that about it too sometimes. I mean, it’s powerful an’ all, but it’s been a drag havin’ to live off-planet for three centuries. Last few years have been OK, but before that it was… well, it was pretty lonely sometimes.’ ‘Until Dennis took over and appointed you to the Board.’ Saboo goes over to the door and slides the bolt home with a satisfying thud. ‘That too, but I was thinkin’ more of friends.’ ‘As in, not having any?’ ‘Exactly. Present company excepted, humans never really got me, an’ I didn’t get them, but then I went to work at the zoo because I thought it’d be somethin’ a bit different, an’ it was, but not how I expected.’ Saboo comes back to stand beside him. ‘You found your familiar there.’ ‘And Howard and Vince.’ ‘I’ve never understood what you saw in them. They’re a pair of total doss-bags.’ Naboo nods. ‘I know. I’ve never understood what I saw in them either, but somehow it didn’t matter. They’re so weird themselves, they never really saw me as weird, they just accepted me. An’ it was good to be needed… I just sort of slipped into bein’ there to sort out whatever mess they’d got into, an’ somehow from that we started bein’ sort of friends. Even a sort of family, I guess… But listen, you’re not ’ere to talk about my social life, you’re supposed to be takin’ my clothes off.’ ‘Very well.’ Saboo looks at him for a moment; squares his shoulders resolutely. Then lifts Naboo’s robes off over his head. And explodes with laughter. ‘You weren’t wearing any… You… All through that formal dinner, you were sitting there, right next to me, and you weren’t…’ ‘I don’t get out much,’ Naboo says, lowering his eyes in pretend bashfulness. ‘Have to make my own entertainment. An’ I admit, thinkin’ about seein’ you react exactly like that… well, it was well entertainin’ an’ it got me through havin’ to eat those falafels, otherwise I’d’ve bin a goner…’ And then they are both laughing, and Naboo says a word that causes all of Saboo’s clothing to Dis-apparate from off his body and reappear neatly folded on the chair, with his feathered hat on top of the pile. Sometimes a touch of Harry Potter is exactly what you need.

Oh, that long, lean body, with its sleek muscles and gleaming caramel skin. It took his breath away on the lakeside, despite his terror at the thought of the black water waiting to swallow him. It takes his breath away all over again. ‘You can touch as well, you know. And it’s rude to stare.’ Saboo is smiling. He’s tall, and beautiful, and very male, and very – big… This isn’t going to be easy. Well – it’s now or never. And never’s a long time. Naboo takes a step closer; reaches out. Saboo’s breath whistles through his nostrils. He stands quite still, waiting. The first touch of Naboo’s fingertips makes him tremble; Naboo’s palm flattening against his chest makes him hard. And Naboo’s belly pressing against the heat of his erection makes them both whimper with longing. Ridiculous little noises… Their eyes meet, and they smile. Then there are hands everywhere, and skin brushing against skin, and Saboo bends his head to take Naboo’s mouth in a searing kiss, not soft and hesitant this time but eager and needy and just a little bit afraid. Naboo can’t resist slipping his tongue in, and it’s heavenly until Saboo breaks away and takes a step back, his chest heaving. ‘I’m – just hang on a minute…’ ‘Steady.’ Naboo grips Saboo’s shaking hand. ‘Take it easy, we can go as slow as you like.’ ‘I don’t want to go slow.’ Saboo pulls him close again. ‘Fair enough.’ Naboo can hear Saboo’s heart hammering. ‘Five hundred years is a long time with no sex.’ ‘You have no idea how long, little one.’ Saboo runs his fingers through Naboo’s hair; caresses the curve of his throat. His touch makes something melt deep inside. ‘Well, come on then, why’re we still standin’ here discussin’ it when there’s a four-poster bed three steps away?’ ‘Good point.’ Saboo takes those three steps and strips the covers back, revealing an enticing expanse of beautifully laundered white linen sheet. He makes a mock-ceremonial bow. ‘After you…’ ‘Oh – hang on a sec, just thought of somethin’.’ Naboo scuttles off towards the bathroom. ‘That might be a good idea, actually.’ ‘No, I didn’t mean I – well, you might, but – I just went to fetch this.’ Naboo grabs a dry towel from the rail and brings it back. ‘What’s that for?’ ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Naboo calls as Saboo disappears behind the bathroom door. ‘ ’S just a precaution.’ The towel is soft and heavy and lavender-scented; Naboo spreads it carefully over the sheet before lying down on it. His heart is in his throat; it hasn’t been five hundred years but it’s certainly been a long time for him too. He shuts his eyes. ‘Oi, don’t go to sleep.’ A soft kiss is pressed to his cheek. Naboo looks up, and grins. ‘I wasn’t. Just conservin’ my shamanic energies during all available quiet moments, like it says in the Everyshaman’s Manual of Field Practices.’ ‘It doesn’t say anything in the Manual about having sex with your field partner in a four-poster bed, though, does it?’ Saboo draws three of the four-poster’s damask curtains, leaving the one facing the fire. He climbs onto the bed beside Naboo, and kneels over him in the half-dark. ‘So I suppose we’ll have to improvise,’ he whispers. He’s kneeling between Naboo’s spread legs now; he leans down, his elbows on either side of Naboo’s face and his erection brushing Naboo’s thigh. A sudden memory flashes across Naboo’s shaman-senses: hot foul breath, a heavy body pinning him down, the sharp smell of blood, and eyes all around, watching… He wonders whether he’ll be able to go through with this, whether the fear will be stronger than the wanting. Right now, all he can feel is the fear. He swallows hard against the lump rising in his throat. Saboo is so beautiful, and they were getting on so well, and he’d thought this was going to be all right, but it isn’t, he can’t, he’s alone again and the darkness is dragging him down to the bottom… ‘Little one?’ Saboo kneels upright again; touches his fingertips gently to Naboo’s face. ‘What’s wrong, did I do something wrong?’ Naboo shakes his head, biting his lip as a tear of desperate disappointment runs down his cheek. ‘Do you want me to go?’ Saboo sounds as though his heart is breaking. All Naboo can manage is a thin wail. ‘No.’ Saboo lies down beside him and takes his hand. ‘Then I won’t.’ His warm fingers curl around Naboo’s cold ones. ‘Hold on, and trust me. I’m not going anywhere.’ ‘Fanks…’ A sob shakes Naboo’s body. ‘No, you tit, don’t cry, that’s not going to help anybody.’ The affection in Saboo’s voice is unmistakable. Perhaps it’s not all over, after all. Naboo sniffs and blinks until the tears are under control. ‘That’s better.’ Saboo presses soft kisses to Naboo’s bare shoulder. ‘Now. Let’s see whether we can’t make some sense out of this.’ He drums with the fingertips of his free hand, thinking. ‘Something bad happened to you, and this is bringing it back. So we need to change what we’re doing… I think I’ve got it.’ ‘What?’ ‘Just – don’t laugh if I’m way off the mark. Remember I haven’t done this before and I’m not a great one for reading textbooks. But… is it possible to… to have sex the other way up? I mean, with you not trapped underneath? Because I think – I don’t know, tell me if I’m wrong – but I think you need to be in control here.’ ‘Yes. Yes.’ Oh, the relief, the utter joy of being understood and accepted and still wanted… Naboo winds both hands into Saboo’s hair and kisses him, eager, gasping, wanting that hot mouth on his body, over his belly, under his arms, everywhere. And Saboo understands this too, and gives Naboo what he wants, kissing his way down until he’s between Naboo’s parted thighs... Where he stops short, and looks up in surprise. ‘You’re all wet… You’re a girl.’ Naboo sits up, snorting with laughter. ‘Am not, ya cheeky ballbag.’ ‘But –’ ‘I’m as male as you, it’s just arranged differently is all – feel this, in here, these are the same as you’ve got out there.’ Naboo takes Saboo’s hand and guides two fingers inside, gliding easily through the wetness. ‘These right here?’ ‘Yup. Same as these right here.’ Naboo cups his free hand around Saboo’s balls, weighing them in his palm, heavy and cool and so exposed, so vulnerable… He feels Saboo’s fingertips exploring, careful and hesitant; watches Saboo’s face as he begins to understand how this might work. Saboo slides his fingers further in. ‘And the rest?’ ‘Up here.’ Almost too far in for his own small fingers to reach, but Saboo has no trouble. Naboo strokes the silky-soft skin at Saboo’s tip, mirroring the movements. ‘See? Unmales were never meant to fly solo.’ ‘So when you told Dennis you didn’t do anything…’ ‘I didn’t, much. There are… y’know, gadgets and things, but they never really… Guess I got lucky.’ ‘Makes two of us, little one.’ Saboo runs a finger round the rim of the opening. ‘What – what do you need me to do?’ ‘More of that would be nice… help me make some room, you know?’ Saboo shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. Don’t laugh.’ ‘I’m not. But it’s… You’re pretty well hung, if you didn’t know already, an’ it’s gonna be a tight fit. Just keep doin’ that, help me relax, an’ when you can get three fingers in, you know I’m ready for you.’ ‘I’d rather… find some other way, if this is going to hurt you.’ Saboo looks doubtful. ‘Don’t worry.’ Naboo leans forward and kisses him. ‘I’ll be fine. But it’s worth bein’ a bit careful. ’S your first time, an’ mine too really, so I wanna get it right. You’re doin’ great so far.’ He lies back on the pillows, encouraging Saboo with soft words, and Saboo touches and stretches, until Naboo’s open to him, wet and needy and pushing back against Saboo’s fingers with little moans of pleasure. Saboo bends over and kisses him on the cheek. ‘I’ve… that is, there are three…so can we…? Because I think I’m going to explode if we don’t.’ ‘Me too.’ ‘So what do I…?’ Naboo sits up, grinning at the sight of Saboo’s hand disappearing between his thighs. ‘Take ’em out slowly, and lie down where I was… yeah, that’s perfect.’ He kneels astride Saboo’s hips, and reaches back to help him in. Blimey. ‘Well hung’ doesn’t really cover it. Especially since nothing is hanging any more, it’s all standing to attention and even that vulnerable ballsack has tightened itself up into a neat, plump package. Naboo’s been well prepared, but even so he needs all his concentration to unlock the tight muscles around his entrance and let Saboo’s broad, blunt cockhead slide slowly inside. ‘Oh.’ Saboo moves his head from side to side on the pillow. ‘Little one… I never expected… this is just… Oh.’ Naboo rocks his hips, taking his lover (now that’s a word that’ll take a bit of getting used to, and all) deeper in. ‘Take it easy. It’s been a long time. Lemme know if you need to stop.’ ‘I’m fine if you are. But is this hurting you?’ ‘It isn’t. It really isn’t. Nor scarin’ me neither. So stop worryin’, just lie back an’ enjoy the ride, yeah?’ Naboo sets a slow rhythm, looking into Saboo’s eyes as they widen and darken and lose their anxiety; feeling his own body relaxing as it accepts the ache and the stretch and the certainty that this time, nothing bad is going to happen. He could stop this at any moment; but he doesn’t want to. Saboo’s ball-deep inside him now, and Naboo tightens his internal muscles to feel the shape of him, bumping deliciously against the tender places that Saboo’s fingers had explored earlier. Saboo is rock-hard and hot; Naboo’s movements make him shudder all over. ‘I can’t take much more… Little one, if you do that again I’ll come…’ Naboo had no idea it was possible to be so turned on by just words. He does that again. He can't help it. ‘I meant what I said, you plum, I can’t… Oh fuck, I’m coming. Oh…’ Naboo feels Saboo let go; sees his face as the orgasm hits him and flattens all his remaining defences. It's the sexiest thing he's ever seen, and it tips him over the edge too, gasping and yelping and crying out Saboo’s name. Afterwards, Saboo holds him close as he shivers and cries. ‘I’m fine, really, I’m sorry, it’s only reaction, never come like that before…’ ‘It’s all right, little one. It was... pretty intense for me too, you know.' Saboo kisses him gently on the forehead. 'Just be still for a little while. I’ll look after you.’ Naboo can feel the wet flowing out of him, the mingled aftermath of their sex, smelling of his own musk and that human malesex scent that has become a familiar feature of life in his flat ever since Howard and Vince started doing… whatever it is that he and Saboo have just done. What have they done? ‘The towel was a good idea,’ Saboo says, lifting a corner of it to wipe him clean. ‘And this? Me an’ you, I mean… was it a good idea?’ The moment the question is out of his mouth, Naboo wishes he hadn’t asked; he can’t bear the thought that Saboo might regret this. Saboo kisses the tears away. ‘Of course it was. Best we’ve ever had.’ ‘We?’ Naboo can hardly dare to believe it. ‘It’s you and me from here on in, little one.’ Saboo’s tone brooks no argument. ‘You and me. That’s all there is to it.’

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

‘You again? I’d have thought catching me on my way to breakfast was enough. And then you told me you had to get home by 8.30, and rushed off again. Something about your son’s school assembly, wasn’t it?’ ‘Yes, Sire. I was in plenty of time to attend the assembly – ’ ‘Well, I’m glad to see that new watch of yours is working.’ ‘– and I have returned with all haste to tender my humblest apologies to you.’ ‘What, again?’ ‘I do not think I have yet apologised nearly enough. My early departure last night was unforgivable.’ ‘Be that as it may, I forgive you, Banoo, as is my royal privilege.’ ‘But – ’ The King lowers his binoculars and looks sharply at the shaman kneeling at his feet. ‘Nothing is unforgivable, Banoo, if the King says that it is not.’ Banoo bows his head and is silent for all of about ten seconds as he tries to work this out. His chest is heaving with suppressed emotion; his normally sleek hair is disarrayed, sliding out of the knot at the nape of his neck. The King feels a sudden, irrational urge to kneel beside him and tidy it up. ‘I am forgiven?’ Banoo says in a small voice. ‘For about the forty-seventh time this morning, Banoo, yes. Now for heaven’s sake get up before you give yourself arthritis kneeling on these battlements. It’s perishing cold up here.’ ‘Thank you, sire.’ Banoo scrambles to his feet. ‘I am undeserving of such benevolence. I – ’ ‘Peace, Banoo.’ The King raises the Royal Binoculars to his eyes again and peers over the wall. ‘You were not the only one to leave the feast early. The Head Shaman’s envoys had to retire only a few minutes after you did. Pity really, I thought it was all going rather well, but I suppose they had had a rather busy day.’ Banoo shades his eyes against the mid-morning sun and looks in the same direction; together they watch the Head Shaman’s diplomatic carpet flying away over the plain. ‘They must have needed their sleep too,’ the King adds, ‘they were very late to breakfast. Missed out on the buckwheat porridge. Can’t understand it…’ A faint burst of laughter drifts back to them on the wind as the carpet rises and heads for the mountains, rather erratically. ‘Perhaps they over-indulged in the products of the Royal Breweries last night, Sire,’ Banoo suggests. ‘It doesn’t look as though either of them is fit to drive.’ The King, watching through the binoculars, can see that actually neither of the shamen on the carpet is driving; their attention seems wholly occupied by each other. Well, that would explain a lot… ‘I’m seriously thinking about asking the Head Shaman to billet his field operatives elsewhere in future.’ He lowers the binoculars; he didn’t need to see that. ‘I’ve already had the Laundry Master complaining about the state of the towels this morning. He was almost in tears, the poor man. I can’t think what those shamen can have been doing.’ Well, actually, that last statement isn’t strictly true; and judging by what he’s just seen, it looks as though they’ll be doing it again before very long. Hopefully the Head Shaman's carpet valet is of a robust constitution... The King sighs heavily. ‘Is something wrong, my liege?’ Banoo strikes an earnest, ready-for-action pose. ‘Can I do anything to remedy it? I have kept myself in training, just in case. I am still the strongest, the fastest…’ ‘Thank you, but no, nothing of that kind is wrong. It’s just… well… things didn’t turn out as I expected. I should have been a folk musician with a thriving wholefood restaurant, not a lonely old man ruling a kingdom he never asked for.’ He looks out across the majestic view of the rolling plains and the distant glitter of the river, with the mountains rising blue in the distance. He blinks; the brightness of the morning sun is making his eyes water a little. He hears Banoo come to stand beside him. ‘Things didn’t turn out for me either,’ the shaman says quietly. ‘I should have been the amulet bearer and being all heroic on Earth, making full use of my training and magical abilities – not rushing around after six children that my fourth ex-wife can’t look after properly.’ ‘You're a fortunate man, Banoo. I always wanted a partner, and it’d really brighten this moth-eaten castle up to have some youngsters about the place, but that didn’t work out either… d’you have any idea how hard it is to find a princess these days?’ They turn to each other, and their eyes meet. ‘No promises,’ the King says, ‘but… why don’t you bring the kids over next weekend, and we’ll see how it goes?’ Banoo says nothing, but his face grows bright with sudden hope. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then,’ the King murmurs. He puts a hand on Banoo’s shoulder, and together they watch the carpet vanish over the horizon.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo the enigma #naboo #naboo/saboo

[imagine-loki]

Of Numbers and Strange Friendships

TITLE: Of Numbers and Strange Friendships CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 24/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being friends with Peter Parker RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: None so far.  Also on AO3 here

The group continued telling stories throughout dinner, and the multitude of desserts that were served to the group.  Everyone seemed the most interested in Frigga’s stories, as they wanted to know more about young Thor and Loki.

The boys both groaned when she pulled out old stories to tell.  She told them about the day the boys accidentally led a stampede of bilgesnipe through the palace and straight to the throne.  They had looked about six at the time by Midgardian standards and had stumbled upon a herd when they’d been playing in the royal forest.  Both boys had been scared out of their minds and ran straight to their father for help.  He was livid at the damage, but had been so relieved that his boys were safe and had at least had the brains to get help before they were trampled by bilgesnipe.

She told them of ten year old Thor coming up with ‘get help’.

Loki groaned loudly at that story and buried his head in his hands so he didn’t have to relive the story.

He, however, was laughing in delight with the others when Frigga told the story of the creation of ‘my apologies’.  It was a tactic Loki had come up with and was his equivalent of ‘get help’.  It consisted of Thor bumbling around like an oaf knocking into things and spilling drinks on people while Loki followed behind him going “My apologies, my brother is so clumsy and such an oaf”.  By the time they made it through the room they were tricking, the secret scroll, map, or magical item they were after (along with quite a bit of gold or whatever else Loki fancied taking) would be in the brothers’ possession with none of the people the wiser until after the pair were long gone. 

“That’s brilliant!” Peter said approvingly.  Loki grinned across the table at his friend.

“I always thought so,” he replied with a smirk at Thor.

“It’s not,” Thor protested.  “I hate it, it’s humiliating,”

“Not for me, it’s not,” Loki replied.  “And I hate ‘get help’.  It is way more humiliating as you literally throw me at enemies,” Loki growled.  He loathed ‘get help’.  

Thor laughed.  “It is not humiliating for me,” he replied jovially and it took the fact that Frigga was sitting next to him for Loki not to draw his daggers and stab Thor across the table.  

He was mollified quickly when all of the desserts came out.

At least he was until Frigga held her palm up and with a shimmer of magic, showed the group holographic images of her sons growing up.  The team loved it.  Her sons wanted to crawl under the table and die since they couldn’t stop her. The only saving grace was that she didn’t pull out naked baby images.  It was a close call, though.  There was one of a young Thor teaching a younger Loki to walk; the boys sparring as children;  them coming back successfully from their first hunt alone dirty and injured, but successful and looking so proud; a teenage Thor in the foreground swinging a sword while Loki sat in the window-seat in the background reading; the brothers as young adults, Thor’s arm around Loki’s shoulders as the two both laughed over something; the look of exhausted pride when Loki passed his master magician trial; a formal event that had both brothers taking their place on the stairs before the throne of Asgard; the last was a formal portrait of the royal family and they all looked so happy in it. 

The team loved seeing that the Asgardians, while royal and literal gods, were also a family and were also just normal people living their lives.

Aunt May returned the favor, showing pictures to Frigga on her phone of Peter growing up. Loki laughed when it was Peter’s turn to wish he could crawl under the table and die.  “Aunt May~~” he whined, but that didn’t stop his aunt from sharing pictures. 

Eventually, the massive collection of desserts were eaten (mostly by Loki) and Tony paid the bill, not even cringing at the massive check, though anyone else at the table would have.  “Thanks, Mr. Stark.  It was a fantastic dinner,” Peter enthused as the group was leaving the restaurant.  

“Yes, it was lovely, thank you for inviting us,” Aunt May agreed.  She hugged Frigga and no one was one bit surprised. “It was lovely to meet you,” the two had bonded over their intelligent adopted sons and how similar it was raising them.  

Unshed tears brimmed in Peter’s eyes when he’d realized that Aunt May thought of him as her son.  He loved his aunt dearly, but he hadn’t even considered that she thought of him as a son and not just her nephew she’d taken in. Loki chuckled and wrapped his arm around the teen’s shoulders.  Peter gave him a lopsided grin in reply, relieved by Loki’s silent reassurance.

The group made their way out of the tower, laughing and talking as they headed back to the vehicles to return to the tower or Aunt May’s house in her and Peter’s case.  

Though they were Avengers and superheroes and used to things going wrong every time they were having five minutes of happiness, none of them were expecting the men with guns to appear out of nowhere.  None of them were expecting Hydra’s monsters to attack the group.

It was fairly obvious that the team was there that night.  Stark had made the reservations in his name, they’d arrived in limos, and the press had been there announcing their presence to the world. The group was so used to press everywhere they went that it hadn’t even crossed their minds that it might be a problem. 

It was a problem.

A definite problem.

The team circled automatically, pushing Aunt May and Pepper to the middle where they’d be protected. Loki saw the fear in Peter’s eyes.  He couldn’t fight this battle and keep his identity secret.  “Don’t fret, arachnid.  We will keep you safe,” Loki reassured him as he assessed the situation and as Peter was shoved into the middle of the circle with Aunt May and Pepper. 

With a shimmer of magic, Loki was in his battle armor, Thor raised Mjolnir to summon his own with lightning, Stark summoned one of his ironman suits through Jarvis, and Bruce summoned the Hulk, which still made Loki cringe.  Everyone else would be fighting in their formalwear. 

That wouldn’t do.  

“Hold still,” Loki told them and let his magic flow over the group. He found Frigga’s hand linked in his and smiled warmly as she added her magic to his.  In a moment, the group was in their battle armor and leapt into the fray.  Loki looked to Wanda who was new to fighting with the team and didn’t go on many missions.  “Wanda, stay with Sif and my mother, protect the civilians,” he told her, giving her a clear order, a clear duty.  

And his most important mission, though he didn’t say the words.

He didn’t give her the unspoken order, but she nodded, she understood what he wouldn’t say:

Protect my mother

None of them were expecting Frigga to draw a blade as long as her arm as armor shimmered into place over her formal gown.  None of them except the Asgardians were expecting that anyway.  Frigga had taught Loki to fight and Asgardians were a warrior race.  She, Sif, and Wanda moved the civilians away from the battle.

Loki breathed a sigh of relief when his loved ones were safe and joined the others in the battle.  He kept one eye on the group of civilians, proud of Wanda for doing so well keeping the others safe. He made a note to tell her as much later.  Praise from Loki was rare and she cherished every single instance of it when he was teaching her magic. 

The battle was harder than expected and raged for a long, long time.  The team was wearing thin when Loki was thrown across the battlefield by a giant.  He crashed at Frigga’s feet and struggled to get back to his feet quickly as the giant thundered over to them.  It tossed Sif aside effortlessly, heading straight for the defenseless civilians.  

For Loki’s family.

Loki growled as he got to his feet, jumping in front of Frigga to protect her.  He would do anything to protect his mother, including taking the blow himself. His dagger shattered at the giant’s blow and he was knocked off his feet again, one of his gauntlets shattered at the impact, his shoulder piece fractured at the blow.  His armor was damaged in other places, but he couldn’t focus on that now. 

“Loki?” Peter asked with fear in his eyes as well as his voice.  He couldn’t help.  His secret would be revealed if he helped, especially with Aunt May there.  There was no way to hide to change into his costume.  Aunt May had her arms around him, as if to protect him.  If only she knew.  

Wanda threw up a red shield to delay the giant, holding her hands up to keep it going.   She was still young and couldn’t attack while she was holding the shield.  Loki was just grateful she was inside the shield this time.  He’d drilled that into her during hours of magic lessons and he was glad it had stuck. 

The others were busy on the other monsters. 

Loki was alone in this fight.

Loki growled as he forced himself back to his feet as fast as his injured body would allow.

His mother, blood brother, and little sister were in danger.  In that moment he accepted that he had adopted Wanda as a little sister.  She was family to him too.  

His found family was in danger.

He had to defend them.  

He got between the giant and Wanda just in time, shoving her back before the giant could crush her skull with his bat, her shield had vanished under the pummelling from the giant’s bat.  Loki reached up and planted his feet, bracing himself with magic to catch the bat, to stop the momentum.

It nearly threw him off his feet again, but his magic held, his more than human strength held. 

He reached out to summon a blade and swung automatically when the handle was in his hand.  Centuries of combat experience had taught him never to drop his weapon, to let nothing surprise him in battle, to fight for his life and for those he loved. 

He still nearly dropped his weapon after he’d hit the giant with it.

He was in shock that it wasn’t one of his beloved daggers.

He was holding Mjolnir.

In fighting so hard to save his family, in that moment, he had become worthy.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 24 #Of numbers and strange friendships #Nekoamamori

[bath-ironstout]

Passing the Torch

Deep within the mountain known to all as Khaz, buried deeper still within in the bustling Dwarven capital city of Ironforge, many of the city’s denizens slept.  In the wee hours of the night, the night-shift laborers had all but taken over the streets which were only hours earlier crowded and alive.

The Mystic Ward, with its magnificent temple and ever-shimmering azure Pool of Reflection that made up the symmetrical center of the open plaza, was one of the few quarters of the city that enforced any type of curfew.  Because of this, it was deathly quiet.  Save for a few lost, drunken tourist wandering the wrong reaches of the upper-city, the caustic reflections of the pool danced to the distant echoes of hammersong from the Great Forge on the high stone ceiling.

Inside one of the quaint Dwarven apartments carved of the mountain’s very stone, a young Dwarven woman stared pensively at several objects laid out across an otherwise empty bed.  The bed itself was cozy enough.  It too was made from stone, covered in a thick, wool comforter tinged with a thin layer of dust from lack of use.  The sheets were made hastily, and it’s surface was rather wrinkled.  Atop the sea of greyish green fabric, a black leather-bound tome cracked with age, a tall stone-ware beer stein with an ornate pewter lid covered top to bottom in knicks and scratches, and a heap of well-worn amber-brown plate and chainmail armor lay in separate piles

Bathildis Ironstout had mourned the death of her father.  She had been mourning for hours.  Hours turned to days, and when she thought she had nothing left to give, she grieved some more.  Before she knew it, a week had passed, and sadness and denial made way for anger and bargaining.  She sat perfectly still, her slate-gray eyes traveling from object to object as she veiled her nose and mouth with cupped hands.  Alberich had left these three items behind for her, as was evident in a letter found within the book.  

The grizzled Dwarven wanderer had anticipated the risk of his own death due to the nature of the wild adventure he had embarked upon.  Before every step in his quest, he double-checked to make sure that his affairs were in order should something happen.  The thought of his meticulous foresight despite such reckless abandon sickened Bathilids.  She seethed silently.  He could have thought first of his loved ones and avoided such a dangerous undertaking.  A stone formed in her throat as she considered it again.  He knew something was coming.  He could have said something... anything!  But he didn’t.  He knew anyone capable of rational thought would object.

Everyone who knew Alberich, knew of his insatiable wanderlust.  On top of this, Bathildis often caught glimpses of just how clever her father was.  A Dwarf of few words, he was much wiser than he ever let on.  There was always a glint in his eye whenever he was scheming something, and usually she could catch it to protest, but this time he just up and left like he always did.  Only this time, he didn’t make it back alive.

Bath scowled and sat upright, looking toward the closed iron door not three paces to her left.  She imagined it swinging haphazardly open as it always did when he returned home.  She imagined her grizzled father bursting in with that armor on his sturdy frame, and that massive knapsack he always carried slung over his shoulder - the stein, the lantern, the pickaxe, and rope dangling down, the bedroll and layer of road dust along with all of the bag’s unseen clanking contents - always a Khaz damned mystery.  The image quickly faded from her mind as sobering reality once again took hold.

With a heavy sigh Bathildis turned to face the bed again.  This time her eyes locked on the book.  The Clan Ironstout Brewing Journal was as close as her clan could come to having any sort of family heirloom.  The cover was engraved and painted with now faded gold-leaf runes.  It read “Clan Ironstout: Brewing Recipes and Knowledge by Delkas Ironstout and Baerra Firestein.”  Beneath that, in much clearer, newer script, it read, “Additions by Alberich Ironstout” and yet still below that, “and Bathildis Ironstout.”  Inside it’s dusty pages sat scribblings, formal writings, and sketches in all manner of hand.  Clearly a cooperative undertaking, it had contained a plethora of secrets.  It was considered holy to Clan Ironstout, and though she had contributed quite a bit to its contents, she was never it’s keeper.  That was until now.

Alberich had passed the torch - so to speak. He had left her clear instructions as to what to do with it.  Protect it with her life.  Don’t go anywhere without it.  Those were obvious.  What wasn’t so obvious were the instructions paired with the armor and stein that sat to either side of it.  Bath picked up the tome and thumbed through it, past the section with recipes and the journal entries from her Grandparents.  She read of Alberich’s ale-soaked adventures time and time again, but with the last entry blank - save for the solitary title line reading, “A Brew Worthy of Brewhalla”, she surmised she was missing an integral piece of the puzzle.

After a few moments of skimming, Bathildis resigned to exhaustion.  It crashed over her like a sudden wave.  She closed the book resolutely and set it gently back on the bed.  She headed toward the door and opened it pausing only for a stretch and a yawn.  There would be time for this tomorrow.

The common area that connected the apartment’s three identical bedrooms was as she had left it.  The dim hearth practically moaned for fuel.  Books lay strewn out everywhere, and trash was on every surface.  A thick coating of dust lined the edges of the domicile.  In her mourning, she had really let the place get out of hand, but at the moment she was so torn up that she could hardly care.

Her dog, a pudgy little pug, lay asleep on a bag of grain in the corner, snoring away.  The other family pet - a magical elemental made of living stout beer - was nowhere to be found.  This wasn’t uncommon; however, as it would often find some stein to sleep in, giving a fright to anyone mistaking the stein to be full of drinkable brew.

She crossed the room, careful not to wake her pup.  When she reached the door to her own room and opened it, she was in for a shock!  Bubble - the stout alemental was floating there looking up at her!  He quickly dove in, propelled by magical fizzing bubbles, embracing the brewer in a tight hug around knees.  Ok, that’s odd.  He’s never done THAT before.  Must be missing da' as much as th' rest of us…

Unsure what to do, she gently pat the semi rigid crest that made up Bubble’s head.

“Oi, Bathie!  I’ve missed ye lass!”

Bath’s eyes went wide and her jaw slackened in horror.  She stopped petting Bubble immediately, throwing her hands in the air.  Was exhaustion finally catching up to her?  She was delirious?  She could have sworn that she had heard her father’s voice.

“Oof, I ain’t usualleh used t’ this perspective!  Oi, tha’s offputtin’!  Ach... Um Bathie, take a peek a few degrees doon South, would ye?

Curious albeit terrified, she risked a downward glance.  Bubble was staring back at her, that blank faceless expression glued to her own.  Glowing amber eyes seemed to intensify for a moment, but then returned to their normal state - as normal as a living beer monster could get at any rate.

The glow intensified as he spoke again.  “There we go!  Now I can see yer loveleh, freckled face again!”  The alemental did not have a mouth, so Bathildis assumed it was speaking telepathically.  She let go of Bubble and nearly fell down as she scrambled backwards through the door frame!

A million emotions and thoughts passed through her mind as she attempted to make sense of what was happening.  She thought to flee, talk back, strike out, start writing a book on communication with the Alemental species… She clearly wasn’t thinking straight.  The Dwarven woman was all but paralyzed in the middle of the common-room despite having four directions she could run.

Bubble slowly propelled himself forward.  “Oi, sorry lass!  I just realized…”  A familiar grunt could be heard, though Bubble just hovered.  “It’s me!  It’s yer da’! … Alberich!”

Bath lost control of her body.  She sank to her knees and tears began to well up in her eyes.  I’ve lost my damned mind!  My parents are dead, and now I’m talking to beer!  They’ll have me in the feckin’ ward in a matter of minutes when they find out!  She began sobbing and laughing hysterically.

Bubble put out a hand and touched her shoulder.  “Bathie…”

Bath recoiled at the touch and clambered backwards on the flats of her palms, putting a few more feet between her and the alemental.

“I know how this looks, lass, but it’s true!  It’s yer da’!”  Bubble held both hands out to his sides, as if to say ‘ta da!’.

Bathildis shook her head.  “No, I dunnae want any trouble!  Please wha’e’er ye are, jus’ leave me alone!  We’ve been through enough!”

Bubble visibly sank at that.  “...Oi,” after a moment’s pause, “I’m sorry fer wha’ I had t’ do t’ ye an’ yer Grandda’.”  Bubble stopped hovering and just sort of plopped into a puddle on the stone floor, as if mimicking Bathildis’ sitting position.  “Lass, this is bigger than all of us.”

Bath shook her head.  “No!  Even if’n ye are who ye say, ye ain’t gettin’ off th’ hook tha’ easy.”  A fire suddenly ignited within her as anger returned.  She sat up-right, crossing her legs in a way that would allow her to scramble to her feet if need be.

“Aye, I deserve tha’...”  Bubble returned to hover again as the fizz reappeared beneath him.  “But hear me oot, lass.  This even pertains t’ ye.  It’s why I’m callin’ oot t’ ye.  WHICH by th’ way ain’t easy t’ do.  I ain’t sure how much longer I can keep th’ connection t’ Bubble ‘ere.”

Bath quirked a brow incredulously.  “Say wha’ now?  Ye ain’t Bubble?”

“Wha’?  Clean oot yer ears, girl!  I told ye it’s yer da’!”  Bubble plants his fists confidenty on his midsection.

Bathildis’ eyed Bubble skeptically as a hint of cautious curiosity flashed in her eyes.  “Prove it,” she finally resigned climbing slowly to her feet.  If’n he were gonna attack me, I guess it would’ve happened by now.  She started to show confidence again, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest.

At the same time, Bubble’s shoulders sank again.  “Oi, how am I gonna d’ this?” he pondered aloud as the emotionless alemental scanned the room.  “Oi!” his eyes glowed brightly as the idea struck.  “Go get th’ book!  Th’ tome!”

Bath glanced over Bubble one last time, making sure he wasn’t up to anything.  Finally, fear aside, she beckoned him to follow her to Ablerich’s room.  As the two crossed the common area and back into the empty bedroom, Bubble left a haphazard trail of beer behind in his wake.  Pugpug continued to snooze peacefully.

Upon entering the room, Bubble darted in under Bathildis’ arm.  He looked over the bed and spoke without turning to face her, “Good!  Ye got it all.  Grand work ye lot! I knew I could trust ye!”  The alemental quickly darted to a nigh-empty desk against the wall and opened one of the drawers.  “In here, Bathie.”

Bath furrowed her brow, sighed, and entered the room.  “Ok, ok.  Hold yer rams.  This better be good.”  She pondered as she approached the desk.  She never snooped in it once so whatever lay inside was the key to Bubble’s - or her grief-strickened mind’s - wild claims.  She tentatively reached in and withdrew a stack of papers and three framed portraits.  A family portrait from several years back, a suggestive photo of a young Dwarven woman in skimpy clothing, and a photo of Alberich and his two brothers in their youth laid fanned out in Bath’s hands. She made a show of not allowing the alemental to see them.

Bubble prodded the drawer.  “Ok!  Ye seen those before?”

Bathildis shook her head.

Bubble slowly listed out, “Should be a portrait o’ me an’ m’ brothers, us as a family, an’ somethin’ special yer mum sent me on one o’ m’ trips.”

Bathildis hastily dropped the three portraits on the desk!  “EWWWW Da’!”

A small, drowned chortle escaped from Bubble.  “There, lass!  There’s yer proof!”

“Ach… Gross!  Have ye no shame?”

“D’ ye believe me now, Bathie?”  Bubble tilted his head.

The two stood in silence for several minutes before Bathildis finally nodded.  “Ok. I believe ye, but I still ain’t sure if’n I’m even awake right now…how is this possible?  Yer dead!”

"Ain't dead… ain't completely at any rate!  M' body is, sure, but I ain't reached m' final stop yet, either," Alberich chucked boisterously.  "Bah!  Anyhow, I'm wha' ye'd call an Alemental Laird now.  M' spirits been planted in some magical brew like ol' Bubble here, but… like th' biggun' o' all th' alementals.  I'll explain it all another time.  All ye need t' know is I call on ye like this from time t' time, s' long as ye keep Bubble 'round!"

"Tha's… amazin'!" Bath's momentary astonishment quickly gave way to sorrow, "Why'd ye wait this long t' contact me?"

"Still figurin' this all oot, m'self.  Ain't been made o' magic beer b'fore, lass!" Alberich chuckled through Bubble.

"Ok, but…" Bathildis interjected, but was promptly cut off.

"Bathie.." Alberich interrupted.  His tone was much more serious now. "I understand ye have questions. Khaz knows I want t' tell ye e'erthin', but I'm almost oot o' time.  Listen. This is important."

Bathildis frowned in silent resignation.  She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before giving a curt not.

Alberich continued, "Look inside m' armor, lass.  Have ye seen th' inscription inside?"

Bathildis slowly turned to face the bed.  She approached it with reverence.  It seemed to give off a warm glow as it reflected the room's lit sconces on it's ruddy surface.  She reached out and traced her fingertips across the rough surface of the breastplate.  Grabbing hold of the sides, she carefully picked it up and flipped it over, searching inside.  Bubbles eyes glowed in the reflection as Alberich watched in silence.

After about a minute of searching, she felt some scratches within.  "I - I think I found it." She carefully held it close to a light and read it to herself.  "Oi, these are jus' numbers!?"

"Aye," Alberich confirmed.  "Each sequence is a page in th' book!  It ain't a complicated code.  I know ye'll figure it oot. Consider this a gift from yer da', Bathie.  Another adventure fer ye an' yer friends!"

Bathildis glared daggers at Bubble, "Bah, why couldn't ye stay home?  Posh on yer adventures!  Ain't tha' what got ye killed?" She barked!

"Bath, ye cannae rot away in th' safety o' th' Modan yer whole life.  Ye cannae be afraid o’ all th' things the world has t' offer.  Look at all ye accomplished jus' a few years back!"

"S' ye came here t' lecture me?" she pouted defensively.

"Nae Bathildis.  Yer free t' decide what ye do with this… just remember tha' I love ye.  I want ye t' realize yer true potential is all."

Bathildis once again reached the verge of tears.  She stared at the armor for a moment.

Suddenly another familiar voice spoke up.  Bath's deceased friend Burly, a Dark Iron brewing prodigy taken at a very young age, could be heard shouting at some distance. "Alb!  Alberich!  Tell her t' stop bein' a ninny an' just go!"

Alberich chuckled forcing Bubble to gurgle in kind. "Oi, Burly says hi!"

Bathildis shook her head in further disbelief, "B-Burly!?!"

As suddenly as everything had happened, Bubbles eyes returned to normal.  He tilted his head, and started making high-pitched gurgling noises.

"Da'!?  Burly?!" Bath cried out, hugging Bubble tight.  Bubble cocked his head from one side to the other, hurled a stream of brew down Bath's shirt, then collapsed into a puddle and slinked away to disappear into Alberich's mug.  The lid clanged shut after him.

Bathildis snatched up the mug and tried to pry the lid off!  Nothing.  She shook it violently, but Bubble noisily protested within.

She sighed and set it down on the desk next to the family portrait.  Exhausted, conflicted, she turned to gaze upon the armor again.  She studied it in silence for several minutes, milling around in thought.  Finally, she placed it on the desk, picked up the brewing journal, and set to scouring through it's pages.

#dwarves #dwarf rp #WRA-RP

[thatwritingcorneroftheinter-blog]

The Mistery of William Faraday

The characters in the following story - with the exception of Jonathan Caldwell, Elizabeth Caldwell and Dr. Willows - are original from  Nerdcast, a brazilian podcast about all the nerd things (and RPG), mainly from the episode 549 - Call of Cthulhu 1: The Mistery of William Faraday.

As I write this down, I cannot believe I have been lead to do so. It is a strange story and if those words have any capability of translating what that night in the Newcastle Asylum was, so be it.

This story starts at Thomas E. Faraday’s home, an immense old English mansion, located at the very heart of London’s aristocracy nest.��

It was 1936, and the horrors of the World War were not yet out of the good men’s mind. Still, we used to gather together at least once a year so that those memories could remain just memories instead of terrible cases of mental and body illness.

Every year, my husband and I would leave our home in Rye to meet with our comrades - or rather his comrades. Jonathan was one of the many men who fought the World War and by the time it was over, the trenches had given him good friends and horrifying stories to share with them. 

Those meetings were not always merry in the ways their memories used to lead, but Jonathan needed them, as much as I needed them to keep Jonathan sane. So, I accompanied my husband for as long as he could, given the state of his leg injury, one of the many wounds that the War had left behind; being cut in the thigh by a treacherous enemy who had slipped under the camp’s barriers, Jonathan was never again able to walk without his cane and the conditions of the injury would not get better with time. 

Eventually we were no longer allowed to travel away from home by Dr. Willows, which brought our friends to Rye two years in a row. However, third time was not a charm and Jonathan passed away, leaving me in a cold stone manor in the middle of nowhere, alone and unsupported. 

At that time, turning to my own family was not an option, for they had never been too keen about my marriage with Jonathan; in their eyes, Jonathan’s low quantities of material possessions were certain proof of my lack of self-respect. The only ones that could continue to support me were Jonathan’s friends. My friends.

So there we were, gathered once again - this time in London, at Faraday’s. 

Thomas Faraday was a man guided by Reason, with capital R. Professor at the University of Oxford, Faraday would proudly conduct me through corridors and corridors of British science history, discoursing about the novelties in America, with his basset Billy running around his feet. The proud owner of a small belly, Faraday was the absolute embodiment of a good living. I had been with him since Christmas; at the time, as if noticing my unwillingness to return to the country side, Thomas invited me to stay a few more weeks, at least until the meeting, to which I gladly agreed. 

Pleasant reading days and slow walks amongst the trees at the Regent’s Park helped to keep away from my mind the upcoming reunion, the first one without Jonathan. Of course, they were all present at the funeral and aided me into my first days of grief, and surely, they have suspended the next year’s meeting to allow me more time, but they were not without judgment. I had been a widowed woman for nearly two years now, an individual to be reckoned with, and not just Jonathan’s wife anymore. I had no idea if that would change anything between our little strange group, but I was about to discover.

James K. O'Flanagan was strangely the first one to arrive. As Irish as an Irish man can be, O’Flanagan was a man of his own convictions; one could never argue with him without the impression of being left deeply insulted. A former red-haired man, he was now the bearer of a completely gray head and a very thick mustache, laid upon thin and somewhat mordacious lips, which was not able to turn his fit figure any less elegant. As I have mentioned, O’Flanagan had no filter when it came to the Great Britain’s way of life, being a fierce critic and feeding the wildest fire within his guts against the British Empire. Yet, somehow, he had managed to find accordance while being in the same room as Thomas Faraday, the personal representation of a British Golden Era of old family riches. 

Upon O’Flanagan’s arrival, I could smell the Jameson emanating out of his pores. His first step into the Faraday’s mansion was followed by a nod to the butler, handing his wet hat and vest to a steward and sipping from a small liquor flask.

“Mrs. Caldwell! You have made it through this rain!”

O’Flanagan came to me with arms opened, as I did to him. Reaching for a reassuring hug, O’Flanagan kept me inside his arms for quite a while, before Faraday entered the room.

“I have been in London since Christmas, James, there was no need to worry”, I said, unable to retreat my smile towards the enthusiastic man. “Thomas has been a wonderful host, enduring bravely through all my complaints.”

“Quite the opposite, I would argue. You have been the most patient and condescending listener of all, Mrs. Caldwell”, Faraday replied, offering his hand towards the other. “Welcome, O’Flanagan. I take you had some trouble with the big city’s weather.”

“Ay, I had some trouble with the weather, but I would not go so far as calling a shite hole such as London a big city”, O’Flanagan retorted, shaking the offered hand.

“Boys, a little more civility would be desired, yes?”

As I tried to calm the nerves in the front hall, there was a new knock. The butler reached once again for the main hall door, welcoming a tall and slim figure, weathered to his soul. 

Stephen H. P. Venkmman’s round glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, revealing a small quirk when he pushed up the frame with his finger.

“The skies are falling, I say”, Venkmman stated while handing the soaked overcoat to the steward, barely eyeing the boy at all. “Never seen a day in London when I could see the next step in front of me, there is always water gushing from the sky.”

“Oh, but it’s the big city’s weather, Venkmman” taunted O’Flanagan, making room on the large colonial sofa in the main living room. Raising a glass that was already somehow filled with Scotch, the Irish man let out a scornful smile, and drinking slowly from the golden liquid, O’Flanagan lost himself at the bottom of the glass.

Faraday took no more than a few seconds staring at the man sitting on the couch. Crossing the room and heading to the hall, he patted the good doctor on the shoulder.

“Glad to see that you have decided to come, friend. I have not received any news concerning your whereabouts in the last months, so I assumed tha—“

“I have been engaged in my most recent research, Faraday, I do not have time to spare when it comes to science, as you well know. Being as far as Africa goes, I got… caught up with... uh... work.” Venkmman cleared his throat and paced away from the hall.  

Stephen Howard Phillips Venkmman was, above all, a scholar. Graduated and mastered by the University of Oxford in Practical Physics, Venkmman started his academic life teaching and demonstrating the Laws of Nature, to which his interests developed to a more obscure outlook on science and lead him towards studying and researching about Parapsychology and unnatural events. Throughout the last years, Venkmman had been the last one to arrive at our reunions, always apologizing for his delays and never explaining the reasons for such lateness, restraining his narratives to the natural beauties of the uncharted lands he went to in his unknown studies. 

Thomas would survey Venkmman’s works in secret, thinking that his own envy and childish quarrel were well hidden under his politeness and high breeding, but a mindful woman is always able to delve into a man’s ego and I can tell you, Faraday nourished some hatred against Venkmman. Theory versus Practice, Word versus Speech, Study versus Experience. I believed that confrontation to be more than natural in the Academy, given that they were both brilliant professors, however the intellectual strife shed through the Oxfordian walls, creating an endless sensation of unease between them.

Physically, Venkmman was a strange man. He had a long pale face, adorned by round golden glasses, with eyes mostly gazing away from the common focus. His lengthy body gave away the lack of commitment to a routine of physical exercises and his shoulders and back slightly arched forwards indicated nights of heavy reading. Overall, Venkmman was aeons away of being a horrifying creature to look at. The man was nothing more than peculiar.

After the guest and the host had traded subtle sparks, I approached O’Flanagan, circulating around the sofa and resting my weight against its backrest.

“What is your guess this time? The Luba tribe, the Mongo tribe, the Tigrayans, the Maghrebis?”, I questioned, nodding towards Venkmman, who was staring out the window, looking distracted by the flow of the rain. O’Flanagan sighed and drank the last of his whiskey.

“To be quite honest, I could not give any less fucks. The man is insane, dealing with savages, barbaric rituals and whatnot. It does not surprise me all the gibberish that comes out of his mouth.”

“Should you be judging the man? Were you not closing deals on armaments and fumes the last time we spoke?” I walked around O’Flanagan, sitting beside him. “You look insane to me, dealing with savages, contributing with barbaric rituals and whatnots. And the gibberish is called ‘science’, you should get used to it.”

“You amuse me, Mrs. Caldwell. You take me for a man that cares. For all I know, those African tribes could be putting my guns up their arses at this exact moment.” O’Flanagan turned to me with half a smile and took my hand on his calloused one, stroking it. “Your snarky comments have been dearly missed, Elizabeth.”

While we kept on with the amenities, there was one last knock on the door for the night. As we could all guess, it was Giácomo Di Monti, the last one of our small group of survivors. 

Giácomo was an young Italian stud: tall, strong, built as a marble beam, he was on the top of the most influential boxers at the time, with the unbelievable score of no losses over the five years he had been on the business. Giácomo met my deceased husband first, while taking care of the wounded and arranging transportation for the dead. As a church-raised man, Giácomo went to war with the sole purpose of helping those who needed, secured from the real conflict by the Catholic Church, which kept him alive while he tended for the dying ones. Nevertheless, Di Monti saw as much terrors as any other man, witnessing in firsthand the bloodbath and helping Jonathan stitch and sew living and dead bodies.

Giácomo has always been a scenic man, which explains the constant need of shouting and speaking loudly. Entering Faraday’s living room – or any other room, for that matter - the first thing in sight was his broad shoulders, highlighted by the light-colored suit. Born in Italy, the Italian in Giácomo was mainly concentrated on his facial features, giving him a well-defined bone structure and tanned skin. Besides being strikingly handsome, Giácomo Di Monti was a sweet oaf in the way of dealing with people, at least outside the box ring.

“Were you all waiting for me? I'm here now, we can start with the dancing and the celebrating!”

“Unfortunately, times are not auspicious to dancing and rejoicing, my big friend”, Faraday warned, placing briefly his hand on Di Monti’s back. “If you could all take a seat, I have with me news that will require the attention and the sympathy of the whole room.”

(Continues)

#the mistery of william faraday #nerdcast #nerdcast de rpg #call of cthulhu #part 1 #help me write #horror #terror #cthulhu #lovecraft #lovecraftian #victorian

[hannahindie]

Breathe - Part 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader Series Warnings: Fatal illness, character death, blood, canon violence, language, eventual smut, kidnapping. Word Count: 3,200 Square Filled: Fatal Illness Summary: Six months ago, Y/N runs into someone unexpected at the local bar while researching a case. For one night, she decides to forget and just try to be normal. Present day, Dean wants answers and Y/N isn’t sure how to explain herself. A/N: This is the fourth part of my SPN Angst Bingo Card series, hosted by @spnangstbingo. It will be seven parts, and the schedule has already been posted. It will post twice a week (Monday and Friday) until it wraps up.

It was beta’d by the ever fantastic and my writing soulmate @trexrambling: “ Don't we all. -happy sigh-”

My beautiful twinny, @pinknerdpanda: “oof...this would give me feelings to hear from the lips of Dean Winchester”

And my dear, sweet angel baby @masksandtruths: “Ughhhh. Yep I want to go cry in a corner now.”

Thanks to all three for helping a girl out so that her words make sense. I owe a lot to all of you.

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know.

6 months earlier…

This bar is perfect. It's in the middle of nowhere, it's cheap, and so far not one person has tried to get my number or buy me a drink.

“Hey, sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?”

Never mind.

I take a deep breath then spin around to face the jackass that's ruining my perfect bar experience, “What makes you think-”

“Y/N?”

I should have recognized his voice, but I definitely recognize the green eyes sparkling in the dim light, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he realizes who he just tried to hit on.

“Dean?”

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” He looks like he’s trying to decide if he should do something, like give me a hug or a hearty pat on the arm, but ends up just jamming his hands into his pockets. I give him an awkward smile.

“Working a case, what about you?” I turn back to the bar and he slides onto the stool next to me.

“We just finished one, heard there might be something over this way so we figured we'd check it out before we went home.” He waves down the bartender and orders two more beers.

“I'm not even sure it is a case. Haven't been able to find much, I'm starting to think it's a thing for the locals to handle. I figure I'll do some more research in the morning, head out of it’s nothing.” I take a swig from my beer as he waves the bartender down. “We? Sam is here too?”

“Yea, he said he wanted to research and the bar would be too loud. The campus library is open late, so he's camping out there for the night.”

We fall silent, and I wish it didn't feel so awkward. There didn't used to be this...space. Now it feels like we are on two totally different tracks, speeding along next to each other but never actually crossing paths. Not even when we are sitting mere inches apart. I won't lie; the feeling sucks.

“It's been awhile. Why haven't you called?” I look over and he's fiddling with the label on his beer, pulling it off the bottle in tiny pieces like he's always done when he's nervous.

I shrug, “It’s been busy. Phones work two ways, you know.” I’ll just leave out the whole ‘cancer takes a lot of out of you’ part, and the bit where I shouldn’t be mixing alcohol with my pain medicine.

“Fair enough.” He clears his throat, “Listen, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything...about Bobby, about what...what I said.” His voice is quiet, but the apology packs a punch. Dean isn’t usually one to apologize, at least not easily.

“You weren’t the only one that said shitty things, Dean. It’s not like I offered you a fresh glass of sweet tea and invited you to sit on the porch with me so we could talk about our feelings.”

He chuckles and I finish my beer, sliding it down the bar as I grab the one Dean just bought for me. “I guess that’s true.” He sighs, “What happened to us? We were...we were good, weren’t we? You, me, and Sammy...we were the best.”

I glance over and really look at him for the first time since he’s sat down. He looks tired, his face more haunted than it was the last time I saw him. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and, considering he’s a Winchester, that’s probably not too far from the truth. He’s still handsome though; age has been kind to him. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are more pronounced, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. I like it, other than it hides how strong his jawline is.

“You still are.”

He smiles sadly and shakes his head, “If you knew...I’m not the best, not anymore.”

Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm and he looks up at me, “Life happened to us, Dean. And it’s not like one of the monsters that we can hunt down and destroy. Life sneaks up and picks and pulls you apart, and every once in awhile it gives you a little glimmer of hope, of what could be. If you’re lucky, the glimmer turns into something more, but for people like us...that’s all it is. A hope of what could be, not what’s going to happen. We save people, but we don’t save ourselves.”

I stare at my hand on his arm and remember what we used to be like; best friends, inseparable as soon as John put me in the backseat of the Impala. It wasn’t fair of me to blame him for Bobby’s death, but I had been angry and hurt. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t the only one that lost their father that day, not until it was too late, anyway. “You are a good man who has given up everything so that others don’t have to. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to understand that before.”

Dean softly places his hand on top of mine and squeezes, “You’ve given up a lot, too.” He clears his throat and straightens up on the barstool, his hand moving from mine to his beer. “I think we need something a little stronger than beer. Still a whiskey girl?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am,” I respond with a smile, grateful that the familiar comfort I used to feel with Dean seems to have returned.

“D-do you remember that time we stole Bobby’s truck and went into town, I don’t even remember what we were lookin’ for, but we left and didn’t tell him?” I stumble slightly, and Dean catches my arm.

“How can you not remember what we were lookin’ for? You decided you wanted to go see Titanic, and you talked my stupid ass into it!”

I snort, “Pshtttt, you know you wanted to see some Kate Winslet boobies, don’t even pretend.”

“I had to pretend to be your brother so you could get in! Lemme just add that as much as I may have wanted to see Kate Winslet boobs, I by no means wanted to see them with you sitting next to me.”

“Listen, you loved that movie. I saw you cry.”

“Tha’s...tha’s bullshit. I don’t cry over chick flicks, ‘specially not when I’m with someone else in a public theater.” He gives his head an emphatic shake, as if that’s going to drive his point home.

“HA!” I stop and poke him in the chest, “You said ‘especially’, which means you’re not above doin’ it alone. Dean Winchester has feelings.”

“Oh, I had feelings, just wasn’t ‘bout the movie.”

“See! You have feelings, you just ad..mitt….wait, what?” My finger is still on his chest, and he smirks down at me.

“Y’heard me.” His eyes are sparkling, and the mischievous look he used to have when we were young is back. It makes him look like a kid again, and it’s enough to make me ignore how badly this could end. I forget that my decision has made this an impossibility, and I shift my hand so that it lays flat against his chest. He’s warm, God, he’s so warm and I can feel his heart beating against my palm.

“You had feelings?”

His hands land on my waist and he pulls me flush against him. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or his proximity, but my face feels hot as I stare up at him. “I never said they stopped.”

“Oh,” I breathe out, his words fuzzy and sharp at the same time. “I...d’ya want...I mean, my hotel room is jus’-” I don’t get a chance to finish my question because his lips are on mine and it’s like my entire brain short circuits. I would be lying if I said I never wanted to find out what this felt like. I assume any woman that looks at Dean wonders what it would be like.

I can promise you, there are no words to describe how it feels.

I can try. I can tell you that his lips are soft, softer than I could have ever imagined. He smells like gun oil and leather, with a hint of whiskey from our time at the bar. It reminds me of home, of riding in the backs of cars and learning how to fight, and how to care for people. He’s warm, even through all his layers it's radiating from him like a heater, and I can’t help but let my hands roam across his chest and down to the small of his back.

He pulls back and laughs softly and I take a moment to catch my breath. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think this can continue in public.” He shifts, and I am made aware as to why we should probably vacate the busy sidewalk.

“Come on, I think I can remedy that.” I grab his hand and start walking down the street again.

“Where are we going?”

“My hotel room, duh.” He laughs, and it’s like music to my ears. For the first time in a long time, everything feels...normal.

I’m not dying. We aren’t fighting monsters and evil, and we aren’t saving the world. We’re drunk, and we’re letting ourselves feel what normal people get to feel. It might just be a beautiful lie that we’re telling ourselves for this one night, but I don’t care. Because for once...for once it can just be us, and I don’t have to remember that it’s going to be short lived.

We stop in front of my motel room and I drunkenly dig through my pocket, but it’s made difficult by Dean grabbing me by the waist and pressing me against the wall next to the door.

“Dean, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I can’t…mmmm...I can’t get to my key.” His teeth graze my throat, right at my pulse, and I nearly melt. I can feel him smiling against me and I smack his arm. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“Oh, I know.” He pulls back and lets me finally pull the key free, watching in amusement as I fumble it into the lock. “Know what else I know?”

I look back at him as the door swings open, “What?”

“I’m damn lucky we decided to stop in Omaha.” He picks me up and carries me into the room, slamming the door shut behind us with his foot.

He isn't the only lucky one.

Now…

It's the beeping that gets me, the incessant dinging of machines, whirring sounds and footsteps, and the never ending barrage of announcements over the intercom system that finally pulls me out of what feels like a coma. Then the smell takes over; a suffocating cloud of cleaners and sanitizers that I only ever encounter in hospitals.

My eyes slowly open to see a blurry form sitting in the chair next to me, chin against his chest as he breathes slowly in and out, the cadence making it obvious he's asleep. Sunlight is creeping through the long, vertical blinds, and the television is turned to some daytime talk show rerun.

“Oh, you're awake!” I roll my head towards the door and see a smiling nurse walk through it and watch as she checks whatever machines I'm hooked to. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

“Sorry…” I don't know what else to say.

“Aww, honey, you don't need to be sorry. I'm just glad to see you're awake. I think he will be, too. He's refused to leave this entire time. Not even the threat of a security escort seemed to phase him.”

I look back over at Dean, who's shifted enough so that his head is tilted against the back of the chair, his mouth hanging open. “That sounds about right.” I struggle to sit up more, and she hurries over.

“Here, let me give you a hand. I'm going to call your doctor, she said she needs to have a little chat with you.” Her face falls slightly as she smooths out the blanket, then she clears her throat and suddenly the smile is back, “I'll be right back.”

“Wait…”

She turns to look at me, “Yes?”

“How long have I been out?”

Her smile disappears again and a crease appears between her brows, “Four days.” She disappears around the corner quickly as if she wants to avoid any other questions and I sigh. Four days.

I grab for the remote, but for a second it's like my hands forget how to do their job, like my brain isn't connected to them, so I juggle it for a second before it slips out of my hand and hits the floor with a crash. Dean jerks upright in his chair.

“What?! What the hell?” It takes a minute for his brain to register where he is and what made the noise, and I watch his eyes come into focus as he stares at me. “You're awake.”

“Yea…” I can feel tubing pressing against my nose and I reach up to pull it off. Dean leans over and puts his hand over mine, gently pushing my hand down to the bed.

“Leave it, they just got you stable enough to use that instead of a mask.” He leans back and watches me, but stays quiet. He looks like he’s thinking about what to say; I know he has a lot of questions, and I’m afraid of what he’ll ask first. I also wonder what he already knows, and how he’s managed to get in here and stay for such an extended amount of time.

“How’d you manage to not get kicked out?”

“Told ‘em we were married, that we were on our honeymoon.”

I would laugh, but I know it’s going to hurt. Judging by the look on his face, it probably isn’t wise anyway. “What about Sam?”

“Told ‘em he lives nearby and that we were visiting him. He’s getting coffee right now.” He crosses his arms, “It was a little harder to explain all the bruises, and why you were pumped full of painkillers before you got here. And the massive amount of blood you were coughing up, see that was the hardest one, because they just assume a husband would know his wife’s medical history.”

“Well, we aren’t actually married-”

“Nope, I’m gonna stop you right there.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and the look of betrayal on his face makes it incredibly hard to look him in the eye. “We are family, Y/N. I get that maybe I want more than that, and that you aren't ready for it. That's fine, but you are still my family. We are supposed to take care of each other. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs, and you lying about this...it could have gotten any of us killed. You realize this, right? I should have realized at the hotel something was wrong...I should know the difference between lipstick and blood.”

“Dean…”

“Listen, I’m not...I’m not angry. I feel like I should be, but I’m not. I just want to understand why you didn’t think you could trust me with this. Why did you not let us help you?”

“It’s difficult to explain-”

“Hello, Y/N.” I recognize the voice before I even turn to face whoever interrupted me.

“Hey, doc.”

She walks around to the end of the bed, clipboard in hand, and glances over at Dean, “This is your husband?” I swallow nervously; she knows I’m not married. It’s not been that long since I’ve seen her. The look in her eyes is a soft accusation, but when I nod in confirmation, she gives him a gentle smile. “Nice to meet you.” She looks down at the chart and when she looks back up, I can see it on her face. “I think you probably know what I’m going to tell you, but I’m guessing he’d like to know what’s going on, and I think you need to know exactly how bad this is.”

That’s the one thing about her that I like; she’s straightforward, no bullshit. She somehow knows that Dean has no idea what’s going on, and I’m simultaneously impressed and terrified. He was never supposed to know about this. I was going to go out hunter style, a blaze of bloody glory. I was alone. Why didn’t I just stay alone?

“Your cancer has spread. It’s no longer just in one lung and the lymph nodes on that side, it’s in both, which is why you began to cough up so much blood. Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. Your body is exhausted, and it’s starting to give up. Without treatment…” she trails off and looks at Dean, who looks like he’s about to be sick. “Even with treatment, it will simply be done to keep you comfortable, though it may prolong your life slightly. Without treatment, your time is very limited. I’m...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay, but...I chose this. I knew what was going to happen.”

She nods, then gently pats my blanketed leg, “I’m going to go, give you some time to decide.” She looks at Dean one last time, then walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her. I drop my head back against the pillows and close my eyes. Shit.

“Cancer?” His voice is quiet, but rough with held back tears. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter; I can’t look at him.

“Dean, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Omaha...I didn’t…”

“What are you going to do?” I look at him sharply, but he’s looking down at his hands instead of me.

“What do you mean?”

He looks up, and his eyes are even brighter from the tears he’s fighting against. It hurts more than anything else he could even say. “Are you going to do treatment, or no?”

I swallow thickly, knowing he’s not going to like the answer. I don’t like the answer, but it’s for the best. “I’m tired, Dean. I’m tired and broken, and I can’t drag this out longer. I just can’t. I don’t want to waste away in some bed somewhere, knowing that I’m just putting off the inevitable. I want to go home...I want to spend time with you and Sam, I want to save as many people as I can before it’s over. I just...I wanna go home.”

He blinks, then rubs a palm roughly against his eyes as he stands up, “Okay, well, let’s bust you out of here then. I’m gonna go talk to the nurse. I’ll...I’ll be back to get you. If Sammy comes back while I’m gone, let him know where I went.” He walks out of the room without another word.

I lay back and close my eyes, and I feel a tear roll down my cheek.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Read Part 5 HERE.

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[hellomynudebrain]

Paths (Juminxreader)Part #11

Hello! 

I’m back this chapter turned kind of long and I couldn’t do any corrections so maybe there’re some mistakes and I’m sorry for that. 

Remerber feel free to leave your opinion. 

Enjoy! 

After you fell on the ground. Jumin rush to your side. He’s feeling very concern about you. It looks like you’re not breathing, so he lay down to check it. He sigh on relief, you’re only unconscious because the extreme mix you drank. Jumin gets you off the ground, the smell of alcohol makes him dizzy, but some way or another he put you inside of the limo. 

He and driver Kim turn off the fire. After that Jumin takes the bag with all the stuff you wanted to burn. He’s kind of curious. 

“What is it inside of the bag?”

It’s what he tell in loud voice in the middle of nowhere . He feels like a fool to speak like that, but know what was on your mind intrigue him. 

On the way back to the penthouse, you are on sit on the other side of the limo, meanwhile Jumin is laying on the other side with the window open, but suddenly you start to sob between dreams and inmediantly he turn his head.  When he wants to clean your cheak, the car makes an sudden  move that makes Jumin lose his balance and bump with your forhead. You start to have nausea for the move and all the alchohol. 

“Here…please lay down here, maybe that make you feel better”

You can baerly hear his voice but obediently you lay down. It feel confortable, and smell nice, what makes you sleep peacefully. 

“That’s how you look in your sleep…huh..”

Being with you doesn’t feel bad, in fact he feels confortable around you. Including the time you argued with him, he feels kind of refreshed. He argue with Zen all the time, and yes, maybe he enjoy it, but with you feels diferent. You always amazed him. Your brutal honesty, your weird jokes (yes, for him your jokes are weird), your differect view of business, all that makes him feel…weird about you. He never felt like this before, nor with her father , nor even with Jihyun…or “her”. He feels warm, but the same warm afraids him. 

 On the way, the smell of alcohol is a little less strong but your essence begins to fill his nose. He enjoys how you smell, but inmediatly he shakes his head and try to focus in another thoughs. 

When you arrive to the penthouse. Jumin asks for help to carry you until your bedroom. He lend you the guest room, but all your stuff are ready. 

The light of the sun begins to get in your bedroom. You have a strong headache, your mouth is dry and your hands feel kind of puffy. Salem is on you, sleeping, but then you remember the scene from yesterday and abruply you step out of the bed. Poor Salem, he fly out from the bed. You feel very embarrased, the drunk crying is the worst habit you have when you drink, but even so, just a few people know that part from you and now HE is one those people. You rush trough the bathroom, this matter can’t resolve alone. You have to speak with Jumin. However when you take a quick look in the mirror, the horror is worst. You have puffy eyes, your hair is a mess, the eyeliner is now all over your face. In just a few words, you look like Alice Copper. 

Meantime in the kitchen is jumin making pankes for breakfast. He feels guilty for the invitation. He should be the one to protect you, but he hurt you. He took out the bag and hide it, even from him. He wants to know so badly what was inside the bag but he respect you. 

In the moment, you’re trying to take off tha make up. Jumin steps in your room with the breakfast and see you like that. Jumin burts of laugh, you look ridiculous. 

“Fine, I look horrible…just laugh about this and just forget about last night…”

“HAHAHAHA….sor…HAHAHA….” He can’t stop of laughing. Your look is the funnier thing he has ever saw in his life

“Don’t laugh…hahaha…You make me laugh, too…hahahaha” At this point you both begin to laugh like fools but see him like this makes you realize he’s more than all the people say about him. 

Eventually, you stop laughing and start talking about the party. 

“…fine, I’ll take care about all the party…don’t worry”

“I’m not worried. I trust you like…”

“Jihyun used to do it….yes I know… you don’t have to repeat every time…”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Then…What else can I do for you, Jumin?”

“…..I’ve been thinking about the lovers matter…”

“Yes, what about it?”

“I want us to know more about each other”

“Yes, that’s good for me…When do you want to start?”

“Now”

“Now?….Why?”

“Because since we met, we argue and you get upset with me. I think is a good way we can get along and with this we can be in peace”

“Alright…let’s do it”

That day with your hang over and the Alice’s Copper look. You get to know about each other. The likes that you have with him are more that what you thought. He likes the wine like you, you both has cats as pets, which one live separated from each other (for now) and both of you dislike dishonest people. 

All day you spend talking with a men that a few weeks ago you hate but now it feels like he was your friend. 

The time to go to the bed arrives and you take a shower before. But suddely the doorbell begins to ring like crazy. 

Continue…

#fluffy #mysme jumin #mysme #fanfic #jumin han

[momscookingthebooks]

Chapter Reveal

Title: Payback

Series: Vigilante Justice #1

Author: Kristin Harte

Publication Date: January 25, 2018

#ChapterReveal #Payback #NewRelease #VigilanteJustice #KristinHarte 

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36549869-payback

Synopsis:

In Justice, Colorado, the Kennards run everything, including the only big business in the area. Their sawmill employs most of the town, and the Kennard brothers live up to a long family history of keeping their neighbors and coworkers safe—until a motorcycle club comes to town and starts causing trouble. Big trouble. The kind that ends in funerals. The kind no law enforcement can help them with.  He carries the burden of protecting an entire town Being the oldest Kennard brother, I’ve got a centuries-old promise to uphold—run the family business to give the townspeople jobs and the sort of security they can only find in Justice. When a motorcycle club blows that plan apart, I’ll do anything to make them aware that they picked the wrong town to target. As a former Green Beret, I know just how to sabotage an enemy. The only weakness in my armor is my obsession with a five-foot-nothing blonde who unknowingly holds my heart in her hands. My attraction to her could cost me my life, but I’d sacrifice it all to save hers.  She owes a debt that could cost her life I’ve spent three years hiding out in Justice and paying off a debt to the Soul Suckers, one they’ve decided to collect whether I’m ready to pay or not. When danger lands on my doorstep, one man jumps in to help. Alder Kennard—former Special Forces soldier and current object of all my fantasies. But the Soul Suckers won’t let a debt go unpaid, and with the price on my head rising every day, it’s only a matter of time until they come back for me. Alder would put his life on the line to save mine, which is something I simply can’t afford.  Everyone has a debt to pay, and the only currency I have left is my body. So when the time comes, I’ll trade my life for his.

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Chapter 1

“We’ve got a problem, boss.”

If I hadn’t already been in a foul mood, those words would have gotten me there.

“What is it now?”

“Motorcycle gang up on Widow’s Ridge.” Camden Reese—born and bred in Justice, friend of my youngest brothers, and former Marine sergeant—launched into a speech about his team running into some bikers up by the Hansen property. We’d recently signed a contract with Miss Hansen to harvest eighty acres of dead Ponderosa pine on that hill, so anything getting in our way was definitely a problem. A big one.

As Camden laid out the events of the altercation, I checked over the satellite images of the area on my desk, making notes and marking locations. A star on the house to the west where the elderly Miss Hansen still lived, another to the east on the patch of earth where a trailer sat, all alone. The only two residences up that long, rough stretch of road leading to a drop-off on the far west side.

That rocky piece of land sat just outside the city limits, so things like road maintenance were all but forgotten unless the two residents brought them to my attention. No biker would intentionally ride up such a rutted, gravel road without a reason—too hard on their bike and their face if they were trailing someone else.

“He tried to call out Finn, but I squashed that shit,” Camden said, securing every bit of my attention for the moment. Finn—my second youngest brother, one of a set of twins, and the only Kennard ever to spend time in prison. He was also a recovering addict, and I had vowed to my dad that I’d keep him in recovery and not let him backslide. That had been ten years ago, and I still worried about keeping that vow every fucking day.

“What the fuck was Finn doing on a job?” My brother didn’t work for me except for the occasional project, and I knew for a fact he hadn’t been assigned to the Hansen job.

“He’d driven with me to check in on Miss Hansen. We never made it out there, though, because we ran into the bikers on the way up. One guy said some shit about Finn’s drug days, how they missed him over at the strip club in Rock Falls.”

Jesus. “You get a name?”

“Patch on his vest said Spark.”

“Spark.” I sat back, balancing my chair on two legs. “As in plug?”

Camden blinked, a cocky smile breaking across his face. “Yeah, like plug. I didn’t see the other guy’s name.”

“So Spark knows Finn from what…ten, twelve years ago? He look familiar to you?”

Cam shook his head. “Never seen him in town.”

That caught my attention. Justice was a small town planted squarely between two slightly larger towns, all in the middle of fucking nowhere. People didn’t happen into Justice—they came here for a reason.

And if that reason was named Finn Kennard, Spark and his friend needed to be dealt with and quick. “How’d my brother handle the run-in?”

“Finn ignored the bullshit from Spark. I wasn’t as restrained.”

Not surprising. Cam always did have a bit of a temper. “If the sheriff gets called again on you—”

Camden waved me off. “I knocked his legs out from under him and put him on the ground.

Didn’t even leave a mark, I don’t think. But I made my point.”

“And what point was that?” Not that I needed to ask.

“That Kennard Mills would be harvesting the lumber on that side of the hill, and their club had better not have any business up there. They drove off after Spark picked himself up out of the dirt, the other guy saying something about bigger fish.” Camden frowned. “I recognized the other guy.”

“Local?” I couldn’t think of anyone in Justice who rode with an MC, but I might have missed someone. Three hundred plus people were a lot to keep track of.

“No. He came into the truck stop one night when Leah and I were there for dinner.” He blew out a breath and shifted his weight. An almost unconscious gesture, but one that stood out. Normally almost confident to a fault, Cam suddenly seemed nervous, which meant I wouldn’t like what he had to say.

“Yeah?” I prodded, wondering how a night out with his wife would piss me off.

“Leah noticed something was up when she went to the restroom and came to get me. The asshole had Shye cornered in a back hallway and wasn’t letting her pass.”

The snap of the pencil I’d been holding breaking in two might as well have been a gunshot. “And you let him walk away?”

“I had Leah and Shye looking on. I had to.”

Picturing perfect little Shye—at least ten years my junior and so damn sweet, every one of her smiles would give you a toothache—watching as I kicked the shit of some asshole was about as unappealing as a thought could get. I probably would’ve wanted to do the same as Camden and let the guy walk with a warning if I’d been there. I wouldn’t have, but I’d have wanted to.

Because I wanted her, and the idea of Shye being scared of me made my gut sink like a rock. I needed to stop thinking about Shye Anderson. An impossibility as of late, which directly correlated to why my mood had been so foul all day.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead and sitting deeper into my chair, bringing all four legs back to the floor. “All right. So they rode off after you knocked Spark to the ground. Any indication they’d keep hassling you or come back for Finn?”

He shrugged. “Not really, though you never know with these types of guys.”

Lawless, clan-like, arrogant. Yeah. You never knew a damn thing with them. “Did you recognize the club logo?”

“Definitely the Soul Suckers.”

Of course. I’d heard they’d added a clubhouse not too far over the county line to the west. I probably wouldn’t have thought twice if I’d seen their bikes on the highway through town or heading toward the new restaurant on Main Street. I would now, though.

“Might be time to set the club straight on what they can and can’t do as they ride through Justice. I’ll talk to Deacon, see if he knows anyone. Head back to the ridge, and get the Hansen site plot worked out so we can start cruising and marking trees. This might be our last big harvest before the rains come, and I want to take advantage of the summer weather while we have it.”

“We’ll get it done.”

“Good. And if you see Bishop on the mill floor, have him call me.”

Camden nodded, then left without another word, leaving me to stew over this new mess.

Fucking messes all over the place lately, it seemed.  

I looked over my satellite images again, tracing roads and logging paths I’d known my whole life. Acres of Widow’s Ridge pine forest stared back at me, a mottled brown and green landscape. Half the trees stood dead or dying, a sign of the mountain beetle infestation that had nearly bankrupted my late father and destroyed Kennard Mills. But the bug that had nearly killed us had instead left us flush with jobs and cash. The droughts hadn’t stopped this mill, the industry collapse hadn’t either, and the fucking plague of beetles killing the forests around us had actually been a boon instead of a death knell. Everyone in Justice had enjoyed the bonuses beating our sales plans every month brought, and no fucking bikers would make us end that streak. I had a town to employ.

But Justice, Colorado was more than a town to me—it was my responsibility.

The place my ancestors had set down roots. Where they tended to each and every resident over the years, giving families time to grow good, strong roots. Kennard men had run Justice like a homestead for nearly two centuries with the mill as the central business fueling everything else, and I’d live up to the legacy set before me as the oldest living Kennard. That meant making sure people had jobs, food, shelter, and that they felt safe.

Another thing bikers wouldn’t be taking away from us, even though it seemed as if they were trying just that.

An annoying, robotic song interrupted my thoughts. The words “Bishop Kennard”—name of my closest brother who also happened to be my VP of sales and marketing—flashed on the screen of my phone as it played that stupid song again. I swiped to answer and brought the device to my ear.

“Bishop.”

“Camden said you wanted me,” he said, not bothering with a greeting.

“We’ve got trouble on Widow’s Ridge.”

“I heard. Finn all right?” Because, as the second oldest Kennard brother, our family would be the first thing on Bishop’s mind. As it should be.

“Camden thinks so. Let’s run by the bar tonight and be sure, though. And I’ll need you to check in on Miss Hansen—make sure she’s okay out there.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call as soon as we hang up. Anything else?”

“Sell some fucking lumber, Bishop.”

“On it, boss. I’ll be ready to go at six.”

I tossed the phone back onto my desk, the maps snagging my attention again.

One spot in particular, actually, and not the one belonging to Miss Hansen. I ran a finger over the east side of the hill, circling the little trailer on a barren, flat piece of rock. Just outside the city limits, it technically sat beyond my protective net, but Shye Anderson lived in that trailer. New girl in town at only three years since she moved to the area, waitress at the truck stop over in Rock Falls, and the only woman I’d ever met who could drive me mad with frustration and desire all at once.

I’d been ultra-aware of Shye since I first met her. Slightly obsessed, really. The girl captivated me; stole all my attention with her sweet little smile and never let me go. It didn’t hurt that she looked like a damn angel—long, blond hair and big, dark eyes, a tiny little body that I wanted to get my hands on more than anything else. Sweet as honey, that one, but she lived up to her name. She blushed and stuttered around me, avoided my eyes when I tried to catch her gaze. If I pushed too much, she ran, so I held back. Made myself available but waited for her to come to me.

Which is how I ended up eating at the truck stop five nights a week—all on Shye’s shifts. I’d had to up my workouts to keep from getting soft on all the grease and baked goods, but seeing that smile every night was worth it. The coffee—man, that was a harder pill to swallow. How a restaurant could have such bad coffee—especially one based out of a truck stop—was beyond me. I drank cup after cup of the foul brew so she’d come to my table more often to pour me refills. Without the coffee, I didn’t get much time with Shye, so I suffered.

And when I worked? I sent my guys in there. Shye had no family in Justice, so I made sure everyone understood they were to treat her as they would a Kennard. Making my men see her as mine kept them watchful around her. Hell, I paid Bishop to eat his lunches there so he could keep an eye on her, and everyone on my team headed that way at least once a day if I had to go out of town. They mocked me relentlessly for chasing her around like a damned puppy, but I didn’t give a shit. I needed to know she was happy and safe. That she had everything she needed…even if she wasn’t ready to willingly take things from me yet. We’d get there. Three years I’d waited for her to come around, and she would. Eventually. I just had to figure out the right plan.

As I pondered honey-blond hair, sugary smiles, and how many times I could use the excuse of working on the ridge to stop and see her at her place, my phone rang again—Camden, this time.  

I swiped to answer and hit the button for speakerphone. “If you tell me we have another problem, I’m going to toss a grenade in your truck.”

“So I shouldn’t tell you we’ve got a fire on the mountain?”

Motherfucker. The trouble with harvesting the blue-stained wood left behind by the mountain beetle infestation was the trees needed to cure standing for a number of years. But dead trees meant dry trees, and with the droughts of the past few years and the mild winters we’d had, that meant trouble. Big, dry, tinder-type trouble. A single lightning bolt could ignite an inferno, while a forest fire could destroy the whole damn town.

And apparently, we had one to deal with.

“Where?” I grabbed my keys and pressed the mill-floor alarm to get the team’s attention.

“Eastern slope. Just past the Hansen property.”

My steps stumbled, then sped. “That’s by Shye’s place.”

An engine roared in the background. “I’m already on my way there. Two minutes out.”

She could be hurt in two minutes. Dead. Jesus fuck, I was too far away. “Drive faster.”

I hung up and stormed down onto the mill floor. My team stood ready, looking at me expectantly, ready to fight the fires we knew could ruin everything we’d all built here.

“Fire just east of the Hansen site. Let’s get two water trucks up the eastern side of the ridge and send one up to the west side to be safe.” I met the eyes of Gage Shepherd, former Navy SEAL like Bishop and current heavy machinery engineer of Kennard Mills. “It’s close to Shye’s place.”

Without another word, Gage began issuing orders to the team. He understood the severity of the situation from every angle—the loss of our product, the potential for destruction in the town, and the possibility that the woman I had my eye on could be in danger. He’d get shit done for me.

As Gage loaded the water trucks with oxygen tanks and medical equipment—something that made my gut churn—his dog Rex trotted after him, looking as if he was headed for a joyride instead of into a fire. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d been on site at a fire, though. Gage never went anywhere without Rex.

While Gage made sure the team knew where to go and what to do, I raced to my truck. My heart pounded as I started the engine and peeled out of my spot, heading for the ridge where smoke was beginning to turn the sky black above the tree line. Fuck, if Shye was up there, if she was hurt—

I didn’t get to finish my thought because my phone rang right as I turned onto the highway heading toward the mountain. Camden again.

“Tell me good news.”

“She’s not here,” Camden said, sounding slightly out of breath. “It’s her trailer on fire, though.”

“The water trucks are on the way.”

“Don’t think they’ll do any good for her, to be honest, but we need them for the tree line. It’s so dry up here, a single spark could set the whole mountain on fire.”

Confirming my earlier thoughts. Fuck. I yanked the wheel sideways, making a sharp turn onto the road that would take me up to Shye’s place, looking over all the dead, brown pine on the hillside as I flew over the rutted, gravelly road. “Gage had the team rolling out right behind me. I’m four minutes out, though.”

“Want me to call the fire department in Rock Falls?”

Wouldn’t do any good at that point, which was why Kennard Mills had as many water hauling trucks as we did. “No use, though you’d better call the sheriff.”

“That useless piece of shit? What for?”

Useless wasn’t the term I’d use—corrupt sounded better for the county sheriff we were forced to deal with. I didn’t have time to correct Camden, though. “He’ll throw a tantrum if he’s not informed. Knowing him, he won’t come out to investigate anyway. Just make the call.”

“Yeah, got it…hang on.” Voices yelled in the background, and the sound of Camden moving fast created static on the line.

“Cam?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

That phrase spoken about my girl’s place made me want to growl my frustration to the universe. “What fucking problem?”

“There are motorcycle tracks in the dirt around her property. Lots of them.”

Rage unlike anything I’d felt exploded in my chest. “Call the sheriff and put the word out—anyone sees a fucking Soul Sucker in Justice, I want to know about it.”

I hung up and threw my phone across the bench seat before taking the switchback turn way faster than I should have. Not that the worry burning in my gut had anything to do with me—Shye owned that ache.

Shye may not have known it, but she was mine. I’d do whatever it took to protect her.

And if this fucking motorcycle club had threatened my girl?

I’d gut them and leave their bodies for the predators.

About the Author:

Kristin Harte started off as a chemistry major in college but somehow ended up writing romances featuring ex-military heroes and the women who knock them to their knees…literally and figuratively. She likes drinking in the shade, snuggling under a warm blanket on a cold evening, and researching how to blow things up. Her children know nothing of what she writes, and her husband just hopes he’s not at their Chicago-ish home the day the government shows up to confront Kristin about her Google search history. When not writing good men doing bad things, Kristin can be found writing paranormal romance as Ellis Leigh or co-writing naughty novellas as London Hale.

Author Links:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/kristin_harte

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pg/authorkristinharte

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17304863.Kristin_Harte

Web: http://www.kristinharte.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kristin_harte/

#chapter reveal #Payback #Vigilante Justice 1 #Kristin Harte #Hosted by Ardent Prose PR

[leslieohdamnjr]

Adieu

Philip Hamilton x Reader

Word Count: 4833

Request: “110 with Philip x reader and maybe reader being Burr or Jefferson’s daughter I don’t know you decide” - @supergalaxykittens This was initially supposed to be a drabble from a prompt list (I don’t think I used the prompt whoops) but it ended up being 4k words so... Oh! Also, this is written with Jordan as Philip because of the lovely @deltablue202, I do hope you enjoy, dear.

Summary: Your father and his were sworn political enemies. But even though, at every turn the world was pushing you apart, you and Philip always found each other.

Warnings: Some angst, overprotective and misguided parents, Thomas Jefferson. Also, I took some liberties, Randolph was actually ten years younger than Jefferson, but hey, he could’ve looked older in person.

Tagging: @bad-hatter

A/N- I had this finished for a while but there were some complications... Anyway! Now it��s here. I hope you like :)

Masterlist | Ask Box |

“I don’t want to leave you, Philip.” You said quietly. The two of you lay on the ground, the grass depleted under your bodies. Curled up on your sides, facing each other, and feeling, as you rarely did, that there was nothing but air between you. He shook his head and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear,

“Who says you have to?” He asked. You couldn’t stand to keep eye contact with him, so instead your eyes dropped to his chin, where what used to be wispy scruff now looked much more deliberate.

“You have to face it, Pip, one day we’re going to get caught.” You’d traveled so far out of town with Philip just so you could spend more than a few minutes of hushed conversation with him. You couldn’t go on like this, eventually your father would notice, his father would notice, someone would notice. “And when we do, there won’t be any goodbyes, or any closure. It’ll just be me… pulled away from you.”

“It won’t happen like tha-”

“Yes. It will.” You interrupted forcefully, making yourself meet his dark brown eyes. Tears filled your own eyes, and in trying to blink them away, they only rushed down your cheeks.

“Y/N, hey, don’t cry.” He took your hand in his, “We’ll figure it out.” You couldn’t help but notice the way his hand fit with yours, how cliche was it that, to you, it felt like puzzle pieces? “You and me, we’re problem solvers.” He went on, “We get it from our fathers.” You let out a watery chuckle at his statement.

“Since when did you have a beard, Philip?” You asked, setting your hand on his jaw.

“It’s not a beard.” He replied sheepishly.

“Yes, it is.” You cracked a gentle smile, “It’s cute.”

“I’m not cute.” He denied.

“You’re adorable.” You teased, your smile growing. “I’m really going to miss this. I’m really going to miss you.”

“I told you Y/N, this- it’s not going to go away. I’m not going to go away. I’ll do whatever it takes. I swear, I’ll find a way.” He said, “You’re my best friend. Richard Price ain’t got nothin’ on you. I can’t let that go.” Saying the words almost hurt him. Best friend. He should’ve told you before it was too late. Before the two of you had become so sickeningly platonic. Anything beyond that wall of friendship was impossible at this point. He wondered why he even bothered staying near you, as much as he enjoyed your company, it hurt him. It was like being struck with a bullet right between the ribs but not allowed to show it. But whenever he resigned to avoiding you, to moving on, his own helplessness only dragged him back by his ear.

“I love you, Philip.” You said.

“I love you too, Y/N.” More than you know.

You opened the door to your room, exhausted from your walk back home after spending hours with Philip in that field outside of town. You were more than ready to fall down on your bed and go to sleep as soon as possible.

“What is this?” You jumped as a voice reached you. It was calm, but held a hurricane behind it’s tone. Your father stood at your desk, his back to you, and to the door.

“What’s what?” You asked through clenched teeth. You knew what he’d found. You knew what it meant for you.

“You know what.” Your father turned to face you, anger in his eyes and several papers wrinkling in his fist.

“Don’t… get angry father, I-”

“It’s too late for that.” He laughed darkly. “‘Signed, Philip Hamilton.’” He read aloud from one of the papers. Philip had told you to burn them as soon as you finished reading. Burn them or destroy them some other way. But you could never bring yourself to burn his slanted handwriting, or his messy signature, you could never bring yourself to burn down the palaces and cathedrals he’d built with only his words.

“You told me you were at Theodosia’s, but you were out with him, weren’t you?” You stayed silent. Your relationship with Philip was crashing down around you by the second. Every chance you had to tell him what you’d wanted to say for years, taken away. If only you’d burned the letters. “Answer my question, Y/N.” Your father pressed, his voice still steady.

“Yes.” You bit into your lip, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. Everything had fallen apart. Everything you’d built for years, torn apart in a single moment. You tasted blood on your tongue from biting into your lip, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care about anything. You didn’t know what your father was going to do, but you knew you weren’t going to see Philip again.

The letters were burned. You were effectively cut off from Philip. In dramatic adolescent fashion, you locked yourself in your room, barely being coaxed out for meals, and even then, not eating much. The only place you could enjoy leaving the house for was the bookstore, where you'd spend hours looking at various books and leave having bought a number of them. The worst part of it was that at least one of your parents tracked your every move. It was ‘Dad, I’m going to the bookstore,’ ‘I’ll come with’, or ‘Mom, Dad, I’m going to visit Theodosia.’ ‘We’ll walk you over.’. 

With every complaint you uttered, there would be an excuse as ridiculous as “You have as much freedom now as you did previously.”

“No, I don’t.” You argued, rolling your eyes at your father.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” He snapped, “You betrayed my trust and this is the price you pay for it.”

“I still don’t feel like making friends was betraying your trust.”

“You made friends with a Hamilton.” He corrected, “Hamiltons and Jeffersons don’t mix. Not only that but you were lying to me and hiding from me.”

“I was lying to you because of your stupid ‘Hamiltons and Jeffersons don’t mix’ thing.” You defended.

“It’s not stupid! They’re impulsive and egotistical and you would’ve only gotten hurt if you’d stuck around that boy.”

“Can I go to the bookstore?” You sighed, not in the mood to have another ‘he’s not dangerous’ argument that would lead nowhere but more tension between you and your father.

“Let me get my coat.” He grumbled before getting up to get his coat. “I’m not buying anything for you today, if you want a book you can pay for it yourself.” He added over his shoulder. You were left in the living room alone, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock behind you as you closed your eyes and rubbed your face tiredly. In all simplicity, the biggest thing on your mind from the ordeal was that you missed Philip. You hadn’t seen him in two months now and you desperately wanted to see his face again. As your thoughts focused on him, you drifted back to the day you met him, it had been your father’s fault.

“I don’t wanna go to this dad, it’s just gonna be a bunch of old guys.” You complained.

“It’s one dinner. And besides, their wives and children will be there too, I’m sure you’ll find someone to talk to.” Your father took your wrist and pulled you into the building. At ten years old, the idea of eating dinner with a group of middle aged men and their middle aged wives didn’t seem appealing, you doubted that it would be appealing at any age. Your father had said that their children would be there too, but as far as you knew, your father was the only member of the president’s cabinet who had a child. Being as optimistic as you were, you convinced yourself that you could be proved wrong. Your father opened the door for you and your mother, allowing you to step into a room full up people consumed in dull chatter. Everyone you passed was discussing politics, something -no matter who your father was- no ten year old would be interested in.

“See, it’s not that bad.” Your father said, nudging you.

You stared up at him, “It’s terrible. When can we leave?”

“Just hang in there for a while,” He chuckled, “Your mom and I are going to talk to Washington for a minute. Try to mingle.” He left before you could answer. ‘Mingling’ was out of the question with these people. You huffed a sigh, scanning the room in hopes of finding a kind smile. Instead, you met eyes with a person whose steady glare matched yours. Not only that, but he looked to be about your age. You walked over eagerly.

“My name’s Y/N.” You said as soon as you had reached the boy. He was shorter than you, but only by about an inch. You expected that would change if you continued to see this boy, you had your mother’s height genes, which didn’t promise much.

“I’m Philip.” He replied, his frown changed to a smile and you had a chance to look at him. He had thick and curly black hair that was cut short and looked messy. When he smiled at you, his teeth showed.

“You wanna be friends?” It was a childish thing to say, but even though you’d only known Philip for a few seconds, you felt like you could be the child you were around him.

“Let’s be friends.” He responded simply.

After that, it was smooth sailing for a while. Even though you had found out your families were political rivals, your friendship continued to grow. Accidental run-ins became purposeful meetings and ‘you’re a great friend’s became ‘I love you’s. Now you stood alone, eight years later, with him being the only thing on your mind.

“Let’s go.” Your father said gruffly. He could recognize the look on your face in an instant when you thought about Philip. However rigid he seemed, Thomas could recognize love on anybody’s face, even if it was broken. The love he saw on your face was different than the love you could have for your best friend.

“Coming.” You breathed, following him out the door.

The bookstore was your favorite place for a reason. For one, you could always find a book you hadn’t read there. You’d devoured every book in the house, so going to the bookstore to find something new never failed to instill some happiness in you.

Second of all, the bookstore was your designated place to meet Philip. Yes, occasionally you’d go somewhere in town, or a little bit outside of town. But this was where you spent most of your time with him. Beyond a hope that in one lucky moment, you’d be there at the same time as him and your father would be preoccupied, the store allowed you to look and books and relive positive memories.

“I saw your friend come in a few minutes ago, if you were looking for him.” A voice pulled you out of your thoughts and your fascination with the back of a book you’d pulled off the shelf to look at. The owner of the bookstore knew you well, though you’d never spoken to him, he grew to recognize you and who you were with, given how many times you’d come in.

“He-He’s here?” You asked. You smiled like you were insane. You couldn’t help it, maybe you could see him. You already knew what you were going to say to Philip. You should’ve said it long ago. If this was the last time you were going to see him, you weren’t going to leave anything unsaid. Hastily, you put the book back on the shelf.

“Let’s go, Y/N.” Your father’s voice blew out your happiness like the wavering flame of a candle.

“I-”

“Don’t try to argue with me on this.” He sighed. He took your wrist and dragged you out of the store. As you followed him reluctantly, you searched the bookstore for Philip, but only found tall bookshelves in your way.

“Jefferson!” A man who looked to be at least ten years older than your father greeted, huffing as he jogged over to speak to Jefferson.

“Good afternoon, General Randolph.” Your father sighed, clearly not making an effort to hide his reluctance to speak to the man in front of him, nor his annoyance that he’d been interrupted on his way home. Randolph ignored these signs and delved into a conversation with your father. It didn’t take long, however, for the conversation to begin to center around politics. Which your father was very interested in, especially if it meant he could argue with a federalist.

You suddenly found yourself ignored, which lead to you backing away from the pair of politicians. After you’d decided you’d reached a sufficient distance, you ran. You dashed back into the bookstore, running through the isles frantically. This, of course, led to you running into someone.

“Woah! Calm down-” Philip’s eyes widened at the sight of you. “Y/N.”

“Philip.” You panted. Seeing his smile again was worth all the wait. You looked into his eyes for a few seconds, letting yourself get lost in how familiar they were.

“I- Where- It’s been-” Philip tried to start a sentence but you shushed him quickly.

“Look, I don’t have much time. My father found your letters in my desk and he’s been practically keeping me on a leash ever since so, this is probably the last time I’ll ever see you.” You tried not to cry as you said the words.

“No, Y/N, I told you. We’re going to find a way.”

“Philip, you know we can’t, we’ll-”

“We can-”

“Shut up!” You said interrupted, “I told you, I don’t have a lot of time, and there’s something I need to tell you.” You glanced back at the door before pushing him to the back of the store, maybe that could buy you a few more minutes if your father came into the bookstore. “I love you.” You said.

“I love you t-”

“No.” You shook your head desperately, “I’m in love with you.”

“I don’t-”

“Philip, look, I get it if you’re mad at me now, but you had to know. I’m seriously, madly, deeply in love with you. And I couldn’t leave you without telling y-” Philip cut you off by pressing his lips to yours, his hand falling on the nape of your neck as you began to kiss back.

Canon fire. That was the only way you could think to describe it, spontaneous, booming, completely unanticipated and magnificently exhilarating. You had to force yourself away from him, as much as you didn’t want to.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He said. You brought your lips to his again, unable to keep yourself away.

“I really-” You paused to kiss him again, standing on your tiptoes to do so. You felt like you had years of kisses to make up for with him, but only seconds to do it. “I have to go.”

“I love you.” He said, like he had so many times before, though this time it had a new meaning.

“I love you too.”

“We’ll find a way, I promise.” He said quickly, smoothing down your hair and pressing a kiss to your hairline. You shook your head, biting back tears.

“Goodbye, Philip.” You began to walk away backwards, keeping your eyes on him as long as you could, memorizing every detail in his face, in the way he stood, each curl on his head that stuck out of its place.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“How’s Philip?” Your father asked once you’d returned to him, poison in his tone. Randolph was gone and he stood alone,

“I wouldn’t know.” You cleared your throat, “I’ll admit that I looked for him, but I never saw him.” You lied.

“Let’s go home.” He sighed, “You’re totally grounded, by the way.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a change.” You grumbled in response. You’d seen Philip. You’d said goodbye. You’d told him you loved him. Things you’d been waiting to do for months. However ecstatic you were about it, you could still feel the crushing weight of the goodbye. You bit down on your lip, barely flinching when it began to sting. You’d made a habit out of biting your lip recently, so naturally, the wound had never sealed.

You weren’t going to cry. Not in front of your father. You couldn’t. He’d ask you what was wrong and you’d have to come up with an excuse fast or tell him the truth. Neither option was appealing. You gasped lightly, holding your breath as if it would somehow hold the tears with it. Your mind raced, that couldn’t be the end. It couldn’t be the last time you’d see Philip’s face. It couldn’t be the first and the last time you’d kiss him. It just couldn’t.

Before you could stop them, tears were streaming down your cheeks. Your fingers gripped the top layer of your skirts, knuckles paling at the tightness of your hold.

“Y/N.” Your father turned around at the sound of you crying, putting his hands on your shoulders to force you to stop walking. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, prying your fingers away from your dress to wipe away as many tears as you could. “I don’t-” You choked on the rest of your words, unable to come up with anything.

Thomas knew this was hurting you. It was clear. This might’ve been the first time you’d cried in front of him, but that was in no way the only sign. But he also knew that what he was doing had to be good for you. The Hamilton boy would’ve only hurt you more. He was sure of that.

“I want to talk to my best friend.” You admitted in a sputtering mess. Of course. Thomas thought. What does anyone do when they’re hurt, when they’re broken? They turn to their best friend. He rubbed his palm against his forehead anxiously. He was supposed to know what to do, he was supposed to know what to say.

“You did see him, right?” Your father asked. He didn’t sound upset, so you risked nodding. “And you said goodbye?” You nodded again. “Well… you didn’t have to.”

You looked into his eyes hopefully, “You mean-”

“You can meet with him one more time. Not in my house. Anywhere else. Please. I’m serious, anywhere but at home-”

“Yeah, I get it, dad.” You rolled your eyes, “Not at home.”

“Okay, meet with him one more time. Hug it out or whatever. But please say goodbye again. You know I’m only trying to help you.” He looked at you with pleading eyes and you made yourself nod in confirmation. You’d take what you could get.

“I hope that you know this isn’t going to make me stop fighting you on this.”

“Right.” He sighed. “Now get back in that bookstore and set something up.”

“You’re the best, father.” You grinned and kissed his cheek before turning around and running back into the bookstore.

“You look beautiful.” Philip breathed. You blushed, smiling as you looked to the ground. “Oh!” He said suddenly, causing your eyes to snap back to his face. “I got these for you.”

He held out a bouquet, several handpicked flowers tied together by a stretch of white lace. “Philip.” You smiled, reaching out to take them from him. “You didn’t have to.” Your eyes met his, glazing over with unexpected tears. “Now I feel bad that I didn’t bring you anything.”

“Don’t.” He answered quietly. You rushed to him, accidently dropping the bouquet on your way. You ran into him, but your arms latched together, absorbing the impact. Your hands tightened near his elbows, forearms in line with his. You’d met at a fountain near the edge of town, the only light illuminating Philip’s familiar face was the full moon and the stars above.

You weren’t sure what to say. You missed him? You loved him? You didn’t want to say goodbye to him again? All were true. And you wanted to tell him all of them. But for now, only silence seemed like the right sound. Your arms dropped and instead, your fingers weaved together with Philip’s. You liked the way his hands fit with yours, how his fingers seemed to perfectly slide between yours, how his calloused palm would be flush against yours, never uncomfortable. You liked how his thumb would move slowly back and forth on your skin. Or the way his fingers would just barely lift from the back of your hand every once in awhile, only to come back less than half a second later.

By then, you knew what you had to say. “Philip, I- I know you want to ‘find a way’.” You swallowed, you didn’t want to go on, “I want to hold on too, trust me.” You didn’t want to face a truth you hated, “But we have to let go. We have to move on. We just aren’t meant to keep going. Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong families-”

“Right couple.” He interrupted. You frowned, looking up at him confusedly, “Even if the whole world is trying to push us away, we’ll find each other. We always have and you know it.”

“But this.” You felt tears rolling down your cheeks. “We can’t just push past this.”

“What do you mean?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer before moving on. “You aren’t going to live with your parents forever. You’re eighteen, Y/N. You can make your own decisions.”

“But he’ll never let you marry me, he’ll never approve of us.” You winced, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up marriage, we only just-”

“I’ll get him to.” Philip cut you off. “I will do whatever it takes to get your father to let me marry you. If you want his approval, I’ll get it. We can do this Y/N. I promise you.”

“I-”

“Please trust me.” He pleaded, forcing back tears. He wouldn’t let you see him start to lose hope. This wasn’t the end of your story.

You nodded, not wanting to spend your entire night with Philip discussing the topic. “I trust you.”

“Tell me… a secret.” Philip said, his nimble fingers still working your hair into a braid by the flickering light of a candle he’d brought.

“You already know all my secrets, Philip.” You answered.

“There has to be something you’ve been hiding from me all these years.” He pressed, using the lace from the bouquet to tie the end of your braid with a bow.

“Fine.” You sighed, “When you kissed me earlier today… that was my first kiss.”

“What?” He asked in disbelief, “But what about William? You never kissed him?”

“No.” You giggled, “He’d lean in to do it but then I’d freak and turn away. You know we were only together for like, two weeks, right?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” He said. “Interesting.”

“What’s your secret?” You asked.

“I don’t have one.” He shrugged.

“There has to be something you’ve been hiding from me all these years.” You mocked.

Philip tore the stem of one of the flowers so there was only about an inch left, which he stuck in your braid. “I was hiding from you that I was in love with you, but you know that now.”

You hummed quietly, “Nothing else?”

“I slept with a lot of people trying to get over you.” He admitted.

You burst out laughing as he added another flower to your braid. “I knew you slept with a lot of people, but I didn’t know that was the reason.”

“It was.” He chuckled.

“Well I’m glad you stopped.” You smiled, turning around for a few seconds to kiss him quickly.

“Me too.”

You knew your eyelids were getting heavy, and your body wanted to sleep, but you weren’t going to let yourself nod off. You had to spend every minute you possibly could with Philip, consciously. You moved closer into Philip’s side, beginning to feel the chill of the night breeze. Neither of you spoke, you just laid on the ground, his long jacket being the barrier between you and the dirt.

Philip pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips warm against your chilled skin. He turned on his side to face you, scattering kisses all over your face and drawing a giggle out of you. Finally, his lips fell onto yours. You hadn’t even realized how much you wanted them there until they landed there. You suddenly felt like letting go would hurt too much, ending the kiss would break you. So, you held him closer and kissed more insistently. It wasn’t so much a passionate or lustful kiss, instead, it was desperate, begging to be closer to one another.

“I love you.” You murmured between kisses, “I love you, I love you, I love you…” And he’d say the say the same. Your words would meld together until each time you pulled away from each other you’d unintentionally harmonize in a whispered ‘I love you’. One long, soft kiss marked the end and you forced yourself to lean away. You stared into Philip’s eyes until you felt like you’d disappeared into them. Like you’d left behind the world of drama and tears and pain and instead you’d just fallen into his dark brown irises. And you kept falling.

It was one of those nights that just went on forever. Not only did you wish it would never end, it didn’t feel like it would. You just spent forever talking to Philip about all the things you always used to, closing your eyes at his gentle touch when he adjusted the flowers in your braid, kissing him, holding him. Goodbye felt like it was only a nightmare of the past.

You knew you’d have to leave soon. Say goodbye. In less than an hour now. Of course you knew it, but every part of you denied it, begged you to ignore it, pleaded for you to just keep kissing him, just keep holding him, just keep telling him you loved him.

“Philip.” You said. You hadn’t left your spot, cuddling on top of his jacket.

“Yes?” He asked.

“I really, really, love you. I have for at least eight years.”

“Me too, Y/N.” He took a deep breath, “I love you too.”

“And there’s always gonna be a part of me that does.” Philip wanted to tell you not to talk like that. Not to lose hope. But all he could think about was the pit within himself. The emptiness that was void of any faith that if he somehow married you, he wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Jefferson, or even his own father, at the wedding. He finally let himself cry. Tears streamed down his cheeks, only speeding up as time went on.

“Don’t cry.” You said softly, though you began crying yourself, pulling the both of you to sit up. You leaned into him to softly kiss away the tiny drops of salty fluid on his cheeks. Last kisses.

“I keep telling you not to lose hope and here I am without any.”

“That’s okay.” You said simply, setting a comforting hand on the crook of his neck. “Imma miss you, Philip.” He could barely hear what you’d said, and even then, he had trouble deciphering it. Your voice was heavy with tears and your quiet words ran together.

He wanted to tell you that you wouldn’t have to, that you’d see him again, that if he had any say in it, you were going to spend the rest of your lives together. But he couldn’t make any of those words come out of his mouth. “I’m going to miss you too, Y/N.” He finally said.

You stood up and held out a hand for him to follow. You blinked the tears from your eyes but they only rolled down your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his torso, and he wrapped his arms around you. A kiss didn’t feel like the right ending. Not with Philip. While you’d known him, and loved him, for eight years, it had only been romantic for a day. A kiss just didn’t feel like the right ending. So you held each other. Neither of you wanting to let go. Both of you knowing you had to.

You pulled away after who knows how long. Your hands followed his arms as you stepped back. Your fingers held onto his weakly, gripping the very last part of him until the very last second. When your arms dropped to your side, you left. You left with tearstained cheeks and a heart forever changed and the very second you turned away, you missed Philip.

#philip hamilton x reader #hamilton x reader #philip x reader #philip hamilton imagine #philip hamilton #hamilton imagine #hamilton imagine blog #hamilton imagines blog #hamilton imagines #hamilton x reader blog #hamilton one-shot #one-shot #philip hamilton one-shot #x reader #angst

[fantasies-from-nami]

Split - Kai Scenario. Part 4

Summary: You have a perfect life. A perfect little house, perfect little son who just went to Kindergarten for the first time and finally your more than perfect husband, whom you love more than your life. Of course that was three weeks ago. Before your husband decided to leave the family.

Word Count: 3145

A/n: I finally uploadeed!!!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

MY MASTERLIST  

(For mobile)

When you and Tae return from your work on Friday, he doesn't even let you take off his jacket properly. He quickly gets rid of his shoes and runs off to somewhere in the house.

You know what he feels. Of course you know, don't you feel the same too? Everything inside your body is shaking from nervousness or excitement or maybe anxiety, but this time you are determined to control yourself. You are a mother. You won't let yourself act like a teenager again.

You hang Tae's jacket, followed by your coat and as calmly as you can take off your heels. You see yourself in the mirror.

It's weird but you feel content with yourself. The dress fits you perfectly and it's not even overly formal. Your hair also decided to not ruin your mood for today so you have a great urge not to change into your yoga pants and a t-shirt. Maybe you'll just stay like this for a while.

Stepping into the living room, you don't see a sight of your son.  You hear some noises coming from his room so you decide to check up on him. Looking inside, you see him running around the room, picking up toys he'd left in visible places. He has already managed to clean his desk area from the painting supplies and many sheets of paper he had used in the morning. He looks so determined you almost don't want to step in.

"What's wrong, Tae?" you ask.

He looks at you for just a second before continuing his job. "I'm cleaning my room." he just answers.

"It's not even dirty, though." you smile.

Tae stops for a minute and looks down, small pout forming on his face. "I want Daddy to think that I'm a good boy." he whispers.

You sigh and step inside the room, picking Tae in your arms and sitting on his bed.

"You don't have to prove anything, sweetie. You dad already loves you and you know that right?" you ask, after a minute Tae nods. "No matter how many toys there are on your floor, for your daddy you'll always be the best boy in the world." you nuzzle your nose in his hair. "For me too."

Tae hugs you tight before asking. "Is he going to come soon?"

You nod with a smile. "He probably left his work by now and is coming home." you say. Home... does he call this place a home?

"Come on, Tae, let's heat up our dinner." you say and pick him up.

"We'll wait for Daddy, right?" he asks quickly.

"Of course." you smile again and walk out.

When Jongin comes you've almost finished setting up the table. You hear the click and almost tell Tae to open the door, but before than you already hear someone step in.

Tae runs like a maniac to meet his dad and when you follow him, he's already in Jongin's arms and both of them are laughing together.

You lean against the wall, because this scene is something you want to watch forever. You're smiling to yourself when Jongin looks at you. Your smile falls but then you remember his promise. He will at least pretend.

"I didn't think you'd remember the code to our house." you say quietly.

"I remember." he says casually. "Did you eat already?" he asks.

"You know we didn't." you answer and look down. There's a momentary silence but you quickly shake yourself and smile.

"Come on. Let's eat." you say and all three of you settle around the table. Once again you managed to cook all his favorites. At least you hope his taste in food didn't change too.  

Dinner goes on but you find it hard to join the conversation between the father and son. They still find so much in common, Tae talks about his day, about the cartoons he watched during the week and the toys he shared with his friends. Jongin listens so carefully you'd think he's trying to remember all the information for the future. That thought makes you smile widely.

"Dad, are you tired?" Tae asks cutely.

"No, why?" Jongin returns the question.

Tae looks down shyly and asks again. "Can you help me with homework? I learned new numbers today but I can't remember them." you can see he wants to make his daddy proud.

"Of course." Jongin smiles. "Go, bring your bag", with his dad's request, Tae runs off to his room immediately.

You're left with him alone again and you realize the promises to yourself that you'd be confident don't even cross your mind.

"He refused to study with me today." you say to fill the silence. "He knows how to count till one hundred, but pretends he doesn't so you can help him." you say as you continue to play with your food.

"Pretend?" Jongin asks, "shouldn't he be bragging about that?".

You shake your head with a small smile and stand up to collect the empty plates. "You'll do anything for some attention from the people you love."

"Tae, it's time for sleep." you shout from the kitchen. You've been busying yourself with the housework for the past hour while Jongin and Tae are playing in his room.

You asked for it. You asked Jongin to pretend, to spend these last days together as a family, but now you know it’s not that simple. No – loving Jongin is easy – the easiest part.

Not getting attached is another thing.

You know it doesn’t really count since you’ve never got over him but if you get used to this now, you know you’ll never be happy again without it. Seeing their beautiful relationship while knowing it won’t be the same after two days – is unbearable.

Drying your hands on the towel you look over your spotless kitchen, making sure that you can’t busy yourself any longer.

Walking to Tae’s bedroom you take a deep breath and step inside. To your surprise Tae is already in bed leaning on his father’s chest and they seem to be reading a story together. Big smiles are plastered on both of their faces. Jongin has already changed into some comfortable clothes that he bought in his suitcase.

“You’re already in bed?” you ask astonished.

Jongin chuckles and answers for Tae. “I know when to put my son to sleep.” You blush a little embarrassed at his words.

“Come here, Mommy.” Tae calls you over and pats the space beside him. You don’t know whether to step closer, but Jongin answers by moving the pillow that would have gotten in the way for you to sit. The gesture shows you that you’re welcome by both males so you sit at the edge of the bed, glancing at their book.

“Tae, you’re going to sleep here tonight?” you ask surprised. He hasn’t liked sleeping alone for a while. He uses his room as a playroom only, so you wonder what changed his mind now. Even those nights when you managed to put him to bed, you’d find his warm body pressed against yours in the middle of the night.

“Yes, I’ll sleep here.” He beams. “Daddy said he’d sleep with me.” he adds, happily. “Mom, stay here too, please.”

You smile and manage a good answer as to why it’s not such a good idea.

“But your bed is so small, we won’t fit.” You force a laugh. “I’ll be in my room if you need me, okay?” Tae nods as you stand up. Jongin puts their book away and draws Tae’s blanket over them.

“Jongin.” You call before you go. “Don’t turn off the nightstand, Tae hates sleeping in the dark.”

“Don’t worry, Mommy.” Tae answers and reaches to turn off the lamp himself leaving the room dimly illuminated by the hallway lights. “Daddy is here, so I’m not scared.”

Your heart is exploding in your chest with unexplainable feelings and you can see the same happening inside Jongin’s eyes. He hugs his son closer as you step out, still leaving the door ajar to leave a way for the light.

Your mother instincts were always in the right place which you can’t say about your heart.

  Jongin wakes up in the middle of the night. It’s strange because he’s famous for his sleeping habits – people can’t wake him up no matter how they try.

But now he’s wide awake at three in the morning and feels something clawing at his heart. Over the years he’s used to it being a warning that something’s not right.

He keeps looking at Tae, for any sign that he’s not okay, but his son keeps sleeping like an angel. Calling himself paranoid Jongin decides to walk his worries off with a glass of cold water.

Walking down the hallway he shakes his head but stops abruptly when he hears something. Something like a whimper. Straining his ears he hears where I’s coming from – his bedroom. Old bedroom – the one he used to share with her.

Not losing time he strides over and opens the door. His old bed comes into view and he sees her. She’s lying there and he can see her shaking. Even from the distance thick line of sweat is visible on her forehead. She looks like she’s in pain.

Without thinking Jongin quickly strides over, taking a closer look. It’s clear that she’s having a nightmare, so he quickly reaches his hands to wake her – only to be stopped by her weak whimper.

“Please,” she whimpers and out of nowhere Jongin’s heart aches. Why is she in pain? She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t be in pain. “Please.” She continues as tears keep rolling down her rosy cheeks. She keeps turning and sweat on her face becomes more and more visible.

“Please don’t leave.” She begs in her sleep and Jongin feels his heartbeat stop, “Please give me another chance, I’ll do anything.” She turns more, not being able to find peace, until one second when she stops. Stops in comfort.

Jongin brings her body close to his, attempting to calm her heartbeat with his too.

He notices what she’s wearing. It’s a gray hoodie of his, something he forgo to take with him when he left. She’s falling in peace with every second in his arms, her closed eyes are finding comfort once again.

Jongin doesn’t know what to do. He can’t risk leaving her alone in case she falls in the same sate again.

He’ll just leave in the morning.

With that thought he closes his eyes.

Jongin wakes up later that he expected. He’s not surprised that his alarm didn’t wake him up. It rarely does. That’s why he’s been late to work for more than a month. But then he slides his hand around the sheets trying to find his phone and finally opens his eyes when he can’t.

He almost curses out loud.

He slept in.

And he’s alone, meaning she already saw him sleeping next to her. How in the world will he explain what happened. He doesn’t want to embarrass her by telling what really happened to her yesterday, but what other explanation does he have to the fact that he slept in her bed.

Their bed actually, but does it count?

Groaning, Jongin stands up and walks out in the hallway.

You’re frying eggs when you hear Jongin come inside the kitchen. They’re perfect as always but you still continue flipping them so that you can busy yourself.

“Good morning.” You hear him say in his husky morning voice. How long has it been since you last heard it? Now you know you have to turn around.

“Good morning” you answer with a smile. He keeps looking around, never fixing is gaze on you and you wonder if he’s more embarrassed about the previous night that you do. That thought makes a little sark of confidence burst inside you.

“Did Tae fidget a lot in his sleep?” you ask.

“Not really, why?” he returns the question.

“’Cause you came over to my room at night.” You say casually.

“Yeah..” he starts playing with the napkins on the table. “He just grew a lot, we used to fit so well in his bed. I just didn’t want him to be uncomfortable at night.” He adds with a cough.

You nod and smile, even though you don’t know what kind of answer you were expecting. I came over because I missed you? You almost want to laugh because still that answer would have made you happy.

You notice that Jongin is eating everything you put on the table. Literally everything, as if he hasn’t eaten in days, because even little plates filled with cheese and sausages that usually stay untouched are empty. You realize that you’re staring and Jongin notices it too. He looks down embarrassed.

“Sorry.” He straightens his bed hair “I forgot how much I love breakfast.”

You’ve had doubts that he’s not taking care of himself since he’s left. He never did to be honest, but at least he always had you. The one to not let him starve, forget to bring everything he needed at work, or make sure he had clean shirts to put on in the morning, because sure as ever this man can’t be let near the washing machine.

You’ve asked yourself what does he do without you and now you get the answer. He isn’t being taken care of. Even his current fling (or can you call her so?) can’t do even something that comes so natural for you.

You feel content.

  Tae asked (or more like forced) his dad to take him too. It’s a kind of compensation for the time Jongin couldn’t or didn’t attend his first ever trip from the kindergarten. You suggested that you’d stay home and let them have fun together but your son insisted that you would go along. But actually you could have been considered the happiest. You had a doubt, you had missed the family time evn more that your son.

You’re surprised to say that if feels natural. Jongin carrying Tae in his arms almost all the time. You nagging that he’s just spoiling his son, because she can’t carry him because of his weight. You two accompanying Tae on different rides and waiting outside with big smiles at the ones you can’t fit in. Tae holding you and his father with his little hands while you walk around and teach your son about different habits of different animals.

You’re happy.

And if there’s one thing you’ve noticed, it’s Jongin’s smile. The one that doesn’t disappear from his face. Not in the zoo, not in a restaurant he brought you two after and not when he’s seated by the coffee table with you and Tae playing silly board games that are just so much more enjoyable wen your family feels complete.

  Jongin still doesn’t believe how his five year old son could beat him in a board game. It’s made for kidsm so that’s why his mind is more suitable for that, so he won, he assures himself. Although deep inside there’s a feeling of a proud father who wants his son to be better than him.

You’ve excused yourself for a while to prepare Tae’s bath and bed for him to go to sleep after a tiring day. And now that they’re left alone, Jongin feels like his son let down his façade and seems a lot sadder than usual.

Before he even has the chance to ask him about it, Tae crawls towards him and places himself in Jongin’s lap while hugging him with his small arms.

“What’s wrong, Tae?” he asks him in a hushed tone, bit hears his son take a deep breath before he answers.

“Tomorrow is your last day with us.” Tae whispers. Jongin’s heart clenches painfully, but decides to comfort his son first.

“Don’t use that expression, Tae.” He coos. “Last day isn’t right way to say it. I’ll see you as frequently as I can and whenever you want I’ll be there, okay?” he wants to make Tae believe that everything will be perfect but for the first time in more than a month he realizes that maybe it won’t.

He also realizes he’s never asked his son how he feels about things happening around him.

“But it’s not the same.” Tae whispers again.

“What isn’t, Tae?” Jongin returns the question.

“Mom is sad when you’re away.” Tae finally breaks out his biggest insecurity. For a moment Jongin doesn’t know if he should say anything.

“Is she?” he manages to ask.

“Yes,” Tae answers sadly. “Mommy always smiles and she cooks me many sweets, a lot more than before and also she never scolds me even if I break a lot of toys and don’t clean up after I play.”

“But isn’t that a good thing?” Jongin tries to turn the situation to the brighter side.

“No,” Tae slowly shakes his head. “Mom think I’m afraid to sleep in the dark and that’s why I always sleep with her, but I think she is afraid of sleeping alone, so that’s why I always sleep with her at night.” Jongin is stricken about how mature his five year old is telling a brave story with his small and husky voice.

“What makes you think she’s scared?” Jongin asks even if he already knows his answer.

“Mom cries a lot. A lot lot. At night when she prays she cries even then, but she doesn’t know that I see her. Every night she cries and asks God “please bring him back”. Mom also tells God that even if she was a horrible wife he would try her best if only she had another chance.” At this point Tae has tears streaming down his cheeks as Jongin wipes them away. “And Mommy always has nightmares at night and they only go away if I hug her.” Tae cries again and this time Jongin pushes his son against his chest in an attempt to calm him down by rocking him side by side.

A few minutes pass before he can finally hear Tae release long and steady breath meaning he’s already fast asleep against his chest.

Jongin carefully stands up and takes his son to his bedroom before laying him down in bed and kissing his tear stained cheeks before leaving his room. You had already prepared his bed for him but were nowhere to be seen.

Jongin stopped close to your bedroom door and picked inside the small crack left unintentionally by you. He was met with a sight he has just imagined with his son’s words.

You are on your knees, praying with a heavy heart and the words that leave your mouth haunt his dreams for the whole night.

Please let us be happy.

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