#and like with box hedging its grown in such a way that makes it really susceptible to disease so its kind of inevitable ig but its still | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lazyevaluationranch · 3 years

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On a post about the Blue Haired Girlfriend's quixotic citrus breeding experiments, @voidingintotheshout asked:

I mean, if you wanted a hearty citrus relative, why didn’t you just grow Osage Orange? They can grow as far north as Michigan which is surely further north than anyone could reasonably expect to grow a citrus tree. They’re not edible but then hearty orange isn’t either. Osage Orange are so cool and such a interesting historical plant from the Shelterbelt era of American agriculture. Apparently they do smell like citrus.

This is part three of three. Part one. Part two.

Now you've done it! It's time for A Very Brief (But Also Insufficiently Brief) History of Twentieth Century Hardy Citrus Cultivation! Growing citrus trees this far north is kind of nuts, it's true, but I promise you it is not even close to the weirdest things people have done to grow citrus in places where the citrus doesn't think it should grow.

A note: This post will written using the Swingle citrus taxonomy system, including things that are definitely wrong. The citrus taxonomic tree looks like that one box of orphaned computer cords I keep moving with me to new houses "in case I need them" except some sort of adorable five-dimensional kitten has entertained herself with them and some of the resulting knots are not technically possible in our space-time continuum.

The powers that be gave us citrus because nothing pleases them like seeing a geneticist cry.

1. The Migrant Trees

The Soviet Union wanted lemons for tea, and they wanted to be independent enough not to have to trade with anyone else to get them, which meant they wanted to grow their own citrus. That part of the world is not a great place to grow plants that die when the temperature goes below zero, but at the foundation of the Soviet Union, there were citrus orchards in the warmest part of Georgia, along the Black Sea. Specifically, there was about, uh, one and a half square kilometers of somewhat implausible citrus orchard.

Hang on, it is about to get way less plausible.

This is the great citrus migration: any tree that did well in one spot, they'd try planting its seeds a few kilometres further north, or a few kilometres further east. Prizes were offered for breeding hardier citrus. Slowly the orchards spread, but they were extremely weird orchards.

It's usually a few degrees warmer at ground level than up in the air, and there's way less wind. So as the trees grew, they were bent over and tied along the ground. Some of them had the central trunk run in a straight line along the ground, with branches spreading out from it like the leaves of a fern, like an espaliered tree on its side. Others were starfish shaped, with the central trunk looped down until it ended up next to the base, and the branches sprawling out along the ground from the centre like starfish legs. The citrus trees were no taller than particularly vigorous strawberry plants, but they survived the winters, and you could throw a blanket over them to help them stay warm.

None of that helped if the ground froze solid, so they needed Underground Citrus. You'd dig a ditch, down below the lowest area where the ground froze, and you'd plant flat Starfish Trees or Flat Frond Trees running along the bottom of it, too deep to freeze. In winter, you'd just cover the ditch with boards any time the temperature was expected to go below freezing - citrus would tolerate the lack of light, but not the cold. Mandarins (Citrus reticulata) seemed to do best, so that’s most of what was grown.

It is a nearly unimaginable amount of work to grow citrus this way, along the bottoms of pits and trenches. We are experimentally trying to grow a Soviet-developed mandarin breed of unknown parentage, Shirokolistvennyi, but we will definitely not be putting in that level of effort.

2. The Mixed Up Trees

There are a couple species of citrus that tolerate cold well, but taste awful. A lot of effort has gone into crossbreeding them with more edible citrus. The results are ... mixed.

The Ichang Papeda (Citrus cavaleriei) generally survives temperatures down to -18 degrees C. It is stoic and calm and has mastered emptiness. Unfortunately, it has mastered emptiness too well. The fruit smells like lemons, with maybe a hint of rose, but there's nothing to eat here. It has a rind and seeds. No juice, no flesh.

(Photo by Michael Saalfield)

The Ichang Papeda is the parent or grandparent to several delicious, extremely sour Asian citrus types. Yuzu/yuja smells like grapefruit and clean wet stones from the bottom of a fast-flowing stream. Sudachi smells like grapefruit and leaves with dew on them. (I haven't met kabosu or any other papeda hybrids personally, but they are numerous.) They're all too sour to eat plain, unless you really need to turn your face inside out for some reason, but make for excellent flavouring.

(We have a yuzu tree and a sudachi tree and they're surviving, but no fruit yet.)

Trifoliate orange (Poncirus trifoliata) can survive temperatures down to -30 degrees C. This may be partly because, uniquely amoung citrus, they can drop leaves in autumn or winter and regrow them in spring, like a maple tree. They also produce an internal antifreeze. They are angry, twisted, thorny little plants that yell swears when you walk past them. They make a great hedge. The fruit is furry, smells like flowers and pine trees and taste like burnt, bitter plastic. It may or may not be possible to breed the horrible taste completely out of trifoliate oranges without losing cold-hardiness, if it's due to their antifreeze chemicals. Here’s Stabby:

(Photo by Rob Hille)

Even the least terrible trifoliate crossbreeds are bitter enough to qualify as “acquired tastes.” There are recipes for trifoliate marmalade: put a dozen trifoliate oranges, a kilogram of sugar, and a kilogram of pebbles in a pot, cook until it gels, then sieve out the oranges and eat the pebbles.

We are growing a trifoliate orange / minneola orange hybrid. And, of course, someday our own trifoliate hybrids. The Blue Haired Girlfriend planted 200 trifoliate oranges a couple years ago. There are fewer now, but the survivors have lived through two winters of snow and frost, and they might have somehow gotten more stabby. We're going to breed them, to each other or to less angry fruit, try and make something new and good from them.

I've limited this post to twentieth century hardy citrus breeding, but I have to give a shoutout to somatic hybridization, a decidedly twenty first century technique, where you take a cell from each of two different plants, remove their cell walls, put them next to eachother, and shock them with electricity until they merge into a single cell whose nucleus contains all genes from both plants. Then the new plant is like, "Wow, I guess these are all my genes? It seems like a lot, haha, but it's not like somebody made me from dismembered body parts and electricity, that is not how science works. Anyway I guess it's time to do some plant stuff now."

3. The Mutant Trees

In the 1950s, people started using radiation to randomly scramble the genes of plants. You'd irradiate seeds enough to change the genes somehow, and then you'd have to plant them to see what had happened. Maybe it was people horrified by the atomic bomb desperately wanting to find some life-supporting use for atomic fission, maybe it was government-supported cold war "atom bombs are good actually, look how many we have, USSR" propaganda. Probably both.

This time period also saw serious plans for Orion, a spaceship with a huge metal plate for a butt, intended to be propelled by exploding atomic bombs under it, which I am not actually making up.

Thousands of people in Europe and the US signed up to receive seeds with random mutations in the mail, plant them, and report back on what they heck they grew into and if it had any useful weirdness. (The gamma radiation used to mutate the seeds did not make them radioactive themselves - the seeds were completely safe.) There were also more formal and carefully controlled university research programs in China, Japan, and the US, where plants where grown in a circular research garden with a coverable radiation source at the centre, so that the farther you got from the centre, the less radiation the plants got. Radiation breeding is less popular than it used to be, but Japan still has a very productive citrus radiation breeding program.

The most popular radiation-bred citrus is the "Rio Red" grapefruit and its offspring, which has a much deeper red than non-mutant red grapefruit.

There aren't many radiation-developed citrus breeds noted for cold-hardiness - with radiation you get whatever you get - but there are a few, and I want one just because I think they're neat, a monument to that lovely human vision that looks at terrible weapons and somehow sees glossy-leaved trees with bright fruit.

4. The Monster Trees

Citrus are usually grown via grafting. That is, you plant a seed from a fast-growing sturdy breed, you let it grow roots and all that, and then you cut the top off and replace it with a branch from a more delicious breed. The two citruses grow together, and you end up with a tree that's disease and cold resistant in the roots, below the graft, but makes tasty fruit above the graft.

Occasionally, this process goes Wrong.

The first recorded instance is the tree called Bizarria, discovered in 1640. Someone attempted to graft a sour orange branch onto a citron. But instead of a clean line between sour orange branches and citron roots, the graft was damaged somehow, and the two different species of cells got tangled and mixed through the whole tree. It has branches that produce citron fruit. It has branches that produce sour orange fruit. And it has branches that produce, uh ... these:

(Photo by Labrina)

Most graft chimeras are made accidentally, when the graft site is damaged. Trifoliate orange is often used as rootstock, so there are many reported chimeras involving trifoliate orange and a nicer fruit. The mixed-up cells can be arranged a lot of ways, but it's possible to have the outside layer of the tree be trifoliate orange, and the core of the tree be the other citrus (periclinal chimera). This means you could theoretically get a tree with frostproof trifoliate leaves and branches, but fruit that doesn’t taste like burnt plastic rolled in quinine.

This lucky monstrosity has, in fact, reportedly happened. Twice. There is the Prague Citsuma, discovered in a greenhouse in Prague and suspected to have been created by a Soviet breeding program. And then there is the Hormish, discovered in China and thought to have been made by frostbite messing up the clean lines of the graft. The Blue Haired Girlfriend has managed to track down budwood from the Prague Citsuma - I’m so excited! - so we'll see how the fierce thorny monster tree with a heart of gold, or at least heartwood of gold, does for us.

5. Conclusion

Humans have been trying to grow citrus trees where they don't belong for nearly two thousand years, at least since the Jewish Diaspora and people trying to grow holy etrog trees - trunks gnarled as barnacle stones and the whole tree scented like the best dream you can't remember - in Europe. Maybe longer.

The Blue Haired Girlfriend's citrus-breeding schemes aren't going to singlehandedly transform Canada into a net citrus exporter. But history shows us: it might be possible to have a little gleaming sweetness from the stony ground here, with the ravens and the fir trees and the auroras. A sweetness we made ourselves, that exists nowhere else.

Or maybe we'll just have a bunch of weird inedible fruit. I don't know, but it's worth finding out, worth weaving together leaf and thorn and stone and the light of our hands as the years unwind. Worth it to have a quixotic project we can expect to spend decades on together, hands and hearts. This is how home is made, sometimes, with a balcony full of angry thorny little trees that shout swears at passerby.

#part three of three #so much doesn't fit in this post #fog gardening #how lemons started the mafia #etrogs in diaspora #citropsis and the african citrus species #we are still discovering new citrus species in oceania!#who knows what we'll make?#and one day we'll scoop up hydrocarbons from Titan's stormy seas and polymerize them and make huge bubble greenhouses filled with citrus #small children will fling squishy citrus at their siblings by the coiled light of Jupiter #which is as it should be #thank you voidingintotheshout for an excuse for all sorts of ranting

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teddy06writes · 3 years

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Through Thick And Thin

requested by this anon: “If you are still doing requests, could you maybe do a royal AU of a Knight! Awesamdude x royalty reader? Thanks!”

Awesamdude x reader

trigger warnings: some swearing, mentioned character death

premise: royalty au; you are heir to the throne of the dream smp lands, Sam is the knight who has been sworn to protect you. When L’manburg, a rising power begins to attack, Sam stays by your side, even as the kingdom falls

{also I did my best to keep this gender neutral, but it might’ve ended up leaning for feminine, sorry about that}

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“Do you take one lump or two?” You forced a polite smile onto your face.

“Two, with lemon, not milk,” Bad said, “Try not to look so bored, you may be able to pull a smile on your face, but your eyes wandering about this room betray you.”

Etiquette lessons were something you had finished long ago, but your mother had arranged for a brush up, seeing as the ambassadors of L’manburg would be arriving Wednesday.

You nodded, quietly filling his tea cup with what he requested, and sliding it across the table too him.

“Now, serve the tea cakes.” Bad instructed.

As you cut the sponge cake into pieces you let your eyes drift again, look to where Sam stood beside the door.

He bit back a smile, scrunching his nose at you.

It took all your willpower not to giggle, regaining composer as you passed the plate across the table.

“I just think its stupid shit,” You said, tapping the toe of your shoe against the gravel path, “I already know how to poor tea and address nobles.”

Sam chuckled, looking around the garden, “I suppose you do, but brushing up on those things never hurts.”

“I did my time learning tea and titles, and dances and all that. I don’t see why I should have to do it any more. You should help me sneak out of lessons.”

He laughed again, “I don’t know if I can partake in helping you get out of your duties.”

“You used too.” You fake pouted, moving to sit on one of the benches lining the path.

“Yes well that was before, this is now. I’m not a stable boy any longer. We both have different duties to attend to.” He said, turning to look at you.

You frowned, “I thought your duties were to protect me.”

“They are.”

“Then you’d have to go with me if,,, say I snuck away to go down to the shore tomorrow. Where we used to go in the summer.” You grinned cheekily.

“Yes, I would have to,” He admitted begrudgingly, “But, considering you have to handle preparations for the ambassadors stay, I would be forced to suggest waiting till after they leave on Friday.”

You chuckled, “I like the way you think.”

The morning of the ambassadors arrival came all too quickly, and you woke early, carefully dressing.

There was a knock on the door, around 9:30, to which you sighed, “Come in.”

Sam appeared in the door, holding a glass box, “His highness says you must wear this.”

You look wearily at the small crown he was holding, then back at him, “You’re joking me.”

He shook his head, “Dream insisted.”

“Oh for XD’s sake.” you muttered, taking the box, and moving to set it atop your desk.

Slowly you extracted the crown, setting it gently atop your hair, adjusting it slightly in the mirror before turning to Sam, “How’s it look?”

“Heavy.” He laughed.

“Oh shut up,” You grumbled, moving past him into the corridor, “How long until the ambassador arrives?”

“Half an hour or so.” He reported.

~~ Negotiations had began the moment Wilbur Soot and his cabinet members walked in the door, hardly leaving any time for introductions.

You sat uncomfortably in your chair, these men were not like the ones you were expecting to be meeting.

They were loud, harsh, and in the young blonde boys case, quite rude.

“Simply put, we don’t want to start a fight if we don’t have to, with you or any of the other neighboring kingdoms.” Wilbur finished.

Dream crossed his arms, looking at the treaty that had been placed in front of him, “You want our land?”

“No, we only want a small piece of your land, just the farms that are technically within L’manburg’s borders,” The young Lord Tubbo clarified, “The original treaty clearly designates them to us.”

“With all due respect, Mr. President, His Highness never agreed to the original terms.” Bad pointed out.

George nodded, “Your nation has grown separately, never attached to us, the farms have never been yours.”

Dream couldn’t help but chuckle as he cocked his head, “Your here for something else, aren’t you?”

Wilbur sighed, “Yes, I suppose we are. Well, gentlemen, I should come clean. I come here seeking power. Something to put me at an advantage. I came here to ask for (y/n)’s hand in marriage.”

“Excuse me?” You snapped, eyes wide.

“You heard me. I wish to make you my betrothed, lord knows its the most you could accomplish in a life time.” He repeated, something malicious in his voice.

The Dream SMP’s side of the table grew very tense.

“I reject your proposal,” You stared him dead in the eye, “I would never marry a man like you.”

Before anyone else could speak, you stood, “Perhaps you’ll work out a different arrangement. If you’ll excuse me.”

With that you gracefully glided out of the room, loyal knight on your heels.

It wasn’t until you reached the safety of the farthest garden from the castle that you felt like you could breath again.

“I’ll kill him,” Sam muttered, pacing along the path, “No one speaks to you like that and gets away with it.”

You sank onto a bench, pulling the crown from your head and running your hands through your hair, “He’s vile! The whole lot of them are!”

“They’ll never get away with this. Everyone knows you’re mi-” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

“Why, for a moment did it look like Dream was actually considering it?” You muttered, tears springing into the corners of your eyes.

Sam quickly sat beside you, taking your hands, “Hey, I won’t let it happen. You’re- you belong here.... with me.”

You looked up at him, with wide eyes, “Sam- you really mean that? With you? Truly you’d allow it?”

Practically the whole palace staff had known since you’d first met Sam that you’d fallen for him. It had seemed like you were always destined to be together.

“Yes, if you would.”

You nodded, resting your forehead against his, “I would.”

For a moment, the world seemed right.

For a moment, nothing was wrong.

For a moment, it seemed like there was a chance.

Until a loud explosion rang through the castle, ripping through the tranquil morning.

Distantly you could hear screams of pain, yells of triumph and fights breaking out.

Sam quickly stood, turning to the castle, where all the other guards seemed to be running too.

“Sam...”

Your shaky voice broke him from his almost trance, “What wrong dove?”

“Sam they all had gladiolus flowers on there lapels. They all- the all had gladiolus on there lapels.”

How you hadn’t realized it before you weren’t sure.

“What?”

“Gladiolus means ready- or armed.” You said quietly.

Sam stared at you for a moment, before someone else entered the garden, “You really shouldn’t have turned down that proposal (y/n)!”

“Run!” Sam yelled, grabbing your hand to pull you along with him.

You ran blindly with him, down the paths and toward the back of the garden.

Sam pushed you toward the gap in the hedge, “Go! Down by the shore, where we used to go in the summer. Go! I’ll be there as soon as I can, lock yourself inside, and only open up for me.”

You barley had time to think before he shoved you through the hedge, turning and drawing his sword to face Wilbur.

~~ You stumbled along the path, you were almost there- almost there- almost to the abandoned light house.

The sounds of fighting faded behind you as you tripped once more, picking yourself up and going even faster as the sea came into view.

You threw yourself against the lighthouse door to get it to open, quickly closing it behind you and locking the door.

You leaned against it, struggling to catch your breath.

After a moment, your eyes adjusted to the light, and you looked around at the dusty space.

When you were young, this had been Sam and yours special place, somewhere to avoid lessons.

The only servant who’d known about it had helped you move furniture out there long ago, and the space seemed semi inhabitable.

You fumbled to light a lamp, then found your way to a cabinet, looking for a cloth, or rag to clean with.

Soon you were busying yourself with fixing the place up, desperately trying to ignore the fact that Sam was taking a very long time to get there.

Once you finished the first floor you climbed the stone steps to the next, and began working there.

Night had nearly fallen when you heard a rough knock at the door.

Armed with a small paring knife you’d found in the old kitchen you crept to the door, peaking out the small window to check who it was.

Quickly you unlocked the door, throwing it open and pulling Sam inside, “Holy shit Sam you had me so worried!”

He grunted, moving to sit at the table you had turned upright, as you locked the door again.

“Are you hurt at all?”

He shook his head, “Just tired, I came the long way, to make sure no one was following. Are you alright?”

You sighed with relief, “I’ll be okay, long as your here.”

Sam smiled, “I’ll be here through thick and thin.”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #awesamdude x reader #teddy06 #teddy06 writes

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booksarelife-stuff · 3 years

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Godric’s Hollow’s 286th Annual Lawn Competition

My entry for the August Jily Challenge! @jilychallenge

Prompt: my mother hired you to mow the lawn but can you put your shirt back on its distracting me, and omg stOP grinning at me like that I’m swooning (I did not follow this at all)

Between adjusting to her new town and the hot rude neighbor, Lily is determined to prove herself in Godric’s Hollow by winning their annual lawn competition. Featuring both shirtless Lily and James.

My partner was the amazing @joyseuphoria, whose creativity and ideas really helped me write this fic! She came up with so many fun ideas and was a great partner!

Word Count: 5,075

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

When Lily opened the door to her small cottage to the outside, she took in the fresh air.

Godric’s Hollow was so different from her and Marlene’s old apartment back in London. She could open her door and find a bright blue sky and fresh air instead of the stale smell that the hallway had reeked of. It was a nice and welcomed change.

She pulled the door behind her, taking a second to lock the door. Just as she turned to walk down her small concrete path to the sidewalk, she heard a sudden exclamation.

She whipped her head around just as the words “Dibs!” left the tall man standing on his own walkway right by some overgrown bushes.

He was looking right at her. There was no mistaking what or who was talking about. His eyes widened dramatically as Lily met his eyes. The man’s friend in front of him doubled over with laughter.

“Did you just call ‘dibs’ on me?” she asked, anger coloring her voice.

“No…” The man said, his tone culpable. His friend shook his head, still holding back laughs. “Well okay, yes, but not in the way you’re thinking!”

Lily didn’t want to hear whatever half-assed explanation the man was going to stammer out to her. She just rolled her eyes and continued on her way to the sidewalk, not paying attention to whatever the man was saying to her.

As Lily stomped her way to her first day at her new job, she hoped she would lose the bad attitude and that man was not her neighbor.

But of course, Lily’s hope meant nothing.

That very night, there was a knock on her door shortly after she just got back from work. Lily groaned slightly, pulling herself off her couch and navigated through the maze of boxes she still hadn’t unpacked.

She stubbed her toe on her entryway table and was holding back curses as she opened the door to see four men standing on her stoop. One of which was the man from the morning.

“Hello,” the shortest man said, smiling. He was pale blonde and seemed to have not lost the baby fat on his face even though he had to be at least Lily’s age. “We’re your neighbors and we wanted to introduce ourselves after the little mishap this morning.”

Lily’s eyebrows shot up.

“And we want to know what to call you besides Dibs,” the man with shoulder-length wavy black hair said. He had a smirk on his lips that Lily knew just meant trouble. The dibs man, who was trying to hide in the back besides being one the tallest, smacked him lightly on the head.

“What Sirius meant to say is that we want to welcome you to the neighborhood. I’m Remus,” the tallest of the group with a light white scar across his face. “This is Sirius. Peter’s over to the right. And the one who called dibs is James.”

James groaned. “You guys said you weren’t going to do this to me!”

“And you trusted us?” the blonde, Peter said, innocently.

“The last time that I do,” James said, glaring at Peter. Sirius rolled his eyes and Remus’s smile didn’t waver.

“Are you guys just going to bicker on my doorstep?” Lily asked, leaning in the door jam, her arms crossed. Three pairs of eyes flickered back to her, James looking at the ground.

“No, sorry. We really are here to make introductions,” Peter said, smiling.

Lily assessed the men for a second. Her eyes stopped for a moment on James. She took in the large square frames and his curly hair. She moved on when she realized that she had spent a moment too long on him.

She took a deep breath and made her millionth introduction for the day.

“I’m Lily,” she said.

“Well, it was nice to meet you. If you ever need anything, just call ‘Dibs’ really loudly and James will come running,” Sirius said, his smile seemingly sincere.

“Man, fuck you guys. I’m getting new flatmates!” James said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

The ribbing on their mate brought a smile to her face, but the man was far from forgiven.

~~~

Lily wondered if her own small town had oddities like Godric’s Hollow. From the people to some of the town events, there seemed to be something that broke her brain a little bit.

Like Bathilda, the sweet old woman who came into the library where Lily worked every day.

Bathilda would come in, walking faster than Lily did, but with a walker, to where the new movies were placed. Ever since Bathilda found out Lily wasn’t from Godric’s Hollow, Bathilda would tell Lily all the town history she knew. From claiming there was magic or a coven of witches here to what the last mayor did to get impeached, Bathilda told Lily all of it.

Like a true customer service worker, Lily just smiled and nodded. She enjoyed Bathilda’s stories but she didn’t really believe them.

“Ah, it’s summer!” Bathilda said, giving Lily a bright smile, a stack of movies balancing on her walker as she approached the circulation desk. “The lawn competition should be starting soon.”

“Lawn competition?” Lily asked, reaching forward and grabbing the movies when they were in reach.

“Aye,” Bathilda said, her white hair that was in a bun moving as she nodded her head. “It started right after they burned all the witches here. To bring back nature to the area.”

Lily just nodded, not knowing what else to say to Bathilda.

“You best be planning for it. Some folks here take it really seriously,” Bathilda warned.

Based on everything Lily knew about the population here, a lawn competition is exactly something the people would take seriously.

Lily didn’t think much of the lawn competition until she got home and saw a colorful flyer on her doorstep with her newspaper.

Godric’s Hollow’s 286th Annual Lawn Competition- Bringing native plants and beauty back to the Hollow.

Lily frowned as she inspected the poster. She needed to pay closer attention to Bathilda’s stories.

She heard the jingle of keys coming from the boy’s house and she looked to see if it was Remus.

Unfortunately, it was James leaving. He had his running clothes on, shorts, and a fitted t-shirt. He had a sweatband holding back his bangs.

She had come to like her neighbors in the month of her being in Godric’s Hollow. She was particularly fond of Remus, but being fond of him meant that a fondness had grown for the others as well, even with their stupid nicknames for each other.

Lily was even fond of James too. Just a little bit. The dibs incident wasn’t forgotten and though he apologized, he never fully explained what it was really about.

He was better with his friends, in Lily’s eyes. With his friends, he was goofy and outgoing. He could make the whole group laugh to tears. But whenever he and Lily interacted alone, it was painfully awkward and he almost always managed to insult Lily in some way.

She sighed and called out anyway just as James was putting his headphones on.

“Hey, James!” she yelled. James jumped and turned, pulling a bud out.

“Hello, Lily,” he said, politely. “Need something?”

She waved the flyer and James' eyes followed it, trying to see what it was. Even with his glasses, he was still blind as a bat.

“What’s this all about?”

“The lawn competition?” he asked, walking across his small yard to the waist-high fence that separated their land.

“So it’s a real thing?” she asked, frowning. James nodded as he leaned against the fence.

“The old tale here is that it started after the last witches were burned,” James said. Lily blinked at him in disbelief, but James looked as neutral as ever, so she decided to just move on.

“What do you do for it? Water your grass or something?” Lily asked. James let out a breath of air like a silent laugh.

“No. It’s all about bringing plants native to the area back. And in the last decade or so, it’s kinda turned into a competition of who can do the most ridiculous things.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Ridiculous things like what?”

James looked amused, his hazel eyes sparkling. “I think the winner last year made some constellations out of corncockles.”

This town was crazy. Grade A, certified crazy.

“It’s optional though. You don’t have to participate,” James continued. “People here spend years planting to just win one year. You’ll have some stiff competition.”

Lily felt the flare of anger at his words. “So you don’t think I can win?” she asked, crossing her arms and crushing the flyer. Lily knew she was being a bit competitive, but everything to do with James set her on edge.

James seemed to have picked up on Lily’s temper flaring. He stopped leaning the fence and straightened up.

“I didn’t say that. I just said some people spend years planning to win,” James reiterated.

Lily narrowed her eyes.

“Well, I’m going to win,” Lily said. James huffed.

“Good luck with that,” James said, turning away and popping a headphone into his ear.

Lily let out a noise. “I’d like to see you win with those overgrown hedges!”

James turned around and smiled brightly. “Those are for the competition!”

Lily stared at his back as he started off in a jog down the street. Once he was out of view, she took a survey of her yard.

There wasn’t much. Just grass and a small tree. She looked back to the boy’s yard and it did look like it had a lot more potential than Lily’s. Greener grass, some shrubbery, and window boxes that have yet to be filled.

Lily headed up to her front door, determined to spend the night researching plants and grass. And why witches getting accused and burned would start a lawn competition.

~~~

There was a plant nursery in Godric’s Hollow. There was no website, no place for her to browse the catalog before making any purchases. Just a Facebook page that got updated once a month with grainy pictures.

It was better than Lily expected when she finally dragged herself there after work. There were a few people browsing, one man had a large cart filled with pallets of various plants. Like a lot. Lily wondered if he was the corncockle constellations guy.

Google only took Lily so far with her research, so she looked in the gardening section at the library and had found out that someone had written a book about native plants, specific to the region; The Southern England Guide to Native Plants and Shrubs by Euphemia Potter. She had that open in her hand as she walked around the nursery.

She did a quick walk around, trying to identify what plants were in the book. Most of them she could find, but based on the care instructions, her yard wouldn’t be good for them.

She paused in front of a plant labeled “Pitcher Plant”. It looked weird, but she supposed it would do. She was flipping through the book, trying to find out what the care instructions were when she felt someone beside her.

“Don’t use that plant,” James said, making Lily jump. She glared at him as she rightened herself.

“And why is that?” she asked.

“It’ll discount you from the competition,” he said, touching one of the stems. “It’s an invasive species.”

Lily tore her eyes away from James, back to the plant.

“This plant also eats insects,” he pointed out. “Bad for the bees.”

“Oh,” Lily breathed. “Yeah, I don’t want that.”

She closed the book and sighed, and looked back at James to see him staring at the book in her hands.

“Nice book,” he said with a small smile. She looked back down to it and made the connection.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Euphemia, would you?” she asked, her eyes trailing the Potter after Euphemia on the book cover.

“I knew her very well,” James said, his eyes turning soft for a quick second. “I think there’s a section in there, around page 203. Most of those plants work with our yard type.”

Despite the sincerity in his voice, her eyes narrowed. She took in his lanky form and his hair that was getting frizzier by the second thanks to the humidity.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, crossing her arms. James laughed and ran a hand through his hair, making some curls stick straight up.

“I just don’t want you to start an invasive plant plague here,” he said, smirking. “It would ruin my lawn too.”

“I wasn’t going to use it if it wasn't in the book!” she pointed out. James gave her a look and Lily rolled her eyes. “I’m not some saboteur!”

“Yeah, I didn’t peg for the type,” he said, frowning. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“Your nice is rather pointed and mean if you haven’t noticed.”

James just let out a laugh. “Only to you, Evans.”

~~~

The sun was hot and beating down on Lily’s shoulders as she was on her knees, squinting at a piece of paper that was just getting dirty as she tried to dig the appropriate depth for the honeysuckle bushes she bought.

She still had no idea what she was doing with her lawn, but she figured she could just add in some plants to spaces anyway to liven up her yard.

It was kind of relaxing, she had come to realize. All the research aside; she was able to just dig and place a pretty thing down in her yard. Tomorrow she could look out the window and admire her work.

And it was something to preoccupy her time. Normally, her weekends had been full of just sitting on the couch, reading, or watching something on the television. Boredom would creep in usually, or the overwhelming feeling of missing her friends.

But so far, gardening had kept her preoccupied. She didn’t feel that same loneliness creep in as she neared the two-hour mark of her being out there.

She also talked to Remus a bit, telling him about the newest book she read. She shared a wave with Sirius as he hopped onto his obnoxiously loud motorbike.

It wasn’t until her fourth honeysuckle was in the ground, that she looked up at the sound of humming and instantly regretted that decision.

There was James, headphones in his ears and humming away. He had an assortment of his gardening tools with him and tons of flowers all spread out in plastic containers along their walkway.

But what made Lily regret her life was the fact that he was shirtless.

It wasn’t a secret that James was the most attractive out of the bunch at his house, though Sirius did give him a run for his money. With his curly hair, infectious smile, and his ability to make everyone laugh. You could look over his lanky limbs and knobby knees. Marlene, after she had come to visit one weekend, had even made Lily admit that if it wasn’t for the whole “dibs” business, she would have probably fancied him.

It was true, but it was rude of Marlene to point out.

He wasn’t buff or had any defined abs by any stretch, but Lily thought he was still well sculpted. His arms looked nice too, as she watched him unspool the garden hose.

She tore her eyes away and tried to focus on her honeysuckle.

Lily stole a few more glances but overall was dedicated to her honeysuckle plant.

Just as she patted the last of her dirt down around the roots, she suddenly felt the blast of cold water rush down her head.

She let out a yelp and quickly raised to her feet as the blast continued to drown her newly planted honeysuckles. In the field of her vision, she saw James scrambling with the other end, trying to pull it towards him and out of where Lily was in the line of fire.

It sprayed her one more time before James finally got it to stop. He ran over, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“Lily, I’m so sorry. I forgot the handle is stuck on the nozzle and I didn’t know you were over there,” he said.

Lily sighed deeply as she pulled her t-shirt that was sticking to her skin away from her body, the fabric heavy.

“It’s fine,” Lily said in a defeated tone. “Why was your hose over here anyway?”

“I was making sure there were no tangles before I watered the hedges,” James said.

Lily barely registered his words and she pulled her shirt off, not wanting to deal with the heaviness on her while she tried to garden. She threw her wet shirt on the ground next to her, leaving her only in her black sports bra. She looked up, running both hands through her shoulder-length hair to stop it from sticking to her face.

James was rooted to his spot on the other side of the fence. His gaze locked onto her face. It was only then that Lily realized she had just casually thrown her shirt off in front of him.

“It was an accident,” she said. “You didn’t point the hose at me with intention, unlike the dibs. At least you watered my honeysuckles for me.”

James let out a laugh that could be mistaken for a sigh of relief.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still sorry. For this and the dibs incident.”

She laughed. “I think you’re going to have to apologize for that as long as we’re neighbors.”

He smiled, amused, and nodded his head. “Yeah, I’m never living that down. Doesn’t matter that it wasn’t actually what I was doing.”

Lily tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What were you actually doing?”

“The truth is only slightly less good,” he admitted, his smile falling a bit. “I—Well, no we—No, I. I noticed you when you were moving in and I did make a comment—” Lily’s eyebrows raised. “—A respectful comment!”

“What’s a respectful comment?” she interrupted.

“I said ‘I think our new neighbor is beautiful’,” James said, a hand coming to the back of his neck. “That’s respectful, right?”

Lily’s heart decided to skip a beat and she felt a blush start to rise on her cheeks. She played it off with an eye roll.

“Anyway, we happened to be leaving at the same time and Sirius turned to me and told me to make a move ‘before someone else did’, were his exact words…” James said, making a face. “And then I said ‘What do you want me to do? Point at her and call ‘Dibs’?’”

Lily started laughing. “So all I heard was ‘dibs’.”

“Yeah… I probably shouldn’t have yelled it for emphasis,” he said.

She shook her head. Her opinion of him changed slightly, but not enough to be okay with the way her heart was racing as she looked at his shirtless form again.

~~~

The summer seemed to breeze past. Lily spent almost every moment of her free time working outside after she had formed her plan for her entry to the lawn competition.

There were a lot of times where James was outside too and they would talk sometimes. Most ribbing each other like petty housewives about the state of their various lawns. It brought a smile to her face more than she would like to admit.

They had some nice normal discussion too. Lily had walked to the fence, holding the library’s copy of The Southern England Guide to Native Plants and Shrubs by Euphemia Potter. She wanted to ask James a question about one of the ivy species that was mentioned.

He had gotten that same soft smile on his face when he saw the book and Lily had to ask again.

“Did you know the author?” she asked, looking into his hazel eyes.

He nodded. “My mum. She was a botanist. She came to Godric’s Hollow to observe how the competition was helping with local pollinating numbers. Met my dad, that year’s winner, and ended up staying.”

“That is so sweet!” Lily said, smiling a little before it fell. “Are your parents still around?”

He shook his head. “Dad passed away during my first year of uni. Mum passed away last November.”

“My dad passed away in sixth year,” she said. “It gets better, but it still hurts.”

They continued on, both talking a little more but still refusing to disclose what they were doing for the competition, even though Lily’s was a little more obvious with every passing day. James seemed to just be doing normal landscaping, besides his overgrown hedges.

Lily began to notice a lot of things about James. Besides his tendency to speak without thinking, his heart is always in the right place. It caught Lily off-guard most times.

Something shifted in her over the weeks as they worked on the lawns.

It was two days before the competition when Lily got home to see James outside, hedge clippers by his feet as he examined his four very tall and overgrown bushes.

“I hope you’re not planning to win with those,” Lily called.

James smirked over to Lily. “Just wait until I give them a trim.”

“Nicely trimmed hedges aren’t going to beat my lawn.”

James looked at the monstrosity of Lily’s yard. There were lines of primrose flowers snaking through her front lawn and turning to the back.

Lily had spent back-breaking hours and an embarrassing amount of money to make a maze of her yard. It wasn’t like a true maze, you could see every aisle because the primroses didn’t get very tall, but it was the end that really made it worth it.

Lily had converted her small back patio to a fairy garden. She used hanging planters, climbing ivy, and lights to really make it special.

James hadn’t seen it yet. She was going to show him once she had won the competition.

It wasn’t until the morning of the judging that Lily saw that she actually had competition.

Standing proud at the edge of his lawn were four perfectly cut hedges in the shape of a deer, a dog, a wolf, and a large rat.

Lily stood in awe by her window as James was taking small scissors and cutting more details and cleaning up lines.

She opened up her front door and walked to her fence. James turned and met her with a smirk.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said. “I watched a million Youtube videos.”

Lily brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she inspected the hedges behind me. “What’s the inspiration?”

“Have you heard Sirius call me Prongs?” James asked.

Lily had heard their stupid nicknames in passing. She thought Peter was the worst but all of them were stupid.

“Your stupid nicknames, yeah.”

“So I’m Prongs, Sirius is Padfoot, Remus is Moony, and Peter is Wormtail,” he said. Then made a sweeping gesture back to the hedges.

She blinked in confusion as she looked back at the hedges.

“I’m a little lost,” she admitted.

James sighed. “So, I’m Prongs because Peter once told me the way my hair stands up looks like antlers. Sirius is Padfoot because he is the king of sneaking around. Remus is Moony because he exclusively wore those weird shirts that have wolves howling at the moon when we were 12.”

Lily let out a loud laugh, picturing a small Remus in those kinds of shirts.

“Peter?” she asked in-between laughs.

“We were sworn to secrecy for that story,” he said. “He would actually murder me if I said it.”

Lily laughed and James joined in.

The judging wasn’t until the afternoon, so Lily did some last-minute weeding and watering. She made sure the lights in the secret fairy garden still worked and made sure there were no dead leaves insight.

James was standing on his lawn, talking to two of the most oddly dressed people Lily had ever seen.

The woman was dressed in what Lily could only think of as a robe. It was a bright blue, with belled sleeves. The man was in similar clothes, but a blinding yellow with a long white beard. They both had hats that looked like top hats, only decorated with flowers. They also had clipboards in hand.

Yet another town oddity that Lily would just have to brush off.

James caught sight of Lily and waved her over.

“This is another competitor. She just moved here about three months ago,” James told them as she neared.

“Hello, I’m Lily,” she said upon arrival.

“I’m Albus Dumbledore,” the man with a smile and twinkle in his eye.

“I’m Minerva,” the woman said.

Lily shook both of their hands.

“We’ve been judging this competition for, what? Forty years, now Minerva?” Albus said as Lily raised her eyebrows, impressed.

The woman pinched her lips and nodded. “Twice as long as these two have been alive.”

Lily, James, and Albus laughed. “Pleasantries aside, let’s get to judging.”

James and Lily stayed behind as they went and started looking at James’s hedges, inspecting it with great detail.

“Still using those silly nicknames?” Minerva called, as she began writing down on her clipboard.

“Of course,” James answered. “I would have put a mouse for you, Minnie, but we ran out of room.”

Lily nudged him as Minnie shot him a glare. “Unwise to insult the judges, James Fleamont.”

James frowned and Lily laughed. “Fleamont?” Lily asked.

“That was my father’s name,” James replied. “And I got stuck with it as a middle name.”

“I take it you know Minerva pretty well if she’s using your middle name?” Lily questioned.

“Yeah, she was one of my mum’s best friends,” James sighed. “And before you think that means I have some kind of advantage, don’t. She’s going to judge mine ten times harder.”

It took about ten minutes before Minerva started snapping pictures and Albus stopped writing on his clipboard.

“I think we’re ready to move on,” Albus said smiling.

They came around the gate and Lily looked at them to the entrance of her lawn maze. James hopped the fence to join them and Lily laughed as she heard Minerva call him a showoff under her breath.

“This is a maze made entirely out of primroses,” Lily said before stepping away from the entrance. “See if you can get to the end.”

“Normally, it’s customary not to be able to see all the different paths,” Minerva pointed out, looking across the tops of all the lines of flowers she had made.

“Ah, but most can still get lost with directions in front of them,” Albus said, wisely. “Let’s see if we can win, Minerva.”

They started off, Albus in the lead, who turned left towards the dead end. Minerva tapped him and made him go in the right direction, following her lead.

Lily stayed by the entrance with James. He turned his back after a few seconds.

“I want to do it by myself later,” he said.

It took them about ten minutes before Lily saw them take the path that led them back to the secret fairy garden. She smirked at James when she heard Minerva’s surprised gasp and Albus’s appreciative chuckle.

It took another ten minutes to take notes and pictures of it before they were saying their goodbyes.

They were down the lane before James turned to Lily.

“I’m doing the maze now,” he said, his eyes shining with amusement.

Lily wandered behind him, laughing as he took the wrong turn that led him to exit that made him start all over.

But eventually, he got it. And suddenly it was just her and James on her back patio, surrounded by ivy and twinkling lights. She even found a used metal patio furniture set that she placed. It smelled good too, from the extra honeysuckle she placed back there.

“Pretty nice, Evans,” James said, looking around. “And really good for your first year.”

Lily’s stomach swooped with praise. “Thank you,” she replied. “Your hedges are pretty nice too.”

It was shady in her garden area, so she invited James to sit until they announced the winner.

James told her the story about how he ruined his family’s competition entry by squishing a whole patch of Lily of the Valley’s because he thought they would be comfortable. Lily told him that her sister’s name was Petunia and that her mother was Violet.

The hours flew by as they sat there and talked. Around six is when a moment of bravery came to Lily.

“Want to go get dinner?” she asked him.

A bright smile appeared on James’s face. “Like, just the two of us?”

“Yeah, just the two of us.”

“I’d love that,” James said, a hand coming up and raking through his hair.

They stood up and were about to leave when James’s phone pinged. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked down before gasping.

“It’s Minnie!” he exclaimed.

“With the results?” Lily asked, taking a step forward and invading James’s space.

He didn’t seem to mind. “Yep… it looks like… Oh! I'm the runner up!”

“Who won?” she asked, frowning.

James unlocked his phone and pocketed it. He looked at Lily with a soft smile. “Lily’s Maze and Enchanted Garden.”

“Really?” she asked, stepping closer. James nodded and their eyes locked.

In the heat of the moment, Lily stood on tip-toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

Lily could have sworn that the world had slowed its rotation for a minute as pulled away and their eyes met again. It definitely stopped when James cupped her jaw and pulled her in for a real kiss.

They both were smiling when James pulled away. She didn’t know how long they stared at each, smiling like loons until she found her voice again.

“So, uh… Dinner?” she asked. James let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, dinner.”

They just entered the maze again when Lily stopped and turned around. She got close to him again and he smiled, thinking she was going to kiss him again.

Instead, she put a finger to his chest.

“Dibs.”

#jily #James Potter #Lily Evans #Lily Evans Potter #James Potter/Lily Evans #jily challenge #august jily challenge #hp #marauders #lawn competitions #jily fic #jily fanfic #Harry Potter fanfic #Marauders era #James x Lily #jilychallenge

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sumsebien · 3 years

Text

by design pt. 3// Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: friedrich and y/n’s arrival in prussia! ft. frederica ;))

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none

a/n: apologies for the long wait darlings. here she is though. and she is a long one. also a side note for those who love symbolism as much as i do 💐 ;) also, my banabaer @milkbaer this one is for u baby. thank you for all of your help!!!

a german lesson: Gänschen means goose🦆 (that’s a duck but we can pretend) and schloss means palace/chateau/mansion

The massive railway station stood proudly as the gateway to Potsdam, located right where the forest met the city. Three archways made of worn bricks welcomed old friends and strangers alike. There was something in the slightly tinted mossy green that offered you an odd sense of home. Like you had been here before.

Friedrich stood next to you near the exit. You had had breakfast together, then got ready separately before meeting each other again here.

“I had a lot of memories with this train station,” Friedrich said as the train finally passed the great archway.

You didn’t realize that you had been holding your breath the entire time, waiting for the wheels to come to full stop. You had been storing information from Lea and Ilse about Friedrich’s mother all morning. Anything that might help you strike up a decent conversation with her from her favorite flowers (gardenias) to her pets (a schnauzer named Fifi). Since then, you had been a little preoccupied by your own imaginations of her as a mother.

From the way Friedrich talked about her, your first guess was that they were extremely like-minded. Aside from that, there was the fact that she was a Queen to consider. She obviously must be extremely elegant and poised. Even her dog sounded posh-Fifi the Schnauzer...

You were still listening to Friedrich though, just not closely. “Really?” you asked, your eyes following the platform numbers as they passed by.

He nodded proudly. “I ran here from the Palace and caught the train to Berlin for a boxing match.”

You laughed, now entirely engaged in imagining little Friedrich fleeing from his guards. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen. I skipped a dancing lesson.”

“Shame. You could have become a ballerina and outdone my stunts at your Christmas party.”

“Who’s to say that I did not? There are still many shocking things that you don’t know.” His plan to distract you from your own nerves had worked wonderfully well. You two continued to discuss his boxing match up until you were escorted out of the station.

There, you were greeted by a great spectacle of carriages and a horse parade. Everywhere you looked there were men in uniforms. They were on horses, in open top carriages, on the streets, all waiting for you and Friedrich.

Back in London, your family frequently had two to three carriages to accompany you to social functions. It was already considered excessive for the ton. You would have laughed at the idea of this. Or to be honest, wouldn’t have even been able to imagine having an entire parade to accompany you a couple of blocks down the street.

And of course, you could not forget the icing on the cake-the largest carriage you had ever seen. The one you saw in France could not compare and certainly not the one in England. This one was completely enveloped in gold from top to toe-or rather from roof to wheels. On the top of the roof, there were golden cherubs holding up an olive branch and flowers.

It was a harsh reminder that Friedrich, someone who you had grown to identify as your friend over the last several hours, was also the firstborn son of the King, heir apparent to the throne. And you were his wife. Whatever agreement you had made with each other in private was not valid in the public eye. Here, you were a Princess. The Princess.

As Friedrich watched you marvel in the magnificence of the royal parade, he turned to Heinrich with a last minute decision. Well last minute for his father and valet but not for him. Friedrich had wanted to visit his mother for ages.

“I’m heading to my mother’s. We’ll catch up with the staff afterwards and meet you at the Berlin Palace.”

All of this was not on the schedule his father had drawn out and Friedrich was well-aware. He had even cancelled the state train that Friedrich specifically ordered to Potsdam just to make sure he would not take you here first. But Friedrich was not one to lose.

At the same time, however, he knew that his valet was absolutely terrified of his father, as did most people. Soon enough, when his father found out that his son was not on the train to Berlin and was nowhere near the Royal Palace, he would definitely not be happy.

“But your Highness, we really must get going now or we won’t reach Berlin by noon.”

“If he asks, just blame it on me. I’ll be in and out in one hour.”

Heinrich didn’t say anything after that, just nodded. For that, Friedrich was thankful, he did not want to ruin this magical moment for you. It was not going to be this magical for long.

As Heinrich left with your staff, Friedrich turned back to you. “Y/N?”

“I-Is this for us?”

The look on your face made him laugh. Your jaws were grazing the floors, your eyes slowly sweeping across the scene then glanced at him and back to the carriages again.

“I believe it is,” he smiled, offering you his arm.

…

The entire ride back to the Palace was essentially just for you to fathom the welcome wagon.

You could barely string a sentence together, nodding along as Friedrich picked out places that he mentioned in his stories last night, especially enthusiastic about the candy shop he was never allowed to go in.

Potsdam was charming. You could certainly imagine a very fulfilling and peaceful existence here where it wasn't hectic like London but not entirely placid like the countryside.

Just when you thought you could not be more impressed, you arrived at Sanssouci Park.

When Ilse briefly mentioned it, you had expected a park. Like Hyde Park or Regent’s Park or the little garden behind your house that your parents insisted was a park. Whatever you had imagined, however, could not hold a candle to what it was in reality.

“Welcome to Sanssouci Park,” Friedrich said casually, casting a brief look out the windows while your eyes were completely glued to the towering gates opening up for your parade to pass through.

The name was not meant to refer to a park. It was definitely not a park. It was a bloody forest. As you entered the road lined with dense trees, the temperature dropped slightly with the shade, effectively cooling you both from the outside in.

“This is what you call a park? Whatever do you two think of Hyde Park then? A child’s sandbox?”

Before he could answer, your attention was quickly captured by a glimpse of something magnificent as the carriage passed a gap between the tree trunks. You pointed towards the dash of yellow you’d seen. “Is that where your mother lives?”

Friedrich followed your gaze and promptly nodded. “That’s Sanssouci Schloss. Here is the back of it.” Just on cue, the carriage rounded the corner and headed towards the back of the Palace.

Your jaws were officially off now as your eyes feasted on the very picture of splendor.

From personal observations, people usually spent a great deal of time and fortune on making the fronts of their homes as extravagant as possible. It was all in the face, as they said. But not here. Here, even the rear side was grand.

There was a huge water fountain in the middle of the yard, the blue sky printed on the surface. Naturally, your eyes followed straight ahead, past the window behind Friedrich’s head towards the most elaborate set of marble stairs you’d ever seen. On either side were tall walls of hedges and rose bushes that covered the hillside.

“Can we walk up those steps?”

Friedrich turned to look at the steps and then back at you again.

It was not a steep hill. More of a gentle slope but exactly because of that, the steps were long and the landings were wide. Anyone in breeches would find it challenging enough as it was. But you were in a gown, in the sweltering July heat and you were volunteering to walk. “You can. People usually go straight to the entrance though. Are you certain you’d want to walk? It is a long way.”

You nodded, brushing off his concerns. All you cared about was the sight.

Per your request, the carriage stopped right before the grand stairs to Sanssouci Palace. You and Friedrich got out of the carriage.

From where you stood, you had to crane your neck up slightly to be able to see the Palace up the top. The strip of yellow you’d seen from afar turned out to be much more intricate than you’d expected. Beautiful white windows lined the yellow walls, right in the center was an oval shaped room with a cyan dome on top, perfectly aligned with the stairs. Even though it only had one story, its width certainly made up for its height, stretching across the hill.

As you walked ahead, Friedrich decided to stall a little bit. Memories of endless summer days spent on these lawns came flooding back.

He had missed this.

The last time he was here was the summer before he left for England. It was actually here that his aunt Charlotte came to visit with an invitation to Cambridge-the day that changed his life.

And now he was here with you. Someone he had dreaded to marry a mere few days before. Now a dear friend to him.

Straight in front of him, you were marching up the steps with admirable determination, your hands holding onto your skirt, lifting it off the ground. With sun on your skin and wind in your hair, you laughed and told him to hurry up. For that split second, he wished he was not just your friend. Though he discarded that thought as quickly as it came, it stayed stuck in the back of his mind as he matched your pace.

“These are a lot of steps,” you remarked after the first flight of stairs was behind you. There were at least five more ahead. The excessively wide spaces between each step did not help with the general morale either.

“I did warn you,” he chuckled. “It was too exhausting a trip that Marie Antoinette rode a horse up these steps after her stroll in the garden.”

You paused for a moment.

Friedrich thought you were imagining the French queen trotting up the steps with her stallion. But as it turned out, he was wrong.

“Did he invite her over during one of the military clashes between Prussia and France?”

To say that Friedrich did not expect that was an understatement. You had told him you read but he never asked for the specifics on what exactly you were interested in. At that moment, he simply thought you’d be interested in a made-up tale to forget about the stairs. He did not think for a moment you’d be interested in foreign conflicts enough to know the feud between Prussia and France. He knew he certainly wasn’t as a student.

“You can’t fool me. I know,” you said, laughing at the shock on his face.

Pleasantly impressed, he remarked, “Full of surprises I see.”

“You’ll see that in this friendship,” you motioned between yourselves, “you’re not the only one who can shock.”

He gave you a nod, lowering his eyes and watched his steps before he murmured to himself. “Friendship, yes.” He reminded himself of how grateful he was to be your friend. And that maybe pining over you for the rest of his life was better than having you hate him.

If there was one thing for certain, it was that you two would not repeat his parents’ mistakes.

“Darling!”

The voice caused Friedrich’s eyes to snap upwards, slightly alarmed as they weren’t expected on this side of the Palace. Everyone was supposed to be at the front.

The first thing he saw was that you had stopped as well, only standing two steps above him. And then, on the top flight, he saw his mother, waving at him. She wasn’t supposed to greet them outside. At the same time though, he wouldn’t expect her to wait that long for anything anyways.

He waved back with a laugh. She hadn’t changed one bit since the last time he saw her nearly a year ago. A straw sunhat on top of her head, a basket of flower and gardening tools in her hand.

“I-is that-“

Friedrich nodded. “Yes, that’s her. That’s my Mama.”

The nervous jitters came back to you. You knew how much his mother meant to him. She was the true hero of his childhood and you were just excited to meet her. However, you also knew that in no way was this arrangement made by her. And no matter how friendly you were with Friedrich, as his mother, she would not easily trust you.

You quickly masked your nervousness with a gentle smile. It was the safest route after all. Better look like a smiley fool than a grumpy idiot. You thought.

The Queen began to walk down the steps briskly, meeting you halfway up the last flight of stairs. Immediately, she threw her arms around Friedrich, pulling him into a bear hug. “There you are, you Gänschen! You’ve kept your mother waiting long enough!” She said, messing up his hair and only letting go of him once he was shaking with laughter.

When he and your maids said she was very carefree in private, you did not expect her to be this carefree. A lady was not supposed to be out in the sun like this, no less a queen. She was also much more beautiful than you could ever imagine, with her honey blonde curls tumbling down her back in waves and her big blue eyes which were now on you.

“Apologies, Mama,” he stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward. “This is Y/N, my wife. And Y/N, this is my Mama.”

“It is such an honor to meet you, your Majesty,” you said, bending your knees into a curtsy, praying you wouldn’t stumble backwards and ruin the first impression.

You had an overwhelming want for her to like you. And you felt like this first meeting was of paramount importance in deciding that. If it did not go well, she would never see you as anything more than a girl her son was forced to marry. And that was terrifying even in the case where Friedrich remained a good friend.

You were not wrong. Frederica did not expect much from a match made by Louis, a man who clearly did not know his own son or even cared to try. Assuming he did know his son, it would not even be of any matter at all. The only thing he had ever cared about was grooming an heir. This arrangement, no doubt, served that.

But Frederica could not ignore the large smile on her son’s face as he ascended the steps with this young lady.

That? That was not by design.

Frederica shook her head and offered you her hand to help you stand up straight. “I prefer Frederica. At least when we are not in court.”

She gave you a cheeky wink and plucked a gardenia from her basket, tucking it by your ear. “Come on now! I am sure it has been a long trip for the both of you. Let us have some tea before you go.”

...

Frederica led the both of you into the Palace through the doors into the oval room. Inside it was just as spectacular as its exterior. Tall columns held up the painted dome where a chandelier was hung. The three arched windows looking out to the gardens were pushed open by three footmen, allowing sunlight and fresh air to gush into the space, lightening up the entire room.

“Please have a seat, dears,” Frederica said, gesturing to the rounded table in the middle of the room.

You were still too in awe to be able to settle down calmly in your seat but obeyed her anyways. Beside you, Friedrich was glancing around the room, like he was in search of something.

“Is Fifi not here?” he asked as a butler approached the table with a cake stand.

Just on cue, Fifi-his mother’s Schnauzer, shot through the doors. You nearly gasped out of sheer excitement when you saw the ball of salt and pepper fur fly into the room like an arrow. You had always shared a fondness for dogs. Yet you never had one. The only dogs you had were your father’s hunting hounds and he made sure you remained far away from them.

“Speak of the devil...” Friedrich turned to you, “this is Fifi, hated by most but very loved by my mother. Mostly because she smells like fish.”

He kept his eyes on the dog as she strolled around, heading in your direction and getting alarmingly close. “Fifi!” he said, shooing her off. The dog didn’t care, just kept on going forward.

“Oh, it’s quite alright! I love dogs,” you said, fighting the urge to pet Fifi who was quietly sniffing at the hem of your skirt.

Frederica was absolutely surprised when she saw her Schnauzer so quiet. Her dog was not friendly with strangers. By this time there should have been an accident.

The delayed accident happened right after that. Fifi bit down on your dress, tugging at it playfully.

More surprising, however, you didn’t seem scared of the feisty little old thing either. You just laughed.

“Fifi! Leave the poor girl alone!” Frederica said, tapping her shoes against the floor.

Friedrich quickly leaned forward and picked her up. Being lifted off the ground, she released your skirt and focused on wiggling out of Friedrich’s grasps instead. When she eventually succeeded, Fifi headed back to you, circling your feet, her tail wagging.

Friedrich clicked his tongue, about to bend over again to shoo Fifi off. Not that she would care. But the dog plopped down between your chair and his mother’s, out of Friedrich’s reach.

She looked up at you with big eyes, begging for a pet, which you were happy to provide. You reached down and scratched her ears. It was all rather brave, if he must admit.

“I know it is hard to believe but she seems fond of you,” Frederica mused, seeing Fifi transform into a whole other dog under your touch. She was not usually this sweet.

Friedrich scoffed. “The devil almost ripped her skirt off,” he gestured to the hem of your dress, and glared at Fifi.

“It’s fine, honestly. I think it was a compliment if anything,” you said with a smile.

He sighed. “Don’t defend the perpetrator! She has a terrible temperament. And you know it,” he turned to his mother.

“Fifi does. as much as I love her,” Frederica nodded. Fifi’s ears perked up at the mention of her name, blinking at her owner. “But you seem like a very experienced animal whisperer.”

“No, actually. I never had one.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You’re great with Fifi. And if you can handle her, you can handle any dog.”

“Any dog is better than Fifi,” Friedrich said under his breath. Nevertheless, he was glad to see the two of you bond. Even if it was over Fifi the Ferocious.

On the bright side, at least she wasn’t coming back with them to Berlin. It was the only thing Friedrich and his father had ever had in common-a dislike for the Schnauzer.

...

Heinrich was being escorted into the Palace towards the audience room. A place he would much prefer not to go to on his own. He had arrived for over an hour and still you two were nowhere to be found and it was only for so long he could hide the train of carriages. Eventually, one of the butlers alerted the King of his presence and he was immediately requested inside.

Heinrich had suspected that you would arrive slightly late. He just didn’t think it could be this late. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. One misstep and off with his head.

When the doors to the room were swung open, the King was throwing a fit. His deafening yell rang across the room and bounced against the tall walls. It certainly did not help with the nerves.

“WHERE IS MY HORSE?” he demanded, rising up from the throne. From where he stood, he towered over the poor footman. “I am late for hunting!”

“Your Majesty, you cancelled today’s hunt.”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

Heinrich kept quiet, remaining invisible as he approached the throne behind the butler. He was not about to be caught in the middle of a crossfire during one of the King’s fits.

The footman blinked. Heinrich could see the man debating whether or not to answer, lest it was a rhetorical question.

“B-because the Prince is back from England, sir?”

“Oh,” the King said. His voice quieter than before and sat back down again. The crease between his Majesty’s eyebrows disappeared, his expressions softening slightly. Then he turned to the footman with a quizzical look. “And where is the Prince?”

The footman turned around and met Heinrich’s eyes. And then the King followed his gaze. So much for not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

“I-“ Heinrich began, his mind drawing a blank.

If he were to tell the truth, Friedrich and you would no doubt be in trouble. However, if he didn’t tell the truth, he’d be in trouble and so would you two. And if he just said he didn’t know, he’d be on the first ship to an island far far away.

“Well?” The King barked.

“I’ll go get them, your Majesty!”

“Don’t just stand there. Hurry along then! Before I chop all of your heads off.”

Heinrich had never walked so fast out of a room his entire life. His heart was pounding as it began to dawn on him that he had just lied to the King. Well, it was not exactly a lie. He was going to get them. They just weren’t here yet. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. There was no reasoning with such a powerful man. All he could do was hope that he would still be alive to see another day.

Just when all of his luck appeared to have run out, he heard the distinct sound of hooves against cobble and rushed outside.

Friedrich helped you out of the carriage, still engaged in the never-ending tales of Fifi the Ferocious. You were laughing when you caught sight of the magnificent Royal Palace-Berliner Schloss. It was much boxier than Sanssouci Schloss with towering walls that casted a great shadow over the front lawn.

Household staff lined the steps on either side, straightening up as Heinrich dashed past them. Some had their heads turned, the younger ones especially, their curious eyes on you, trying to catch a glimpse of the new Princess. The more seasoned staff near the top stayed perfectly still, resisting the urge to look anywhere other than straight ahead.

“Your Highnesses!” He said, bowing so quickly you were worried his head might snap off. “Your presences are requested. Immediately!”

...

Through the doors you could faintly hear your titles being announced. Your palms were clammy so you hid it behind you, focusing on what you might say in a couple of moments.

Friedrich was not nervous, of course.

He was the one who planned the detour in the first place. And while you had enjoyed the time with Frederica very much, perhaps a little too much, it had delayed your schedule by well over a couple of hours. It meant that you made the King of Prussia, your father-in-law wait.

The only person more nervous than you was probably Heinrich. Every time you caught a glimpse of his face, he seemed more haggard than the last. You were not certain whether he was really sick or just worried.

"My father will say things. Things that are aimed to test you. Do not mind any of it," Friedrich said quietly.

"Something tells me I should take that as a suggestion. One look at Heinrich and I know what I am in for."

Friedrich sneaked a glance at his valet and gave you a small smile. "Heinrich has always been that way. Worries a little too much."

"Maybe that is for good reason-"

The trumpets sounded, prompting you to straighten up, smooth your dress and put on a smile. In the corner of your eyes, you could see Friedrich cracking up. Had it not been for the fact that you were being presented right then, you would have given him a slipper to the chest. He was still smiling up until you had to walk through the doors.

Then, his demeanor shifted completely. You did not dare to make eye contact with the King. All you saw was brief glimpses of a man, wearing a red cloak on the throne. But Friedrich, he was looking straight down the room, challenging his father.

From the stories he had told you, you knew that Friedrich had a rough relationship with his father. Once he got a chance to break away, he vowed he would allow his father to have full control of his life again. And from the suffocating tension in the air, you knew his father would not make it easy.

“The Prince and Princess of Prussia, your Majesty,” a footman announced.

"Your Majesty," you said, giving the King a curtsy.

"Welcome, welcome. I hope the journey was not too rough for you.”

You smiled and nodded. Not a bad start.

However, it was a completely different story when you saw Friedrich’s face. He raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced by his father’s concern. "You do, father? Wasn’t it on your orders that the state train never arrived?”

“Now, now, Friedrich. That was none of my doing.” The King turned to you with a small smile. “I must say, you are much prettier than I expected, my lady.”

He had made such an effort to emphasize the last two words that even if you weren’t listening, you still would have caught them. The King was smirking on his throne, his icy eyes sending chills down your back.

“I believe it’s your Highness, father.”

This row was your fault. You could tell.

“No, I don’t think it is. You didn’t get married.”

“We did.”

“That did not count.”

“How? Because you weren’t invited?”

“I see all of your manners have gone out the door since you stepped foot out of this country.”

Friedrich wanted to scoff. It was always going to be about England. If they were going to have this conversation, he was going to do it properly. But not in front of you.

He turned to Heinrich. “Take the Princess to see the chambers.”

You didn’t want to leave. You were responsible for this in one way or another. You should be here to take the blame. But Friedrich shook his head like he knew what you were about to say. “Come with Heinrich. I’ll meet you later.”

“No need for that. Lady Brandt, your chief lady-in-waiting, will take you for a tour. Bernadine?”

You remembered Lea and Ilse mentioning her as well. However, at that time, she didn’t have a name or a face for you to attach her to just yet. You just knew that she was going to be in charge of all of your affairs like Heinrich was doing for Friedrich. Now she had a name and a face.

At the mention of her name, she nodded and stepped forward from the line of staff on your right. She was dressed in a blood red dress, a strand of pearls wrapped around her long neck. She came towards you, giving you an impressive curtsy, tipping her head forward slowly yet keeping her hat perfectly still on her dark raven hair.

When she looked up, you were finally able to see her striking hollow eyes, tall cheekbones and an ever so slightly upturned corner of her lips. She looked awfully familiar. Like a much younger version of your mother actually. And she was just as terrifying.

“Come with me, your Highness.”

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chibinekochan · 3 years

Text

My biggest treasure - Ft. Mammon

Mammon is a Goblin in this au.

This is part of the Monster tales au Series

-------

You have been on the hunt for this treasure for a while now.

Having all the information about its whereabouts, defenses, and most importantly feeling morally right.

Its owner is a scummy guy after all.

This gem will not only bring you some nice cash, and bringing it back to its rightful owner will surely feel good too.

With well-planned moves, you make your way towards the big mansion.

Now you have to climb the wall. You have studied the moves of the guards.

They won't be around for a while.

With quiet steps, you move in the darkness. Only a few moves are needed to scale the wall and carefully jump on a neighboring tree.

Swiftly scan the area.

It seems the dogs haven't noticed you yet.

You want to keep it that way and continue your way on top of the trees. Carefully navigating through the shadows, practically becoming one of them.

Slowly, the lights of the mansion come into view.

The carefully kept garden is now in front of you.

The shrubs will offer you a little cover and the dogs might sense your presence. You smirk. Time for the real challenge to begin.

You take a deep breath to strengthen your nerves.

With ease, you jump from the tree and run at high speed through the garden, occasionally jumping over hedges.

By the time you hear dogs barking, you have already climbed the balcony and wait for clear air.

The guards check the hedges, but of course find nothing.

You smirk when they shrug and go back to their posts.

You wait a bit longer and then carefully and quietly open the door.

Your body is moving low and fast, knowing exactly where your target is. Lucky for you, the scumbag has a huge ego and displays what you are looking for right in his living room.

You sneak in the shadows, listening to every sound. It's quiet. You can only hear your own heart and breathing.

Then you see it slightly shimmering, illuminated by the moon. The gem you are looking for.

You calm your nerves and steady your hands.

Then suddenly you hear a commotion, loud barking from the outside. Some lights in the mansion turning on and glass shattering.

Unsure what just happened, your instinct kicks in and all you can do is run.

Light starts to shine into the room, causing the gem to sparkle as if to mock you.

You run towards the nearest window, ready to jump out.

When suddenly something passes you at high speed. For a moment you pause until you notice it's a person.

This must be whoever interrupted you.

You have no time to stay, you hear the guards closing in.

With little choice, you run and jump after the stranger.

The guards behind you yell, and the dogs chase you.

There is no time for anything else but running. You run in a straight line towards the wall. Following close behind the other person.

Once you jump the wall, you have to make sure that nobody is following you. You can still keep an eye on the other person.

Only catching a quick glance at them. White hair and blue eyes. You take a mental note of it.

Your pursuers are still behind you, and you decide to go deeper into the forest to shake them off or at least to hide.

You can smack the guy another time.

By the next day, you are back in your home. The loss of income is a hard blow to your family,, but it can't be helped. It's better to be poor but free.

Your siblings were disappointed,, but you can make money more honestly until another opportunity arises.

Hopefully, the medicine for your smallest sibling will last long enough. Worryingly, you eye the half-empty bottle.

"It's okay, we will work hard and buy more." Ian, the 2nd oldest, Ian, has seen your worries.

You ruffle their hair. "Don't worry about it. I will trade some herbs with the pharmacist and in the bar tonight again." You smile to ease their worries.

"You work too much." The 2nd youngest, Eva, looks worried.

"We have to get food, so we can cook a good meal. I will catch fish for us." Ian is suddenly super motivated.

"Yeah, I will get some veggies from our garden. Rest so you can work hard for us later." Eva has taken care of the garden and grown some stuff.

Your heart is filled with pride, and you hug them both. "You guys are the best, just don't forget to play with your friends too." You feel bad about being so poor,, but it can't be helped. After losing both parents, you are left as the oldest to take care of them.

And you do everything for them, even if it means stealing.

You go and rest for a while until sunset.

Then you cook the fish and vegetables that your siblings got for tonight. They are very good kids. You are very proud of them. You make soup for your youngest sibling, Owen.

"Dinner is ready." You dish everyone up, making sure your siblings get more than you.

"Looks great." Eve beams at the food.

"I worked hard for this fish, so you better eat it all." Ian looks at both of you sternly.

"Thank you both for the food." You are truly grateful to them.

"Will you have to go again soon?" Ian knows well that I have to leave them alone sometimes due to my 'nightwork'.

It can take days to get the treasure and to get my money. Not even mentioning the time I have to spend hiding. Still, the pay is so high that I can't afford not doing it.

"I will have to see,, but currently I have nothing lined up." I know it's hard for them when I'm not here,, but there is no other way for me to afford the medicine.

Ian seems troubled.

"Don't frown, Ian, we can handle everything just fine." Eve pats his back.

"Well, of course, but I'm worried about you." Ian becomes confident, but then frowns at you.

"Haha, I can watch out for myself. I'm plenty strong." I giggle. Sometimes he acts like the dad. It's sad that they all have to grow up so fast.

"Yeah, like the time you beat that bear. That was so cool!" Eve's eyes sparkle.

Ian shakes his head. "That was scary."

"I gotta agree with you. I will go and check on Owen. He needs to eat." You worry about the amount of food he eats. It's definitely not enough.

The others keep bickering, and you walk into the room. You open the windows, fill the pitcher with water, and check on Owen. He looks at you with tired eyes,, but he is smiling weakly.

"Hey there, sleepy head. Time for food." You smile, trying to hide your worries.

"I'm not really hungry." He says with a weak voice.

"It's very tasty. So why not try a bit?" His state breaks your heart,, but you fight through it.

Owen nods and you help him sit.

You feed him slowly. He seems to like it. This is relieving.

At some point, he can't eat anymore. "You ate half a bowl today. Great work." You encourage him.

Then you change his bedding and shake his pillows before giving him his medicine.

He frowns.

"I know it's bitter, but it helps, right? I have an apple for dessert if you take it all." You bribe him with a sliced apple.

"Pudding would be better." Owen smiles sheepishly.

"Pudding makes everything better. I will see what I can do." Sadly, even pudding is a luxury for us. I wonder if I can get a portion for everyone?

"It's alright, I like apples." Owen knows more about your situation than he lets on.

Owen bravely takes his medicine and eats a few slices of the apple.

You bring the rest to your other siblings.

Then you do a few chores before heading to work.

It's going to be a long night, you can already tell.

The bar you work at is a bit rowdy, the patrons are ruff, but overall good people. It's usually fun to work at the place.

The gruff owner is a nice guy, who often gives you 'leftovers' or stuff his wife made that he apparently really doesn't like. You know that neither is true,, but you are also not one to just take handouts, and he is also a bit awkward,, so this is how you two handle things.

"Hey, I'm in." I say hi to the owner, who grunts at me.

I start to clean the floor and prepare everything for opening time.

"Hey, the wife made some strange stuff again. Please take it off my hands' kiddo?" The owner shoves a box towards you.

It's definitely food that smells great. "Are you sure? It sure smells nice."

"Get it off me, before I toss it out." The owner frowns.

I take the box. "Alright, thank the wife for me." I smile at him and put the box in the back.

"You're gonna make her believe her food is any good." He grumbles.

"Don't let her hear that,, or she might believe you." I grin at him, knowing that he loves her food.

He shrugs. "We've got game night tonight so if it gets rowdy, feel free to kick them."

With game night, he means gambling. It's not really legal, but it brings good business but of course also some strange people.

"Sure thing. I hope we get some big spenders tonight." Usually, the drunken winners give nice tips.

"You just keep dreaming big kiddo, as long as we make money I'm happy." He keeps cleaning glasses while talking.

You clean the last few tables and get the gaming stuff ready, it's just a box of dice, cards and such things.

Slowly the guests are pouring in. Most of which you know on a first-name. They order their usual. These guests aren't only here for gambling, they are here on most nights anyway.

Then when night breaks a different clientele is pouring in and filling the tables.

They all know the game. Trading money for snacks or coasters. Some use their means of hiding the money in play.

The owner keeps a close eye on everything from a distance. While you keep filling glasses.

Nothing strikes you as odd until you see a Goblin on one of the tables. This by itself isn't all that unusual, all kinds of folk come here after all. This goblin somehow strikes you as odd.

Then suddenly you realize, his hair color is white. That is certainly unusual, sadly you can't see his eyes since he wears yellow-tinted glasses.

This might be the guy that screwed you over. You feel anger rising at this realization. Even if he probably didn't mean to, he still cost you a nice paycheck.

For a while, you try to keep a close eye on him but the other customers keep you busy.

Especially when a guy wins big and throws around for everyone. Of course, this is a cause for celebration for everyone.

Now with the alcohol level raised you have to use your kicking abilities a few times. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You handle yourself well and the owner kicks a few rowdy guests out.

Finally, it calms down a bit in the early hours of the morning.

You sigh deeply, but it was pretty successful. You got a big tip from one guy.

The goblin is forgotten by now.

"I don't need you for the rest of the night." This is the owner's way of telling you to go home and rest.

"Thanks. Don't make too long." You glance around at the few leftover guests.

"No worries, I will kick em out soon." He grumbles.

You take the food and head out the backdoor.

The cool night air feels good on your skin, you take a deep breath and start walking.

Once, you pass by a tight ally, and you notice a group of guys harassing someone.

Under your watch! It seems to be three guys, all rather drunk. You can take them.

You walk towards the guys. "Hey, I think that's enough."

"Huh, what's that? Are you kiddn me?" One of the drunks looks towards me.

"Whatever that guy did, he had enough. You all don't want to go to jail for killing a guy, do you?" You huff at them, trying to look bigger than you are.

"Aw, come on, he has it comin. This guy is a cheat." The other man kicks the poor victim.

You shake your head. "Come on guys, just go home, he learned his lesson."

The guy on the floor groans. "I'll be good, I swear." He doesn't sound super convincing, to be honest.

The drunks shuffle around. Seemingly unhappy to leave.

"Guys go home. You got your money back, so your wife won't be mad,, but they might be if you are in jail for murder." You try to convince them.

The guys seem to freeze up. "Ah, well, it's late anyway. You better not show your face here again." With that, they shuffle off.

You sigh with relief when they walk away. You then go to check on the man on the floor.

Now you notice it's the Goblin you saw earlier. His glasses are shattered on the floor, revealing his blue eyes. So it might be that thief from the other night after all.

"Ugh… that hurt. Thanks for that." He staggers while trying to get up.

"You might want to go to a doctor for these injuries." You glare at him.

"What's with that look? Do I know you? D-don't tell me I owe you money?!" Suddenly he seems to be much better and gets up. Seemingly trying to get some distance between you.

"I don't even know you." You glare at him. "Though I'd say you owe me for saving your butt." You feel like he is pretty ungrateful.

"Well, thanks then… Umm, I got no cash, but here I got this necklace." He rummages through his pockets and pulls out a necklace from somewhere.

He dangles it in front of you.

You can only frown at it. "Gee, thanks."

"Hey, it ain't any day that I give stuff like that. So be grateful." He huffs at you.

"I'd be more grateful if it wasn't gaudy or fake." You take the clearly fake jewelry. Maybe Eve will like it.

"Fake? You can tell with just one glance?" He seems impressed.

You feel like he has just seen right through you. "It's a special talent." You shrug and play it cool.

"Well, in that case. I could use your special skills for a job. I need someone to tell me what the valuables are." He changes right into business mode.

"Are you offering illegal work to me?" You act all offended.

"Come on, the job in that dingy bar doesn't pay well. I'd split 90:10." He smiles at you.

"I gladly take that 90 percent, very generous." You know that's not his offer,, but he somehow irritates you.

"It'll be 10 for you,, obviously." He shakes his head.

"No, thanks. I don't trust you anyway." You glare at him.

"Fine, how about 30 percent?" He throws his hand up as if he is being generous.

"More like 70 for me if you can't even tell what's fake." You can't believe that you are still talking to this guy.

He sighs. "Alright, I get it, same risk same reward right? So 50:50. My last offer."

"You seem quite desperate. What kind of stuff are we talking about here, anyway?" Now you are getting curious.

"It's an old mansion. Real old money. Real old scum, too. I just want to grab some of their valuables. It's not like they're gonna miss it anyway." He is vague,, but you somehow feel like you know what place he is talking about.

"Does that happen to be the raven mansion?" The place where your heist was interrupted.

His eyes go wide. "How'd you know?"

"Let's just say that I got interrupted in my own business by some amateur." You glare at him.

"Wait… t-that was you? Oh man, you were ama… umm I mean you were okay." The tips of his ears glow dark.

"You should grovel for what you have done. Screwed me right out of a job." Finally, you can let your anger out.

"I had no idea you were there. I'm sorry." He seems at least half earnest. "So that only means you already know the place, and you can finish the other job there too. I'd take no cut of that either. See, I'm very generous."

"Says the guy that offered me ten percent." You huff at him.

"That was just testing the waters, I'd given you at least 30." He puffs his cheeks. "So it's all settled then?"

"No, I still don't trust you." You eye him carefully.

"What would it take for you to take the job?" He asks, also looking for a sign of weakness in me.

"Well, first of all your name." This is an important first step, at least.

"Ah, could've said you were interested. I mean, you were eyeing me in the bar the whole time. I'm down if you are." He calmly shrugs.

You take a step towards him. "You wish." You look him right in the eyes, glaring at him.

He awkwardly looks away. "J-just saying I'm a handsome goblin…"

"I have seen better. Besides, it means that you checked me out, doesn't it?" You grin at him.

His cheeks turn dark. "N-no, I just felt a burning gaze on me the entire time."

"That was disdain and nothing else." You cross your arms.

"Call it whatever you want." He huffs and turns his head awkwardly. "Anyway, how am I supposed to show that you can trust me?"

"How about telling me your name?" You eye him with suspicion.

"I'm the great Mammon. Better not forget it." He puffs his chest in a display of pride.

You don't acknowledge his presentation whatsoever. "What are you planning to do with that treasure?"

"I'm gonna sell it for cash to pay some debts. I might keep a thing or two for my collection too." Mammon seems pretty honest about it, at least.

"With that, you mean you pawn it and gamble." You only can guess,, but his behavior at the bar speaks volumes.

He seems to feel called out. "Hey, I'm good at gambling, just some people think I'm too good ya know?"

"Nobody is good at it, it's just luck and in your case cheating. You should know better than to gamble all your cash." You start to lecture him.

"I get it, I get it." He sighs. "You sound like my big bro." He sighs deeply. "So, this is all you want to know?"

You think for a moment. "I don't know,, but I guess it's enough for now. I'd wish I had some security at least.” You sigh. "I know it can't be helped."

"I get ya, you've got a life you can't just go or whatever." Mammon seems to agree with you. "Alright, I don't like doing this,, but I got something that might convince you." He then starts to rummage through his vest, he obviously has some hidden pockets in there.

He then produces a gold coin. "Here ya go. I want it back after the job is done. So better not lose it." Mammon seems a bit reluctant to let the coin go.

"This coin seems important to you." You carefully inspect it, it's real, but there seems to be some story here.

"Goldie is my personal good luck charm." He looks almost fondly at the coin.

You smile, somehow this is cute. When you realize your smile, you make your face freeze once more.

"Alright, I acknowledge you as my partner." You reach your hand out to him.

"So that's what it took,, huh?" He seems a bit confused but also relieved.

You shake hands and the deal is sealed.

Mammon suggests a meeting point in a few days' time. He needs to heal and prepare after all.

You also have to make sure your siblings are taken care of. So this works for you.

#obey me one master to rule them all #omswd #obey me mammon #monster tales #obey me fanfiction

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 11 - Epilogue

“Will I remember any of this?”

Ford paused, hands stilling on his workbench as he considered the question. “…I don’t know.”

Stan swung his legs idly from where he was perched on another table in Ford’s lab, watching the nerd fiddle with his vials. One of them had a glimmering rainbow liquid in it that kinda looked like unicorn blood. “You said when I was an adult we were fighting. Do you think we’re just gonna keep fighting?”

“We’ll always be fighting a little bit.” Ford hedged.

“No, I mean real fighting. Not just arguments and stuff.”

“Then… no, not if I have any say in it.”

:readmore:

“Good.” Stan folded his arms. “Adult me kinda sounds like a jerk, so you gotta tell him I said to be nice. And you’ve been kind of a jerk too, so you also have to be nice.”

“I doubt a grown-up you will follow the instructions of a baby.”

“Hey! I’m not a baby!” Stan found a crumpled piece of paper nearby and lobbed it at Ford’s head. He missed, but it was the thought that counted. Ford let out a huff.

“Don’t throw things when I’m working with chemicals, Stanley. Unless you want me to spill it on myself and also turn into a baby. Then who would cure you?”

“Not a baby!”

Stan didn’t throw anything else, though. Only because there was nothing nearby to throw.

“I honestly don’t know how much you’ll remember.” Ford admitted after a while, twirling a test tube to mix its contents. It looked pretty boring for what was basically a magic potion, just clear and grey. It wasn’t even bubbling. “You might completely forget everything that happened when you were de-aged. In which case, I don’t know how I’ll explain everything.”

“Just start with the story of how I defeated an evil dream demon. It’s the coolest part.”

“It’s the most exciting part of the story,” Ford allowed, “But not the best place to start.”

“It’s the hook! That’s the best part of a story, you know.”

Ford lifted the boring test tube up to inspect it in the light. When Stan looked closer, it didn’t seem as clear – as he watched it was slowly getting cloudier, more silver than grey. He vaguely remembered something about that from science class – did that mean there was a chemical reaction? Or a physical reaction? He could never remember the difference between them.

Ford stared pensively at the vial, and after a few moments Stan cleared his throat. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Ford started to turn to him and then hesitated again. “You just have to drink this to go back to your real age. I… hm. Are you ready? Do you want to have something to eat first? Or maybe go to bed and have it in the morning?”

Stan blinked. “It’s gonna make me older again, right? Why wait?”

“Well, I don’t know.” When Stan made grabby hands Ford relented and handed over the vial. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come from the fridge. Stan stared at the thick, silvery liquid and wondered what it would taste like. “When you touched water from the spring of youth you passed out for several hours. The same thing could happen now, so we should move you somewhere comfortable before you drink-”

Stan tipped the vial and swallowed its contents in one big gulp. Ford shrieked.

“Stanley! Why would you do that?”

It tasted kinda like dirty, metallic oranges and Stan screwed up his face. “Ew! Couldn’t you at least make it taste nice?”

Ford retorted something, but the sounds were a bit wobbly in his ears. Stan blinked hard to try and make his vision make sense. It was just a little bit off, fuzzy in the corners of his vision.

“…getting dizzy?” Ford’s voice swam through the air, thick and swampy, like Stan was breathing treacle. “…lie down…”

And then, quick as blinking, he was on the floor. That was rude, for the world to just flip over like that. Everything was clouds and Stan was very, very sleepy.

Something else was said, but he was too far away to hear it.

_______________________________________________________________

When consciousness came – and it did come, as much as Stan wished he could sleep forever, dragging him up from the depths of hazy dreams he couldn’t remember – he knew exactly where he was.

There were soft sheets against his back, the faint whistle of wind through the pines outside, the taste of copper on his tongue. The spare bed felt smaller, now, and when his head shifted his stubbly cheek scratched against the pillow. It smelled faintly like dust.

“Stan? Are you waking up?”

Okay, that was Ford’s voice. But, there was still the possibility that this had all been a weird, vivid dream! That’s right, everything from the last couple days had been a dream. There were no gnomes, no dream demons, and in a moment Stan would open his eyes and be back inside the Stanleymobile.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking at the assault of light, and saw his brother’s face looking back at him.

…shit.

“Stan? Are you alright?” Ford was tapping his cheek, looking for a reaction. Stan grumbled and brushed him away.

“I’m fine. Hands off the merchandise.” His voice was rough with sleep, and Stan was almost surprised by how deep and gravelly it was compared to the childish squeaking he’d been doing lately.

Ford made a face, somewhere between worried and amused – an expression that Stan was familiar with from the last couple days. Dammit. He just had to remember all that. Ugh, and now Ford would want to talk and get all mushy.

“I’m fine.” Stan repeated, with nothing else to say. He got up on his elbows, and a quick glance around the room confirmed they were in the spare room he’d been sleeping in the last couple days. Still, he asked. “Where are we?”

“How much do you remember?” Ford asked urgently, making Stan blink. “Since you arrived here, I mean.”

“Uh… nothing.” He lied, like a liar. Ford’s face fell.

“…oh.”

Yeah, there was no way he could tell the truth here. He would die of embarrassment if he had to admit he remembered acting like a child and being all…sappy. Ford would look at him all weird and they would have to talk and that was just… ugh.

“Yep! I just remember getting here and then – poof! Nothing.” Stan went for a carefree laugh. “Man, did I get hit on the head with a coconut or something?”

Ford lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, looking crestfallen. “No, not quite. Do you – remember the argument we had?”

Nope, nope, feelings alert. Stan did not want to delve into that conversation.

“What argument? Probably about you being a nerd, huh? Jeez, am I hungry, you got any food in this joint?”

“Wha-”

Stan was already throwing the covers off (thank god he was wearing a nightrobe underneath, he didn’t think his pride could survive another hit). Ford spluttered as he got to his feet.

“Will you slow down?”

______________________________________________________________

After a couple tests which were obviously unnecessary (but Ford insist on anyway, the nerd) Stan was finally free to pull on some actual clothes and follow Ford to the kitchen. He hadn’t been lying earlier, hunger really was gnawing in his stomach, and he made a beeline for the fridge.

“-and so you were reverted back into a child,” Ford continued. The guy had absolutely no showmanship. Way to lose an audience, Stan muttered to himself as he grabbed the fridge door. He’d told him to start with the demon bit, but noooo. “That was a couple days ago. There have been some – well, it’s been eventful. I doubt you’ll believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“By the way, my friend is on his way.” Ford added. Stan ducked down to inspect the fridge’s contents – at least it was better stocked than when he first arrived. He hummed in acknowledgement. “You – well, I suppose you won’t remember him. You’ll like him though. You did.”

“Is he a nerd liked you?”

Ford snorted.

Stan grabbed a box of leftover pasta and then went in search of a fork. “Well, let’s hope this Fiddleford guy can tell stories better than you, ya almost put me to sleep with the way you tell it.”

When he turned around, Ford was staring at him.

It took a moment for him to realize his mistake – by the time Stan opened his mouth to spew out some bullshit excuse, Ford was pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I didn’t tell you his name!”

“Yes you did!” Stan spluttered. “I mean, how else would I know his name unless you told me, huh? You ever think about that?”

Ford narrowed his eyes. “Stanley.”

“Stanford.” He parroted right back. The staring match continued for a few moments before Ford threw up his hands.

“Unbelievable! You’re such a liar.”

Stan took a large bite of pasta. Because he was hungry, not because he didn’t want to answer. Ford glared at him.

“I should have known you’d try to wriggle your way out of this. ‘I don’t remember’ my ass. What, were you just going to leave and pretend none of this ever happened?”

Stan shoveled more pasta into his mouth.

“Don’t think you can avoid talking with me. We are having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

‘No, we’re really not’ is what Stan meant to say. Unfortunately, the moment he took a breath to speak he started choking. Ford scowled and thumped him on the back as he coughed, getting bits of pasta all over the kitchen floor.

“Unbelievable.” The nerd said again.

Well, so much for that.

_______________________________________________________________

Stan squirmed under his brother’s glare – the whole ‘pacing and towering over him while Stan sat on the couch like a scolded child’ schtick was uncannily similar to what their mother would do when they earned her ire.

“So.” Ford began. “You remember childhood.”

“Yep.” Stan grumbled.

“Your adult life?”

“Mm hm.”

“The last couple days here and everything that occurred while you were reverted?”

“Mm.”

Ford stopped his pacing to turn to him. “Then why on earth did you try to pretend you didn’t? We even made up!”

Stan buried his face in his hands to try and hide its burning. “I don’t know! I knew you’d try and get all…” He shuddered. “Mushy. Feeling-y.”

Stan could just feel the flat look his brother was giving him.

“Okay, fine, look. You forgave me for breaking your project, I forgave you for being a jerk. We’re good. Now, I’m just gonna head home-”

“You’re homeless.”

“You don’t know that!” Stan looked up from behind his hands to see Ford folding his arms. “I could have a, a house, a mansion even!”

“You have a mullet.”

…okay, Ford had him there. Stan scowled. “What’s the plan then, smart guy?”

Ford’s eyes gleamed, and he immediately regretted asking.

“I’m glad you asked, Stanley! I’ve had plenty of time to think over these last couple days. First of all, the Duskertons are looking for someone to help around their store, and no one in Gravity Falls cares much about credentials – I’m pretty sure the man who works at the post office is just a bunch of gnomes in a trench coat – so your lack if identification shouldn’t be a problem if you’re looking for a job. There’s also Boyish Dan, his family owns a logging company and I’m sure you could get a place there if you wanted. You’re welcome to stay in my house for as long as you need – I’m sure there are some places in town if you want to rent instead, though. If you choose to stay I might ask for your help in some of my research, since Fiddleford has decided to take a break from studying Gravity Falls, which I don’t blame him for.”

Stan blinked, but Ford wasn’t finished, ticking things off on his fingers as he went.

“I’ll also need to keep you under observation for a while to ensure that there are no side effects from the fountain of youth water, so I’ll ask you to stay around for at least a couple days. If you decide to leave Gravity Falls after that period, you’ll need to give me your phone number so we can keep contact. Oh, scratch that, I’ll make a new one – I’m sure I can work up a design that isn’t as flimsy as the current models going around.”

“Uh-”

Stan was saved from having to answer (answer? There wasn’t much of a question but Ford was looking at him expectantly and he didn’t know what he was supposed to say) by a light knock on the door. Ford perked up and rushed to answer it.

“Am I intruding?” Fiddleford’s hesitant voice rang out. Ford shook his head and stood aside to usher the smaller man inside.

“Not at all, come in. It’s good to see you.”

Fiddleford stopped in his tracks when he laid eyes on Stan on the couch.

Ugh, he was already getting a headache. Now came the judgement. Stan looked like a mess, he knew he did – unshaven, with bags under his bloodshot eyes and ragged hair and old scars crisscrossing his arms. Some small, childish part of him wanted to jump up and hug the guy. Gross. Instead he shoved down the nervousness, stood, and gave him a lazy two-fingered salute.

“…Stanley?” Fiddleford tilted his head, eyes scanning him. Stanley shrugged uncomfortably. It was weird, towering over the small guy like this.

“Hey.”

“Well, you grew up big. The spittin’ image of yer brother.” Fiddleford gave a little smile and stuck out his hand. “Pleasure meetin’ ya, officially this time.”

“Eh, you too.” Stan shook the offered hand. It was small, frail, but gripped his firmly.

“So are you stickin’ around?”

Stan hesitated. He glanced from Fiddleford’s earnest face, to his own rough hand, to Ford’s careful expression – the look of someone trying hard not to look like they were listening.

“…yeah. Yeah, I think I’m gonna stick around.”

#rewind #gravity falls #The stans #epilogue

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

#bun writes #practical alchemy #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #tony stark x reader #Stephen Strange x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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The Man in his Castle

Warnings: noncon sex. Let’s not be fools here. You know what I write.

This is dark!Charles Blackwood and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A co-ed discovers that money is still king.

Note: Charles is fun because he’s already horrible. I know my summary sucks but I hope you all enjoy this. It takes place in the 1960s so keep that in mind and enjoy! But let me know what you think in reblog or reply and slap a like on there <3

There were more than a dozen girls squeezed into the windowless classroom in the basement of Victory Hall. The book club had grown quite a bit since your first week on campus. The Brownies, you called yourself. An ironic play upon a lifetime of ridicule.

Every Friday night you met in some abandoned room bartered off the registrar and set to discussing your most recent read. Sheila was the leader; bolder than you as she fostered your sprout of an idea. She was cooler, calmer, and by all means, more radical. And she was a senior.

The flock of freshmen looked up to her and the few other older girls in the group. She had brought along with her, Linda and Patty; the former with her stiff turtlenecks and the latter her faded beret. These were the types your mother had warned you against. Peddling their liberalism in the name of Kennedy and Kruschev.

That week, your group had chosen Miller’s famed play, The Crucible; still relevant despite a decade past. Though the red scare had faded to orange, there was still a breath of suspicion in the air. As people marched in the streets and sat-in at diners and cafes, the old breed was growing nervous. The world was about to change, with or without them.

You sat amid the circle with your worn copy against your knee. You took turns reading the lines and pausing to discuss the intricate and yet overt allusions made by the playwright. The furor of the blacklist which still lingered in the air. A paranoia much broader than years before. No longer just the Reds, but all who spoke of equality and freedom; no longer exclusive to a single group. The same tensions which kept you in the basement with the dingy old desks.

You couldn’t help but smile at the group of girls. When you’d arrived on campus, you were certain you’d be the same loner as before. Solitary nights spent barricaded in your dorm only to lose yourself in the crowd of the lecture hall.

But Sheila had changed that. She was in your elective Lit class, filling a void in her audit so that she could graduate on time. You had lost yourself in a discussion of Marx and the mounting tensions with the East; not that they ever really subsided.

Then she invited you to meet Linda and Patty for a drink. Your lack of ID didn’t keep you from the chance to make friends as she knew the doorman by name. That was when you mentioned the club. It was just you and your friend, Elsie. Not really a club, more so a pair of girls with nothing better to do. But Sheila liked it and the next week, she had six new girls to add to your duo.

Now, you were a full blown corps. The three seniors and at least fifteen freshmen, a few in between to fill out the circle.

Sheila snapped her book shut and declared the end of the night as she checked her watch.

“We’ll finish next week,” She chimed. “Granted we don’t devolve so easily again.”

The girls giggled and began to pack up. You stood and shoved your book into your leather bag. Sheila stood with Linda at the back of the circle and Patty offered a goodbye to each girl as they left. Most did so in pairs or trios. Safety in numbers.

Your dorm wasn’t far and so you would keep a brisk pace with your keys in hand. You turned and Sheila called to you before you could reach the door. You spun back and neared her and Linda.

“Hey, you need a walking partner?” She asked. “Me and Linda are head down the The Cask. We’ll be headed past yours.”

“If you’re headed that way,” You accepted eagerly.

You helped rearrange the chairs and desk with the three seniors. Patty left on her own as Sheila locked the door. You walked on her right as Linda kept to her left and made your way out of the depths of Victory Hall. The night was cool but not bitter. You pulled your collar up as you passed between the carefully trimmed hedges.

“You sure you don’t want to come for a drink?” Linda asked. “Seeing as Patty ditched us.”

“Oh, you know she has that boy waiting for her,” Sheila countered.

“Um, no, I have an early morning,” You replied. “But thanks.”

“What about next weekend?” Sheila asked.

“Next weekend?” You wondered.

“Wanna come to a party?”

“A… a senior party?” You glanced over at her as you tucked your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, no, it’s not on campus,” She trilled. “But I think you’d like it.”

“Off-campus?” You said surprised. “Really?”

“A bit of an older crowd but…” She lowered her voice, “Of a similar mind as us.”

Your eyes widened. You blinked at her and she laughed.

“Oh calm down, they’re no interlopers, merely open-minded,” She assured you. “You have to realize that this little club, that’s a children’s game. If you’re serious, these are the people you need to rub shoulders with.”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty seedy downtown and the last time--”

“Downtown?” She scoffed. “Oh, this is different from that hole in the wall.”

“Where--”

“Uptown, actually,” She preened. “You know, we do have allies with money. They hide among the enemy until we can truly act.”

“I don’t know. That sounds--”

“You worry too much. It’s not illegal to meet people who think like you do,” She said. “Otherwise us Brownies would be akin to the mob.”

You laughed at yourself and watched your scuffed shoes on the sidewalk. “I guess you’re right. Um, what kind of party is it, exactly?”

“Wear something nice,” She picked a thread from your jacket. “Fancy dress hides a humble heart.”

You nodded and gripped the strap of your bag. “Sure, why not?” You shrugged.

“I’ll see you in Lit,” She stopped just outside your gate. “I’ll give you the details then. You should ask Elsie to come with you.”

“Alright,” You breathed. “Yeah, I’ll ask her.”

“Have a good night,” She sang and Linda echoed her.

“You, too.” You smiled.

You turned and unlocked your gate as their heels continued down the pavement. You let yourself inside and listened until there was silence. You were happy to have friends, happier that you were so much alike, but the thought of a party had your stomach aflutter.

🏰

You found your only formal dress. Rather, your most formal dress. A long-sleeved black number that flared at the knee. You wore the simple silver chain your mother gifted you for your high school graduation and a pair of kitten heels. You hugged yourself with a red shawl and grabbed your purse.

Elsie waited just outside your dorm room. She looked as nervous as you felt. The lack of details gave both of you the jitters. You were two shy girls who found each other among the sea of students. You took comfort in knowing you weren’t the only one in over your head.

And Sheila would be there too. She could help you maneuver your way through this maze of etiquette and idealism.

You took a bus as far as you could but at the last stop, you were still three blocks away from the place. Blackwood Manor. Sheila’s loopy cursive marked it on the corner of paper. The house on the hill, she said, can’t miss it.

The gates towered over you as you approached. Tinted lanterns lit the walkway and you pressed the button over the small speaker box. A dull voice greeted you from the other side.

“Um, hello,” Elsie squeezed your arm as you bent to speak into the box. “We’re here for the party.”

“Par-ty?” The voice said.

“We’re friends of, uh, Sheila.” You replied nervously.

“Ah, yes, Miss Sheila.” The crackle died and the gate clicked.

You looked to Elsie and a man in grey neared from the other side. He pulled open the gate and removed his cap as he waited for you to enter. A car drove up, its bright headlights washed over you, as you walked up the drive and the gates man spoke with its occupants.

At the front door, you met with a man with grey hair and the same even tone that rose from the speaker. He took your shawl and Elsie’s coat and directed you to the next room. You detached Elsie from your arm and gave her a look. She smiled tensely and smoothed the front of her dress.

The sparkle of the chandelier drew your eyes first. The light refracted from the crystals and illuminated the large room. Men in suits stood around with drinks in hand and chattered. You heard the next guests enter behind you and stepped out of their way.

You spotted Sheila in the far corner, a broad pair of shoulders left her barely visible. There were several other girls you recognized; Linda. Darla and Colleen, two other Brownies, and even a couple girls from your Lit class. Every women in the room was barely that; they were all bright-eyed co-eds amid a conclave of stiff-lipped men.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine but resisted the shiver. You were just anxious about all these strangers. It was natural to be a little nervous.

Elsie followed you across the room and smiled at Sheila over the shoulder of the man she spoke to. She waved you over and the man turned to look at you. His blue eyes flicked from you to Elsie and back again. His expression was placid as he buttoned his jacket.

“Charles, these are my friends,” She introduced you and Elsie, “And this is Charles Blackwood, our host.”

He seemed to recall himself and shook your hand and then Elsie’s. His grip was firm and his expression unbreakable. He was entirely unimpressed by you and your plain black dress.

“You have a beautiful house,” You offered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so… grand.”

“It was my grandfather’s,” He said tersely as his eyes explored the room. “Sheila, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Gerald.”

“Of course,” She kissed his cheek and his lip curled before he walked away. “Sorry about him,” Sheila turned to you. “He’s a bit antsy, you know? Always is on nights like these.”

“I never…” You looked at Elsie as her eyes bounced around in wonder, “I never would think anyone who lived like this would you know, agree with us.”

“Oh, but we already know money isn’t everything,” She said. “You know, these men, they know that and they want to use their money for good. They want to make sure that students like us make it through college and go on to speak our truth to the world.”

She stopped a man passing by and took a wine glass from his tray. She offered you it and grabbed another for Elsie and herself. She batted her lashes at the waiter and returned her attention to you.

“Which is why you should loosen up and talk to some of these men,” She advised. “They are much preferable to the boys on campus and much more powerful. My second year, I had my tuition paid in full by one of Charles’ friends.”

“Wow,” Elsie gasped. “Really?”

“Consider it a grant,” Sheila explained. “Spread the wealth, right?”

“I suppose…” You uttered.

“Oh, there’s Patty,” Sheila perked up. “I knew she’d be the last one here. Pardon me a moment.”

“Alright,” You turned and watched her go as she waved over the heads to her friend.

You brought the glass to your lips and the alcohol burned your nostrils. Your stomach turned and you lowered the flute. Elsie drank deeply as you glanced around. A man with thick silver hair and a sharp aquiline nose stared at you from across the room.

You fidgeted and slipped behind Elsie to set your glass down.

“You should take it easy,” You warned her as she gulped down the wine.

🏰

The man with silver hair introduced himself as Harry. You weren’t fond of him as he talked of his new car and something about a cottage up north. You were confused. Sheila intimated that these people were like you; maybe not communists are heart, but left-leaning at least. They surely didn’t sound like it.

You glanced around for the umpteenth time and frowned. You didn’t see Sheila or Linda or Patty. Elsie was with a man in a striped suit, Darla and Colleen sipped from glasses as they listened to a pair of men banter, and you were stuck in the corner with this grey-haired boor.

You excused yourself, claiming to need the powder room, and walked along the wall as you searched the room. The seniors were gone. And something else caught your eye. The men drank from their stout tumblers and the women, more aptly girls, all held champagne flute. Yours was still on the table, untouched.

You neared Elsie and excused your interruption as you turned her away from her companion. You lowered your voice.

“Have you seen Sheila?” You asked.

She shook her head and wobbled. She giggled as she steadied herself with your arm. “Nope!”

“How much of that have you had?” You took her glass from her.

“This is only my…. Third,” She counted on her fingers.

“Well, I think three is enough,” You said. “Why don’t you come to the restroom with me? Splash some water on your face?”

“No, no,” She shrugged you off. “I’m talking to Gerald.” She turned back and smiled at the balding man. “He has a fellowship.”

“Elsie,” You drew her back. “Something’s… wrong.”

“What do you mean?” She hiccuped. “It’s all quite fine, isn’t it?”

“Just…” You peeked over your shoulder. “Wait here for me, okay? Don’t go anywhere else.”

She rolled her eyes and you sighed. You left her reluctantly and stopped a waiter as you neared the main archway. You asked him where the restroom was and ducked into the hallway. You passed by the foot of the staircase towards the next and paused.

You peered around the wall and pulled back. You slipped off your heels and looked back at the room that swirled with voices. You tiptoed to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. You searched for a mechanism but there was only the intricately wrought handle.

You went back to the stairs and listened to the buzz from the front room. You climbed a step at a time as your ears perked up at every creak and crack. You wondered what had happened to Sheila and the others. It was unlike them to leave early. And why was the door locked?

You found a window and carefully turned the latch. You shifted it up and cringed as the wood loudly rubbed together. You stuck your head out and stared down at the grass below. There was a tree not far from you, a few windows away.

“Can I help you?” The voice frightened you and you hit your head on the window as you reeled back. You turned to your host, Charles, as he leaned against the bannister.

“I was… looking for Sheila.” You lied.

“Oh, outside?” He wondered with a smirk.

“Well, no, I just needed a breath of fresh air so I thought…” Your voice trailed off as he stood straight.

“The party’s downstairs,” He said evenly. “I’m sure you just missed her.”

You stared at him. His eyes sparkled with mischief. Your heart dropped and your heels threatened to slip from your sweaty hand.

“She’s gone,” You said. His lips curved again and he chuckled. “What’s going on here?”

He inched forward as he pushed back his jacket and shoved a hand in his pocket.

“She did her job. Delivered what she promised.” He said coolly. “Can you blame her for cutting out?”

“What--” You backed up until you were against the window ledge. “I don’t understand.”

“You tried the front door, didn’t you?”

You blinked and your shoes fell from your grasp.

“You think you can get to that tree? Even if you moved a few windows to the left?” He got closer. “Or maybe… you think you can get past me.”

Your lips parted as his features hardened. His brow twitched as he held your gaze. He didn’t look away as he knelt and grabbed your shoe. He took your foot and shoved the kitten heel on. He did the other and stood.

“Let’s go back to the party,” He growled. “It’s only just getting started.”

🏰

You stood against the wall as the room spun. Your chest was filled with doom as you looked around at the girls in their sheath dresses and chunky heels. Many shared the same glazed look as Elsie. They swayed just a little, giggled airily, and their eyelashes drooped. They were barely awake on their feet.

The man who answered the door stood beside you. He squinted at you every now and then. Charles had told him to keep an eye on you. You watched the host of the event disappear through another doorway. You thought of the invisible lock and the tree just a few windows down.

It was that crushing sense of defeat when you knew loss was imminent but unavoidable. So you watched it slowly creep forward until finally you had to submit. You shivered and shook your head at yourself. Sheila had done this. Ensnared all these girls in whatever sick game this was.

Time dragged. You watched the servers offer their tainted champagne and the girls all too ignorant to realize that something was amiss. Your eyes stung and you gripped your purse tight. Whatever was planned, it couldn’t be good.

The clinking of metal on glass silenced the room. Your eyes were drawn with every other to the other side. The men exchanged knowing looks. The girls were confused but not suspicious. They looked to Charles as he relinquished the glass and knife to a server. He grinned at his rapt audience.

“Shall we commence with our evening?” He asked; the men nodded and mumbled in agreement. The girls frowned and wavered on their feet. “Very well. Girls…”

He waved an arm to his left and the waiters, now free of their trays, dispersed to herd the girls to the other side of the room. You were led along with them and stood in the row of drunken co-eds. For a moment, you wished you had drank the wine. That you could be as oblivious as the rest.

The girl at the head of the line was ushered forward to stand beside Charles. Her red hair hung in ringlets and her cheeks were rosy with alcohol. He asked her her name and she slurred “Carrie.” He repeated it for all to hear and shouted a number. Ten thousand.

A man raised his hand and Charles called eleven thousand. Another gestured and the number went up again. Again. Again. Carrie was visibly confused as she tried to keep up. She couldn’t. She was sold for twenty-five thousand and ushered into the arms of her buyer.

Elsie was next. She could barely stand as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Eighteen thousand for the mousy-haired girl. Colleen went for about the same and Darla was in tears as she was bartered for an even twenty.

You were near the end of the line. You marched up to the front and bit down as you stared at the bourgeois bastards. Harry was the first to bid for you. Your stomach flipped. Then another man you hadn’t even spoken to. You could see only his hand as he reached above the crowd.

The bids bounced back and forth, Harry cursed as he wondered who was so determined to have you. You sold for forty thousand to the faceless man. You were shown out the side door by a waiter as the last girl was brought up to stand by Charles.

You stood alone in a long dining room with a large table and more than a dozen chairs. You turned as the doors slid closed and faced the grey-haired man who had greeted you in his monotone at the door. You thought he was the help. You grimaced at him.

“You?” You sputtered.

“No,” He said blandly. “Not me.”

“Then…” You couldn’t finish as you were certain you knew the answer.

You swallowed and spun away from him. You gripped the back of a chair and placed your purse on the table. The furor from the other room reached a peak and then began to dwindle. The grey-haired man glanced at the doors.

“I must attend to the coats,” He announced. “Do not stray. He will be mad.”

You sighed as he slipped through the door. A hand kept them from closing and you watched the doorman rush away. Charles stepped through and shut the doors. He took a breath as he turned to you. He fixed his lapels as he stopped across the table from you.

“What?” You hissed as he stared at you.

“No… thanks?” He asked.

“Thanks?” You narrowed your eyes. “For what?”

“Don’t tell me you wanted to fuck one of those old men?”

You blanched at his language and your lip curled in revulsion. He laughed.

“Don’t worry. I only need… a maid.” He smirked.

“A maid?” You wondered.

“Cooking. Cleaning.” He tapped two fingers on the table as he spoke. “They ever write about that in your books?”

Your eyes were glossy as you gulped. You were furious, frightened, and frustrated.

“You girls think you know it all,” He scoffed. “There’s a lot they don’t put in books.”

“No, there are horror stories,” You assured him. “Of repulsive monsters and their nasty ways.”

He chuckled and rounded the table. He stopped just beside you as his hand closed over your purse. He slowly lifted the strap from your shoulders and batted your hand away before you could stop him.

“Trust me,” He said as he flipped it open and looked inside. “There is no monster like me.”

🏰

You were shown to a room with a barred window. It didn’t matter as it was in the basement and so narrow that you couldn’t hope to fit through it. The door was locked but even so, there was a man without. You could see his shadow under the door and hear him cough every now and again.

You didn’t sleep much. There was a blanket on the floor beside some dusty boxes. You sat against the wall and dozed in spurts. The night replayed in your head on a loop. Then all those moments you’d spent with Sheila. How she had lied so easily. Was she even a student?

Didn’t matter now. The sun rose slowly through the small window and the door opened shortly after. You were given a black dress, stockings, and a pair of black shoes. Nothing else. You were taken to a shower hidden in the cellar; the water was cold and you washed quickly in the closet-like restroom.

You dressed and contemplated turning your underwear inside out. They were too worn to re-use. You left them with the rest of your clothes and emerged in your uniform. The man in black who had spent his night outside your door was mute. You weren’t sure entirely if by choice.

Your first task was to clean the main room, still dirtied from the party. The grey-haired man, Albert, told you so and recited your list of chores. The kitchen would be next and then you were to sweep the upstairs corridors and check every room in case it needed dusting or new linens.

It took you hours to tidy up after the previous nights’ guests. When the glasses were cleaned, you stacked them in the cupboards and wiped the counters. Alone, you went to the back door. It was locked too. The windows on this floor only opened two inches. You cursed.

You climbed the stairs with a broom and pan and set to the endless tedium of sweeping every corner. That took another hour, if not more. You emptied the pan downstairs in the bin and returned with a duster.

You knocked on each door before you entered. Most were pristine and required only a touch up. When you reached the end of the next hallway, your rap was answered as the door opened from the other side.

Charles wore only an undershirt and pants as he looked you up and down. He waved you in wordlessly. You entered and set to dusting the mantle and all its ornaments. He moved around behind you and stopped in a doorway just left of the bed.

“I expect you to do more than dust in here,” He said. “Grab some fresh linen when you get the chance.”

He slipped through the door but left it open an inch. You huffed and continued on lazily. Call it spite or your fleeting mind. You tried the window. It opened but there was no way down. You closed it and turned away.

You went to find the sheets and when you had discovered the trove of pressed and folded cotton, you returned to the room. You could hear the soft ripple of water through the small doorway. You set the sheets down at the foot of the bed. You cleared the wrinkled clothing from the chair and dropped them in the hamper.

“Girl,” Charles’ deep timbre called sternly. “Girl.”

Your cheek twitched. He knew your name. You sneered and quickly wiped it away as you neared the door. You pushed it open hesitantly as you peered through.

“Towel,” He demanded.

He sat in the deep tub, his dark hair damp and his broad chest bare above the water. You tore your eyes away and grabbed the towel from its rack. As you faced him, he stood and the water dripped down his body shamelessly. You unfolded the towel and held it up so that you could not see all of him.

“Well,” He waved you closer and snatched it from you.

He stepped out onto the bathmat and fanned the towel around his body. You looked away quickly and a soft chuckle escaped him as he secured the towel at his waist. He passed you, his wet arm touched your sleeve and he neared the mirror as he admired his freshly shaved face.

“Did you make the bed?” He asked.

You shook your head and turned to return to the bedroom.

“Wait,” He stopped you. “That’s ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’.”

“No, sir,” You said bitterly.

“Then you better get to it,” He rebuffed.

You swept through and moved the new sheets to the chair before you stripped the mattress. He leaned in the doorway as he watched you. You could feel him as you moved around the bed and stretched the cotton over the corners. You spread out the top sheet and replaced the quilt over top. You changed the pillowcases and fluffed them.

Done, you bundled up the old bedding in your arm. He went to the bed and dragged his fingers along the quilt. He grasped the blankets and tore them from the mattress.

“Tuck in the edges,” He said. “Now, fix your mistake.”

“Yes,” You gritted. “Sir.”

You dropped the old sheets in the chair once more and set to redoing your work. He stood at the foot of the bed and when you slipped past him, you felt a brush across your ass. You ignored it, content to think it was natural friction, and carried on. You could feel the heat of his gaze upon you and as you faced him, it was confirmed.

“Very nice,” He commented. “You learn… quickly.”

“Quicker than the others?” You asked. “Huh? How many have you bought? What did you do to them?”

“Oh, you’re mistaken,” He said. “I’m not a buyer, I’m a seller… but well, I decided to indulge myself last night.”

Your mouth was dry. You turned and grabbed the linen again. As you backed up, you were stopped by a figure behind you. His arm stretched out around you and he held his towel out. Slowly, he released it and it flapped to the floor.

“You don’t learn that quick though,” He mused as his hand settled on your shoulder. “You think I would spend that much money on a maid.” His fingers crawled along your neck. He gripped your jaw as he pressed himself against you. You felt the prod of his arousal through your skirt. “But it was fun to watch you try.”

“Why me?” You breathed as he gripped your arms and pulled them away from the laundry. The bundle fell to the chair and drooped down onto the floor.

“Because you’re the first to figure it out,” He answered.

“Please,” You begged weakly as he pulled your arms back and rolled his hips so that he poked you.

“Get on the chair.” He ordered.

Your breath caught in your throat. You stood staring at the yellow wallpaper with its golden lilies. You turned slightly and he caught you.

“No, don’t turn around.” His voice sent a shiver through you.

Your lip trembled and you lifted a knee, then the other. His hands ran up your arms and around your back. He shoved you so you caught yourself against the back of the chair. You tensed as his hands fell to your hips and over your ass.

He squeezed and stepped between your ankles so that his legs were against the seat. He ran his hands down your thighs and kneaded through the skirt. He reached the hem and slowly raised it an inch at a time. When it was higher than your stockings, your hand flew back to stop him.

He grabbed your wrist and twisted until you cried out.

“If you scream, there’s no one here who will care,” He snarled. “And they certainly won’t help you.”

He pushed your hand away and tore your skirt up over your ass. He slapped you so hard you yelped. You could feel the heat of his palm across your ass even after it was gone. He bunched your skirts around your waist and hummed in approval.

“You look nice in black,” He said, “Better out of it.”

You kept your eyes forward. You couldn’t have looked at him if you wanted. This man, this stranger, was touching you like no one had before. And he meant to do more. Because he owned you.

His hand snaked around your hip and down your pelvis. He tickled the hair there and slid lower. You tried to press your thighs together but your ankles hit his legs. He tutted and leaned against you.

“I’m being nice,” He warned. “I don’t have to be.”

You grabbed his hand and shoved it away. He struck your ass again as he stood straight. He grasped the back of your neck and pushed your head down against the back of the chair. Your fingers clutched at the cushion beside your face as he held you there.

“I told you last night,” He pinched your thigh. “I can be the worst fiend you’ve ever known.”

He pushed his knees up on the chair between yours. His fingers crawled around your hip again and along your pelvis. He pushed two down along your folds. He rubbed your bud with his middle finger as he spread your lips. He flicked and teased until your hips bucked.

“Not so bad…” He purred. “Am I?”

“Stop,” You begged as his grip tightened on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t just let you go,” He said. “That’d be a poor investment. Even you could see that.”

He dipped his finger inside of you and you inhaled sharply. He drew it in and out and added another. Your thighs shook and your fingers bent against the cushion.

“You don’t realize how fucking lucky you got,” He pushed his palm to your clit as he rocked his hand. “Those other men; old men, they’d fuck you for two seconds before they blew. Leave you there, unsatisfied, discarded. The girls never last long.”

He curled his fingers and moved his hand faster.

“The men get bored. Naturally, they’re greedy,” His nose tickled your ear as his breath glossed over your cheek. “Or maybe the girl gets pregnant. No good. Send her away. Don’t care where, just don’t want to hear about her ever again.”

He nuzzled your hair as your breaths grew laboured. You found it hard to resist the heat that radiated from his touch. You shook as you tried to force the ripples back down.

“So, you keep me happy, girl,” He sneered. “And you might just last.”

You squealed as you came. You were ashamed and astounded. You’d never felt so… much. Never felt anything so deeply. You quivered around his hand and he slowly drew away and wiped his wet fingers on your bunched up skirt.

He reached between your thighs and you felt his length rub against your ass. He teased you and dragged his fingers along your ass. He pressed his tip to your skin and guided it down. He squeezed your neck and you whimpered. He pushed against your entrance and paused.

“You’re not…” He began and thrust inside of you all at once. “Well, it doesn’t really matter.”

Your walls ached as he filled you. The pain was nothing compared to relief that washed over you. You hadn’t realized how much you longed for that feeling. His hand slid from your neck and he gripped your shoulder. His other went to your hip and he rocked his hips.

You grunted as he thrust. You wanted it to end but you also didn’t want him to stop. He was relentless and impatient. You expected little else from the steely man. You quaked as his pelvis slapped against your ass. The noise echoed off the corners of the room, interspersed with his low groans and you pathetic mewls.

He moved your body against his as he plunged deeper and deeper. He sped up, driven by your helpless moans as you clawed at the upholstered chair. You wanted to get away as much as you just wanted to grab onto something steady. You turned your head back and forth as your nerves flared. You shook and gasped as you came again.

“St-st-stop,” You pleaded. “Stop. It’s too--”

He slammed into you so hard you shrieked. He didn’t let up as he crushed you against the back of the chair. He snaked his hand up in front of you and groped your tit as his other arm wrapped around your neck. His thick muscle choked you as he pounded into you and the chair creaked dangerously. You trembled as the ripples washed over you and you skin tingled with the heat of the man behind you.

His thrusts turned sharp and furious. His arm tightened around your neck as he pulled his other hand back. He pushed into as far as he could, holding himself there for just a second each time. His heavy breaths were like hungry growls in your ear.

He pulled out of you suddenly and you felt his knuckles against your ass as they moved frantically. A warmth spurted along your lower back and his hand slowed.

He sighed and unhooked his arm from around your neck. He climbed off the chair and smacked your ass again. It stung so much you were certain there was already a bruise.

“Clean yourself up.” He demanded as he sat on the bed heavily. “Then take that damn dress off.”

#charles blackwood #dark!charles blackwood #charles blackwood x reader #dark charles blackwood #we have always lived in the castle #au #fic #one shot #dark fic #dark!fic #read the warnings

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goldenvoicedminstrel · 3 years

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realised after posting it’s actually @feanorianweek and even day 2, so have some Maglor

The sun was hidden from the sea that day, the rough waves turned murky grey in a perfect mirror image of the dull clouds overhead, both divided only by an endless pale horizon. All around, the colours had disappeared from the earth and Maglor wondered, if perhaps this was what the void looked like. An endless space devoid of colour, sound and feel.

An endless nothingness to isolate one from one’s own existence and drive one mad.

It was a far more frightening thought than any darkness or torture.

Is that what my brothers feel? he asked the only person still listening.

Does it matter? he answered his own question. He would never join them now, it had been much too long since he had failed to follow his brother’s example and throw the Silmaril into the waves with his body still attached to it. Too many years of wandering and suffering had passed, that had made his next step and the next note of his lament as unescapable as the passing of the hours and years. He had woven the mourning resonance of the Noldolantë into the music of Arda itself and himself with it.

Even if he did not care if he lived, he had been surviving for so long he thought he might not know how to die anymore.

The coarse sand and stones were biting into the soles of his bare feet as he walked, having long since discarded his worn through boots. Now the quiet crunch of his steps in the sand formed an imperfect metronome for his song.

“I fixed it.”

Curufinwë stands before him, hands outstretched and in them a little box, ticking away with the steadiness of his own heart beat.

“It was easy, Atar did not even have to show me how. Now you must not be cross with me anymore.”

Again his feet lost their rhythm, one sinking a little deeper into a puddle of water that had been hidden under the wet sand. Around his foot he could feel the pull of the waves towards the sea, dragging the sand with them and hollowing out the ground he stood upon. He stepped aside instinctively, onto a sharp shell that cut through his skin.

“Careful, Laurë!” Maitimo calls and the white towers of Alqualondë glitter behind him, shining with the colours of the Mother of Pearl fragments inlaid in their walls.

“Let me see that. Where was that head of yours again?”

He picked up the shell. Its hard, curved form was broken and the white edges ragged, now tinted pink with his blood.

“Káno, look what I found!” A smudge of silver races towards him, so fast, that his light hair whipping behind him in the wind blends into the pale morning light around him. When Tyelkormo opens his small hands they reveal a cone shell and, emerging from it, the scarlet claws of a hermit crab. “Can we please take him home with us?”

He thought his hair might be turning pale too. Grey, like that of the Edain, when their spirits and bodies started to wane after long years of sorrow and grief. His skin seemed grey as well, and sometimes he thought it was because he could see the grey sky through it. Perhaps he was just becoming a part of that greyness around him, fading into a lament on the waves, his song lost under the cry of the gulls and raging of the sea. Another gull flew over his head, so close this time that he could feel the gust of wind from its wings in his hair.

A shrill scream comes from the other side of the beach, followed by a bought of laughter.

“You sound like the gulls, Moryo!”

A dark haired elfling’s face is turning an impressive shade of red as he scowls at his brother.

“I do not!” he cries and crosses his thin arms, but when his indignation shows no effect, he quickly ducks down and picks up a handful of wet sand, hurling it towards his still laughing brother.

“Stop laughing at me, Tyelko!” he insists and the blonde’s face immediately turns grave, as he bends down in an exaggeratedly somber manner to pick up his own lump of sand.

“If this is how you want to play…” he says, and the scene quickly dissolves into childish screams of laughter.

Little wet droplets were running down Maglor’s cheeks. Ah, he thought, it must be raining.

There was an opening in the high basalt cliffs, nothing more than a crack in the dark structure looming over him, a comfortable shelter for a child perhaps, but not enough to hide a grown adult. He walked past and let his scarred hand trace the stone. It was as rough and blackened as his own scorched skin and its sharp edges seemed detached from under his unfeeling finger.

The wind blew sharper now and the dark strands of his dirty hair tangled before his eyes, obscuring his sight. He listened instead to the desperate howling of the wind trapped in the small cracks and hollows of unmoving stone.

Two red-haired children cling to him, the vibrant colour of their hair burning with the curb’s fire behind them and their identical faces are flushed with excitement and the only recently abandoned heat of the flames.

“Tell us a story Káno! About why the wind howls so. Does it sing like you do? What does it sing about?”

His hair was whipped away from his eyes again by another violent gust of wind, but the darkness stubbornly remained. Was it night already? There were no stars he could distinguish, not even in the West was his father’s creation visible to the hopeful eye. He clenched his hand and walked on, the howl of the wind lost beneath his own.

He walked until the path before him rose away from the soft sand and up on uneven stone, crumbling away under his feet as he climbed, the small pebbles falling endlessly into the abyss beside him. He would not sleep, only make one step after the other until he would drop from exertion, too exhausted for even dreams to find him, may they be horrible- or worse- good.

He stumbled.

There was a bird at his feet, the white feathers making it visible to him even in the night- no, that was the dawn breaking over the horizon.

One of the creature’s wings was twisted and its neck broken, overstretched into an unnatural position on the ground, his honey coloured beak turned away from its body as if pointing out the way ahead.

Did the storm do this to you? he asked, but the dark eyes gave no answer.

He touches the impossibly soft feathers with a trembling hand and suddenly, for the first time since he has been born into these immortal lands of Aman, he understands that even here nothing lasts forever. He thinks of his grandmother, lying as beautiful and lifeless as this little bird while his father strokes her soft hair. The bird must have a mother too, or little nestlings screaming for it, and if it doesn’t, how lonely it must have been. Perhaps it is a silly thing to anguish about, but he has a vivid imagination and a soft heart and has never seen death before.

Through his tears he sees his father hurrying from his forge, alarmed by his young son’s despairing wails.

“What is it, Makalaurë? What has happened? Are you hurt?” his father’s face is tight and pale and his hands are running over his child’s small form, trying to find the cause of his hurt, to fix it as he always does. “Please, tell me why you are weeping,” he asks again and spots the lifeless bird in the same moment. His shoulders drop in relief and his features relax into a sad smile as he pulls his sobbing son into a tight embrace. “It is alright ‘Laurë,” he whispers to him. “Everything has its time.”

He turned away from the bird and walked on as the sun rose higher into the clear, blue sky.

His father, who then had been so much younger than he must be by now, and so anxious about any sadness befalling his newly formed family.

Maitimo had been an easy child in that regard, and really in any other regard as well. Happy and content, with the sure confidence of someone who had grown up with all of his parent’s praise and attention and who, deep down, believed he deserved it. Kind and courteous to everyone and widely loved- and later admired- in return. When he had been quiet, it had been with thoughtful consideration or the comfort that needed no words. Maitimo had never been despairing.

He himself however, befitting the poet he would become, had been much more volatile. His joy had been delightfully loud but his sorrow even louder. How unsettling these first fits of despair must have been for his father, who had always lived under the shadow of his mother’s fate.

His brothers had shed tears too, of course, but they were easily quietened. Tyelko had cried in pain after falling out of a tree and Moryo often in anger. Curvo had sometimes teared up in frustration and the Ambarussa had sobbed in fear the first time they had heard the tale of their father’s mother and discovered that there might be a force in this world that could separate them after all. But Maitimo…

The hard stone under his feet had softened into dry earth and the narrow path was being overtaken by yellow and green patches of grass and finally a thick carpet of heather, the sea of small green leaves parted by spots of rose and purple flowers. A twig snapped underneath his weary feet.

The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming petals as he wanders through the labyrinth of thick green hedges and thorny bushes heavy with blossoms of every colour. Even now, thirsty and irritated as he is, he marvels at the beauty of it all, his parched throat aching to burst into a verse of song in celebration. Yet first he needs to find his brother, as his father had sent him out to do hours ago. But today Maitimo seems to have disappeared from the face of Arda entirely and his grandfather’s rose garden is his last hope. There is a spot there his brother had shown him when he had been but a little boy- his secret hiding place he had called it.

He ducks under the low branches of a young tree and carefully pushes away some of the dense shrubbery before he stills.

He hears their laughter before he sees them, sitting in the grass, a bottle of what must be grandfather’s good wine lying forgotten next to them. They are leaning against each other and speaking in hushed, excited tones, and suddenly his brother is throwing his head back and is laughing, laughing until there are tears running down his cheeks and he has to gasp for breath. He is still holding onto Findekáno’s arm as his giggling cousin wipes away his tears of mirth.

Quietly he turns away and leaves, reporting to their father that Maitimo is nowhere to be found.

The sun was high in the deep blue sky and the sea glittered faintly beneath it.

Maglor’s path lead him down again, away from the heather, towards the waves where the smell of salt perpetuated the air he still breathed. He did not hear the gulls anymore and the light breeze that seemed to caress his cheek was too weak to drown out his lament.

When his feet sank into soft sand again, the sun was already setting and suddenly the sky was set aflame in the same shade of red he had loved and hated and grieved more than anything else.

And again he walked on. Was it raining again?

And when Maglor walks the shore alone, his brothers walk with him, and on the wind his father’s voice whispers: “Why are you weeping, Makalaurë?”

#today on making myself sad at 1:30 am #maglor #i love you bby i'm sorry #makalaure #maedhros #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #ambarussa #feanor #feanorians #silmarillion #just realised it's #feanorianweek #and maglor day as well here #tis fate #golden writes

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professorbcampbell · 3 years

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Seeds of Change || Solo

Timing: March 28th, 2021

Location: The Common

Tagging: @professorbcampbell

Description: Ben decides to see what the Spring Festival has to offer beyond the garden variety flowers and hedges. He finds something rather unique.

When Ben had first caught sight of the spring festival during his run-in—he smirked to himself at that little joke—with Irene, he had initially brushed it off as nothing more than something his mother would probably enjoy. Prize rose judging, people attempting to chop down bushes and call it art, that sort of silly thing. But, he’d chosen to venture deeper into the depths of the festival on the weekend. He couldn’t remember the last time they had a spring festival of this… botanical in nature. And he had an impeccable memory. Ben had always made a point of being involved in the periphery of as many social gatherings and events as he could, keeping an eye out for whatever wandering soul might happen upon him.

Hands stuck in the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers, Ben meandered through the stalls. Tulips, gardenias, orchids—there was no rhyme or reason to the types of flowers that were sprouting up from the stalls. But, he wasn’t looking for flowers.

No, he was interested in something… worthy of his Lord. His monthly ritual was fast approaching and it had been quite some time since he’d gifted his Lord with something beyond the usual offerings of blood and bone. Strolling along the grass, Ben spotted a man smoking away at a pipe—a disgusting habit—at a stand with some rather… unusual wares. The stall was shrouded in dark cloth hangings, with chests tucked away in the back. Meanwhile, the front of the stand was lined with sturdy, barred wooden boxes that held… watermelons? Normally, such a stand wouldn’t have interested him at all, but there was something drawing him in, something seemed to be pulling him towards it.

As he made his way towards the stall, he stared first at the strange fruit on display. All of them seemed to be rustling with an energy Ben was most familiar with. Intent. Dark intent. Looking down at the boxes, Ben noticed there was a strange gap in the watermelon rind, as though they’d already been sliced into. But, as he peered closer, he could see the ruby red flesh was darkened with a glossy sheen that Ben had seen so many times before. Blood.

“Interesting product you have there.” He said to the man, offering a smile. “Do you sell other items?”

The man regarded him for a moment, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth as he stared at Ben from behind bored, dark eyes. “Nothing you’d be interested in.” The man said gruffly. “I don’t think you’d even want one of these. They’re a bit more trouble than they’re worth. Well. They are for some.”

Irritation bubbled in Ben at the implication, but he let out a laugh, “Ah, appearances can be deceiving. I’m more than familiar with things like this.”

“You’re in over your head. Go look at some tulips, pretty boy. Get some flowers for your lady.” The man said, grasping the end of his pipe to point the stem dismissively at Ben. As he did so, Ben could see a hint of silver flashing between his teeth—oh, how very interesting. He was familiar with the stories, had spent so many hours listening to his parents and his grandparents, passing along the stories that their parents and grandparents had told about the creatures that lived in this town. He had heard about the men with silver tongues, with smoke billowing from their noses. Never seen one, not as far as he could tell. But here was one, right in front of him.

Ben knew he had to make the right impression.

With a rueful shake of his head, Ben glanced down at the strange watermelons again. “I’d really love to get a better look at these.” He said and his fingers went for the wooden clasps of the box. The man behind the stand let out a strangled swear and reached out to slap his hands away. Immediately, Ben grasped the man’s hand tightly in his own. The man tried to squirm away, but the moment he did, Ben could feel the ancient signet ring he wore on his left-hand press against the vendor’s flesh. It was an old heirloom, passed from father to son for generations, and he had always worn it with pride. The dark, heavy metal was worn and looked distinctly shabby in comparison to the well-kept suits he favored, but it was a piece of Campbell tradition. A piece of history and ancient power. A gift, granted to them directly by an acolyte of their Lord, hundreds of years ago.

And that power, it was with him today. The smell of charring flesh filled the air between them as the man tried to wrench his hand free, but Ben’s hands were a vice grip around him. He could feel the man’s skin sizzling against him, knew that a deep, burning “C” was being branded into his palm. Leaning forward, Ben held the man’s gaze and said in a pleasant, warm voice. “Now. Vampiric watermelons are a bit banal, don’t you think? I’m looking for something unique,” a worthy offering to his Lord, something that he could gift him at the coming ritual, “Something worthy of a higher power. What can you offer me?”

The man let out a halting, stuttering, “L-Lots. Lots to offer. Just—just let me go.” He pleaded. Ben tilted his head with a growing smile, not releasing the man’s hand.

“Oh? But I thought I was in over my head,” He squeezed tighter, driving the ring deeper into the burning flesh. Blood was beginning to drip through their interlocked hands, sizzling as it made contact with the metal around his finger. “I thought I was just a pretty boy. You’d really give something like that to me?”

“Yes.” The man choked out as Ben gripped his hand. He could feel the center of the ring begin to burn and sear its way towards the bone of his hand. “Yes, anything, anything you want. Just let me go, let me go!”

Triumphant, Ben released the man’s hand and pulled back to look at the stand with a thoughtful expression. Meanwhile, the vendor was swearing, tears running down his face as he wrapped his charred and bleeding hand in the hem of his shirt. Ben paid no mind, eyes too busy greedily taking in the items before him. Boxes filled with unknown contents, bottles with strange, glowing liquids, bones strung up into mysterious charms, feathers with a luster he’d never seen before—so much to choose from. So much, too much.

“You know,” Ben said, voice light and conversational, “I’d hardly call myself an expert on things of this nature. I’m sure you’d agree. No, you sir, are far wiser than I.” He said with a toothy smile before leaning forward, the blood slicked surface of his ring glinting in the light. The man recoiled visibly, backing away into one of the stacked boxes kept behind him.

“I want your most valuable item.” Ben said. The vendor’s face paled and, for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to protest. But, even as the thought crossed his face, Ben watched with interest as the man doubled over, as though stricken by a wave of pain. Was it because of the power of the ring? Was it compelling him to obedience? Or was it something else? Ben didn’t know, but he watched with growing fascination as the man jerkily turned around.

His movements were stiff and halting as he pulled a strange, curving key that seemed to be made of… woven twigs? No, Ben realized as the man fumbled to push it into the latch of a dark, oaken chest. It was a single piece of wood that had been grown into the shape of a skeleton key, dark green leaves sprouting from the handle.

With some difficulty, the man extricated a small velvet pouch from the box and tossed it across the stand at Ben. He caught it easily, undoing the draw strings with growing curiosity. What could be in it? Some kind of magical elixir? An ancient treasure, with incredible power? He emptied the contents into the palm of his hand and blinked. Seeds. Three plain, dusty looking seeds sat in his hand.

“This? This is the best you have?” He said in disbelief, shaking his head as he dropped the seeds back into the bag. He tucked the little pouch into the pocket of his jacket, resting above his heart. The man stared at him with spiteful eyes.

“Get away from me and away from my stall.” The man spat, “I’ve done as I said, and you’ll not get another word out of me.”

With a self-satisfied shrug, Ben wiped his bloody hand clean on the cloth banner of the stand before backing away. He wasn’t sure what he’d been given, but if that… creature considered it his most valuable possession, it would be more than satisfactory to gift to Lord Hrvsht’ooooor. Ben could see it now—he could see himself dressed in his robes, the scent of fresh blood in the crisp midnight air, surrounded by the others of his order. He could picture himself, drinking deeply from the dark chalice that sat at their altar, presenting his humble offerings to his Lord. And his Lord, He would be pleased. He would know of the power of these seeds, know that his servant had proved himself.

He would reward him, finally grant Ben everything he’d ever wanted—

A stumbling man careened into Ben, wrenching him from his pleasant daydream. The man—at least a foot shorter than him—did his best to right himself, grasping onto Ben’s suit with a filthy, dirt covered hand.

“Sorry, sorry.” The man giggled, steadying himself before offering an almost drunken head bobble.

“Get off me,” Ben said with disgust, yanking his arm away from the man’s grasp. He’d already lost his suits to horned rats, he was not interested in having another one ruined by filth. “Get out of here.”

“Already gone!” The man sang as he darted away, stumbling into the crowd of people.

With an irritated frown, Ben made his way through the Common towards the parking lot. He’d had rather enough of this little festival. It was high time he returned home and prepare for the coming ritual. He had an offering to prepare, invitations to send out, he needed to get wine—probably a cheese platter for the celebration after. As he mulled over these details, his hands went to the pocket of his jacket for his car keys. His fingers closed around his key ring but…

Swearing, Ben patted his jacket furiously. It was all in vain, the pouch had disappeared. It was nowhere to be found. The seeds, that were rightfully his, they had been stolen. It must have been that disgusting little man, the one who’d fallen into him. How had he not noticed? How had he not felt it? How could he have just let them be taken like that?

As Ben continued to search his pockets with increasing desperation, a sinking feeling of realization filled the pit of his stomach. Of course. Of course.

The man had stolen his wallet, too.

#p: soc #solo #wickedswriting

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the-melting-world · 3 years

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The Empress | Side A: “These Waters”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener returns to an old playground…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel

Track Origins: “These Waters” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~ 1.4k words

After several training sessions in which Kipling fails to unlock her third eye, Ozy decides to try a different approach. He brings Kipling to a Room modeled after a familiar spot in the Melting World...

Kipling couldn’t believe it. Ozy had talked about it before, but that knowledge could not compare to the feeling that came over her when she stood in the shallows and soaked in the island sun.

The rocks, the coral reef, the underwater caves curling out around the shelf – it was like Kipling had never left.

“This beach looks the same as it did in my memories,” Kip said softly, her syrupy brown eyes taking in the glistening layers of turquoise and white. Then, blinking rapidly, she looked over at Ozy.

“Why did you bring us here?”

The tropical breeze pushed back Ozy’s thin dreadlocks, causing them to fan out behind him. His irises looked like freshwater whirlpools in the sunlight.

“I thought it would help. Sometimes we just need a little positive association in order to motivate us.”

Kipling looked around again. “Not all the memories that took place here were positive, coz.”

She looked out at the ocean of teal and imagined dark clouds growing and twisting over waters rougher than what lay before her.

“Let’s not think about that right now.” Ozy took her by the hand. “Come. I know a nice rock where we can start our meditation.”

The rocky outcropping that Ozy led Kipling to was a good one. And she did find it easier to slip into a trance with the sun of her youth beaming its rays down on her, but there was still no luck with making progress on unlocking her necessary chakra.

They were taking a break down by one of the lagoons when Kip called Ozy’s attention.

“You do realize that ever since you fitted me with these gauntlets, I’ve been able to open and lock Doors without any problems. I just can’t see the glyphs. But I know how to lock the Door, Ozy. I can feel it telling me when to move.”

Ozy, who was in the water, taking his time with his backstroke, replied, “You’re right, Kip. You’ve made significant improvements over these past couple of weeks. Your progress is quite impressive.”

Kip looked down at her gauntlets and swung her legs over the water. “So then is it really all that necessary for me to see the glyphs?”

Ozy paused in his swimming and pulled himself upright so he could tread water. “Kip, don’t get me wrong. Your instincts when it comes to locking Doors has always been so much more acute than mine. In my case, I must take every opportunity to read the glyphs, even on Doors that I’ve opened a thousand times.”

Kip splashed her heels in the water and mumbled, “Then what’s the problem?”

Ozy drifted over to where she was and propped his arms on the rock. “This isn’t about checking off all the boxes to ensure we’re on the same page. It’s about eliminating room for error.” He sighed and furrowed his eyebrows, as if he were trying to choose his next words carefully.

“What?” Kip prompted, though not without a hint of warning.

Ozy kept his gaze firm, but his voice gentle as he said, “Don’t you remember the Door that took Khleo? I’m sure you thought you locked that one correctly as well.”

The rims of Kip’s syrupy brown eyes smarted as she hardened her stare. Ozy held it, lifting his chin in a strange sort of challenge. He wasn’t just pushing buttons this time. For the briefest of moments, Kip saw herself in his steely expression.

“Get it off your chest, coz,” Kip said softly.

Ozy’s jaw quivered for a moment before he sucked hard on his teeth and unleashed his thoughts in a chaotic whisper.

“Khleo was my friend too. I didn’t want it to happen either. I didn’t want it to go that way. It didn’t have to go that way.”

He was breathing hard afterwards. Then he groaned a little as he looked off at the other side of the reef, dragging his fingers through his locs over and over again.

Kip thought he was done, but then…

“I wish I could cry like you.” Ozy didn’t blink as he stared out at the sea that so starkly reflected the sunlight. “When I think about how Khleo stepped in to put an end to our older cousins giving me black eyes and bruised ribs, I feel like I want to cry… but I can’t.”

He took a shuddering breath.

“I can’t cry for the first person to look at me like I wasn’t a freak or some sort of cancer. I have eight biological siblings. None of them ever held my hand willingly, Kip. And the kids at the temple… I can’t even blame them sometimes. I came from the family who told theirs it was okay to give up their children. If they were marked with the ghost lock, they weren’t children anyway. Just shadows of the worlds they couldn’t see. Just umbras.”

Ozy’s eyes turned overhead now. Towards the sun.

“Khleo scared off my bullies and took my hand. They were kind to me long before you were. They were patient with me long before anyone was. And I can’t even cry for them? It hurts.” He finally looked at Kip, that familiar offhanded levity settling back into the murky green of his eyes.

“I’ve tried to ask Abaco what’s wrong with me. But he’s been unhelpful because… he’s a bird.”

Kip’s legs trembled as she got to her feet. “Think I’m going to go find a cave to scream in. I’ll be back.” She hated to admit that she didn’t know how to talk to Ozy in that moment. And even if Kip did, she didn’t think that she was the one capable of correcting whatever had broken inside him.

“Kipling.” Ozy suddenly rushed to pull himself onto the rock.

Kip shook her head and held up her hand to ward him off. “Everything’s fine. I just need a minute.”

Ozy lowered himself back down, looking up at the cowrie choker around Kip’s neck. The same one Khleo had given her all those years ago. The one she never took off...

“You really are going to go scream in a cave, aren’t you?”

Kip offered a tired smile before turning away. “I won’t be long.”

She didn’t even have to think as she made her way to the place that had been on her mind since they arrived in this artificial pocket of the Melting World. Kipling let her feet guide her to a familiar outcropping that hedged over the deeper parts of the reef. She slowly removed her gauntlets as she knelt and placed them far away from the edge of the rock.

Then Kipling blinked, focusing her attention on remembering and processing her next few breaths. When she felt warmed up enough, she shed everything but her underwear, inhaled as deeply as she could, and dived into the reef.

The umbra swam without hurry, taking in the stretches of coral, some of them pale and dormant while others pulsed with color and movement. The deeper she dived, the more the water around her chilled. It didn’t go back to being warm until she reemerged in an underwater cave. Its ceiling formed the bedrock of the shelf where she and Ozy had been training.

Kipling gasped as she came to the surface in the echo chamber. Not because she was out of breath, but because of where she was.

There was no magic laced in these cavern walls. Yet they shimmered. They glowed.

Kipling’s breath was taken away again upon realizing that the only magic that filled this chamber was that of memory.

Something old and sharp tore at her from the inside as she was transported to a time when she shared these warm waters with her best friend. Oh, how they would scream when the quiet of the temple became too heavy for their small shoulders.

Kip closed her eyes, imagining Khleo was there with her before opening her mouth and emptying her lungs. At first she only swore, but then she stopped trying to envision her friend and began to call for them instead.

“Khleo.”

And then came the echo.

Kip caught her breath, but barely. She dredged up both of their voices – hers and Khleo’s from the last day they were together.

“Khleo!!!”

She thought she was so clever back then. So grown for leading Khleo here and teasing them. She thought so proudly of herself to be the one to hold off from saying it first.

“I…”

Gods. She was so young back then.

“I love you!”

She understood so little.

#there's a lot of crying in this one too #sorry #arcana albums: the empress #arcana albums #the arcana #kipling the apprentice #ozy the grey mage #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfic #my writing #kipling bronne #oz'mandias #the arcana fanfiction

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mrs-hyperfixed-writes · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel

I have a request if you don't mind? (Totally feel free to ignore it though!) Mark is lonely after Celine leaves, so Damien and/or the DA gives him a cat (or maybe Mark finds one out in the rain and brings it in). Animals can sense the presence of the supernatural, so the cat can tell that the Entity in the house is trying to mess with Mark's head. The cat keeps ruining the Entity's plans, so it tries to get rid of the cat. When the Entity eventually tries to make a deal with Mark, he is like "WTF, no! You tried to kill my cat! (ง'̀-'́)ง"

@the-tragic-hero-and-you if you want me to stop tagging you in my Actor stories just let me know xx

If this felt a bit rushed at the end it was because I was desperately trying to get it finished and out.

She was gone.

It almost didn’t seem real. The Actor was sure that if he pinched himself then he would wake up from this horrible nightmare. This was nothing but a bad dream. That deep pit in his stomach, that cracking that he felt inside his chest, the pounding in his head. . .They would all go away once he woke himself up. He would sit bolt upright in bed covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Moonlight would stream through the windows to show the late hour and a body would stir next to him between the silk sheets. He’d look over at her and sigh in relief before sliding back down and pulling her to his chest.

But try as he might to wake himself, this was reality. How long had his Celine been gone? A day? A week? A month? He didn’t know, time seemed to blend together. All he knew was that she had left, and taken a large part of his heart with her.

***

If people didn’t know better, they might think that the manor on top of the hill was abandoned. There were never any lights on, and no one had been maintaining the flora that had once been the epitome of prim and proper. Now the hedges were overgrown and the grass tall enough to obscure any rocks that someone may trip on, the cobblestone path that led up to the front door was beginning to suffer with the weeds that had grown between the stones. But people noticed how every week two men would drive up with bags of groceries and toiletries and leave them on the doorstep of the house before driving away. And only when they were out of sight of the house would the front door creak open and a man in a red robe would take everything inside. So no, the manor on top of the hill - as desolate as it may be - was not abandoned. But life had left with the mistress of the house.

***

The wind and rain was relentless. The windows of the manor shook with the force of it. And as the wind wailed outside, Mark found that he wanted to join in. Recently, it had seemed that all he had been doing was crying and going down to his wine cellar to drink himself into a sleep. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was sitting in a bed that hadn’t had its sheets changed in weeks holding onto the pillow that she had laid her head on. It was pathetic, he knew that. His pride took a fatal blow every time he did it, but he couldn’t help himself.

Thinking about her hurt. He couldn’t even think of her name without feeling like he was twisting the knife in his chest. And she had left him for William. His brother, one of his closest friends. The three of them plus Damien had been thick as thieves in childhood. There had been no secrets between the two of them, no story too embarrassing to share.

And none of it mattered to either of them.

He didn’t know who instigated the relationship. Would it make him feel better to know? Probably not. Did they always have feelings for each other? Surely not? There must have been a time when Mark was enough in her eyes. He could have had any woman he wanted and he chose her. Didn’t that idea give her at least a little bit of satisfaction? He was rich, famous, and he loved her dearly. He had given her everything in the world. If she had asked he would have taken the moon from the sky and hung it on a chain to give to her as a necklace, even if it had sat at the bottom of her jewellry box for the rest of her days.

In the end it meant nothing. Two people he had cared about had spit on him and left him to drown in his own sorrows. And Damien? Damien. He knew. Maybe he hadn’t approved of William and Celine’s affair, but he hadn’t said a goddamn thing to Mark about it. Mark had used his wealth and influence so. Many. Times to bail Damien out of any trouble he had ever gotten himself in, but that meant nothing too. Everything Mark had done meant nothing.

Mark meant nothing.

Not even a year ago, he had been a man full of confidence and pride with a manor that was worth more than some entire towns. He had a chef and butler to take care of his needs. But now. . . Mark could barely get out of bed unless he had a drink. He had sent Chef and Benjamin home, and now the manor was falling into a state of disrepair. Sometimes he had fits of anger where he’d throw furniture against the walls. Then he’d break down, regretting all that hubris and confidence that had dictated his life.

And sometimes there was a voice. It didn’t belong to him and he didn’t like it, but it came from inside his head. Whenever he heard it he wondered if he was going mad. He wondered if Celine would be happier knowing that she had destroyed him.

You hate them don’t you? Don’t lie, it hissed with that serpentine voice.

Did he? He had known them for so long. He didn’t know if he had it in him to truly hate them. They had so much history.

How can you not? Do you think they even spared a thought for you? Clearly not while they were fucking when your back was turned. They deserve your hate.

Had they really never thought of him? Not once in their entire affair?

You’ve been forgotten. By everyone. No one is coming back for you.

It was right of course.

They deserve your hate.

They did.

You hate them.

He hated-

A loud banging brought him out of his thoughts. Those thoughts and feelings that had started to cloud his judgement dissipated like a puff of smoke. He didn’t hate them. Not yet.

That banging sounded again. The front door. Someone was at his front door.

***

It took a considerable amount of willpower on the Actor’s part to drag himself out of his bed and down to the front door. Part of him hoped that whoever it was would give up soon and leave him to his torment. Another part of him craved human contact so badly that he found himself wanting to rush to the door.

Bracing himself, he grabbed the door handle and twisted. The door creaked open, and he came face to face with the DA.

He didn’t know who he had expected. Maybe part of him hoped that Celine had come back to him. When was he going to learn that things were never going to go back to the way they were? Would he always hold out hope for a reality that was gone? He should’ve realised what he had when he had it. But he snapped himself back to reality before he could dwell on those things, and instead he turned his attention to the DA.

At their feet they had placed a single giant bag full of shopping. Past the toiletries that had been stacked on the top he couldn’t see what else was in the bag. That was strange, Chef and Benjamin had dropped off food for him not that long ago. He wasn’t running out just yet. (Y/n) looked better than Mark did, but dark circles underneath their eyes told tales of sleepless nights. He entertained the thought of them being kept up thinking of him. But surely that wasn’t true. No one thought of him. They held a black umbrella over their head. Mark noted that they were hiding one hand behind them, but he didn’t care enough to ask what they were holding.

They sighed in relief when he answered, but that was quickly followed by a look of utter sadness and a wrinkle of the nose when they took in the sight and the smell of him. To summarise, Mark smelled of a bar that had been abandoned with all the bottles on the shelf opened. He looked even worse. He looked like a dead man. It was half true.

“Mark-”

“Did Damien send you?” He asked them, a hint of the resentment he felt for the mayor creeping into his voice.

(Y/n) shook their head. “ No. But he’s worried about you. It's been a month and a half and no one has heard from you.”

Was that it? It had only been around forty five days? It had felt like an eternity.

“I don’t care,” Mark whispered, letting even more of his resentment show as he began to shut the door.

(Y/n) shot their free hand out and pushed against the door, and for all that anger that he had towards Damien, he didn’t put up a fight when they opened it again. He didn’t feel the same way for the DA. They hadn’t known. And they had been the one to comfort him when he had discovered the affair. He felt nothing but a sort of love for the DA, but right now he wasn’t of the mind to share that with them. He was afraid that whatever he felt for them - be it friendship or something else - would be rejected. And he was too damaged from Celine and William to consider moving on.

They swallowed, “Mark, I’m here because I’m worried. You sent Chef and Benjamin home and there are never any lights on and you smell as if-” They had to take a deep breath before they continued, seemingly finding it difficult to keep their own emotions in check. “I’m sorry I haven’t been up as much as I would have liked to be. I promise I’ll try to be here more. But you need something to love. You need something to keep you company.”

With that, they brought their hidden hand out from behind their back. They held a fuzzy bundle as black as the night sky. For a second, he was confused until it opened its amber eyes and stared at him.

“A cat?”

(Y/n) looked almost bashful now. “I found him two days ago. He was abandoned on the side of the road. No owner and only about a year and a half old. No fleas or diseases either. He needs a home.”

They held the kitten out for him to take. He was so small. Small enough that he could easily be mistaken for a kitten. He briefly thought of rejecting this gift, but in the end the Actor reached out and gently took it from (y/n)’s hand. Something in his heart twisted when it snuggled into his chest and let out a high cry.

Mark looked back up at the DA, stared into their hopeful eyes. “I’ll try.”

They sighed in relief. “One week Mark. I’ll come and check on you in one week. I promise.”

Hesitantly, they leaned forward, brushing his cheek with their lips. And as they walked away, Mark reached up and touched where their lips had been.

He had watched the DA get in their car and drive away before taking the bag in and shutting the door before sliding down against it, the cat still bundled up against his chest. He rummaged through the bag, finding all the food and cat toys that (y/n) had hidden beneath the shower gel and soap. Bless them.

He looked down. The little black bundle uncurled himself and looked up at Mark. It put its paws on his chest and stood upright, using Mark’s hand as a platform for support. He let out another little cry. Mark brought his head closer, and was a little surprised when it licked his nose and bumped itself against his face. It was as it was telling him it’s okay, I’m here now. Mark was interested to see how this was going to turn out.

Not that much followed for the rest of that day. Mark tried to name the kitten and failed. He fed him and tried to play with him, and when the clock struck midnight he took the cat up to bed with him and passed out.

***

Mark was cold. Colder than he’d ever been. He was caught in a blizzard, the snow coming down so thick that he couldn’t see three feet in front of him. His feet were numb. He barely had the strength to trudge through the snow, the cold sapping all of his strength like a leech. But he had to go on. He felt like something would be waiting for him if he could just keep moving.

Eventually he came to his mansion, the only sign of civilization on this frozen wasteland. The lights were on in the living room. He made his way to where the front door should have been, but to his horror he realized that it was gone, nothing but a brick wall in its place. He fought his way through the snow to press himself against the glass of the window to peer inside.

Celine was there. She was smiling and laughing, and Mark’s heart twisted and how beautiful she looked with a smile on her face. There had been a time where she had always wore that smile for him. Maybe that’s what this smile was for. Maybe she was waiting for him.

And then he saw William, and the cold that pierced his heart had nothing to do with the blizzard. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting little kisses along her neck to make her giggle before she twisted around in his arms to kiss him deeply.

Mark had to look away, the wound in his heart ripped freshly open. He felt something behind him, something dark. He was too afraid to turn around, even when he felt it idly play with the hair atop his head. Something so casual and yet it inspired such a deep feeling of fear in Mark that he was frozen.

This happiness is at your expense pet.

He didn’t like that. Both that whatever was behind him used a pet name as if to claim him and the fact of William and Celine’s relationship.

The kiss. They fuck. They spend their days together while you rot. It’s not fair is it?

It wasn’t fair. But he didn’t want to listen to this. He wanted to cover his ears and make it go away. But he was stuck. Frozen. A prisoner in his own body. He couldn’t even do a thing as he felt something long and cold - a finger most likely - trail up his spine through his thin robe. He didn’t want it touching him.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Doesn’t it?

You could make them feel what you feel. You could make them understand.

He could? He brought his eyes up to the window again. Celine and William’s passion had begun to pick up now, hands fumbling to take clothes off and share their love right in the Actor’s own home.

He wanted them to understand. He wanted -

A piercing shriek rang through the frozen hellscape and Mark felt a small piercing pain in his chest. It was as if he was being stabbed with a little needles. The presence behind him hissed, angry at the disruption. He felt it slither away into the storm. His vision began to fade at the edges, the shrieking getting louder and louder.

Mark’s eyes fluttered open. A dream. Just a bad dream. And the source of the shrieking as on his chest. His cat stood, kneading his claws through the fabric of Marks robe. When he lifted a hand to move him, the cat moved closer to his face to shriek even louder, desperately trying to wake him.

“Alright, alright. I’m awake,” he groggily said as he sat up.

The kitten stopped making that high-pitched wail, deciding instead to press his head up against Mark’s hand and give him affectionate licks. He needed to be fed. Mark picked the small bundle up in one hand and made his way down to the kitchen.

***

The Actor hadn’t left his bedroom door open when he had gone down to feed the cat. He was sure that it had been shut firmly behind him. He stepped in, and realised that it was so much darker than it should have been. Memories flashed. He remembered Celine and him spending nights in each other's arms, him and Celine talking of the future, him and Celine speaking about the family they would start. That last memory hurt more than the others.

She’s planning this with William now.

That voice. The voice that haunted him both in dreams and in reality. And in that moment Mark knew that it was the one responsible for the absence of light. His bedroom had never been a place of such pain before this moment, even when all Actor had done was curl up with the pillow Celine had used.

She shares the dreams of a family with that Colonel.

Mark fell to his knees, afraid that they would give out on their own. He didn’t want to think about William and Celine’s future children. He hated them already.

The corner of the room, it was so much darker than the rest of it. No light would ever breach that dark stain. And he knew that that was where the voice was coming from. He stared, finding the shape of something so monstrous that the Actor’s mind could barely comprehend it.

And that stain grew. Grew until it was right in front of him and a long clawed finger reached out of that dark mass and used it to tilt Mark’s chin up.

But you can stop it. Can stop them. Why should they be happy?

They didn’t deserve happiness. They had taken his. They had spit on his.

Kill their chances. They don’t deserve them. I can help you. I can-

Mark was so hypnotized by the entity that he didn’t even see the black furry ball dart into the room. But he did notice when it planted itself between them and hissed and spat. The entity shrank back, and if Mark didn’t know better he would say it was afraid of the cat. The little black furball hissed and spat as if it was a black panther, screaming and yowling with so much anger that Mark was stunned. This cat was prepared to fight the being for him. It looked like it was about to lunge. It came to rescue him.

Without thinking, he scooped him up in a hand and bolted out of that room and slammed the door shut, shuddering at what had just gone down. And when he held the cat up to his face he couldn’t help but let out a small smile when it covered his nose with affectionate kisses.

***

It happened again. Mark had let the cat out to use the toilet, and he felt that being behind him. Felt those dark hands on his shoulder. Felt it slam the door shut to keep the cat out. And heard it whisper Damien.

Do you feel like a fool pet? Do you feel like a fool for trusting Damien? For helping him? Do you remember that scandal? The one where the Mayor was nearly exposed for gambling? It was a poker addiction was it not? He nearly gave away the entire town

Mark did remember. It hadn’t really been a scandal. Mark had got there before Damien did something drastic. Mark had paid off all his debts. Mark had paid for him to get private help to confront his addiction. Damien had said that now he would be forever in Mark’s debt.

So you do remember. You would think that a man in your debt would have told you your wife was fucking your brother.

Somewhere in the back of his head Mark knew what it was trying to do. But he was beginning to lose the will to fight. He hated this thing. Hated the way it touched him. Hated the way it called him pet. Hated the ownership it had over him. But it was so hard. And on top of that, the part of him that wanted revenge was growing. And he could do nothing to stop it.

It snaked a finger up his cheek like a lover. Mark wanted to vomit.

Then the entity let out a cry. And when Mark wrench himself free of that grip he saw his cat. He was absolutely furious, and somehow had a mouthful of darkness and was tearing into it like there was no tomorrow. The entity dissipated, leaving to presumably go lick its wounds. He looked down at that furious bundle. How had he gotten in? The was only one window open on the second -

Mark knelt. “Did you climb up to the second floor for me?”

The cat just started to climb him, coming to a stop on his shoulder and rubbing its head against his face. Mark couldn’t describe just how much he was beginning to love this cat.

***

That thing had lost its patience. Mark could feel it. A dark cloud stood before him, that entity hiding within. He had come into the living room for. . . What had it been for? He couldn’t remember. All thoughts had fled his mind when he came back to face this dark cloud. From within, he heard the snake-like voice of the entity, no longer just a voice in his head to make him doubt his sanity. Tendrils of darkness reached out, spreading that ghastly darkness out through the room, wrapping it around him. Isolating him. He could see nothing beyond this blackness.

She fucked him while you were married. She kissed you and told you she loved you all the while she was thinking of him. Would you like to know how long that went on?

Mark shook his head. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to-

A year. For an entire year she lied to year face. Neither of them even respected you enough to end the marriage first. She’d fuck you half-heartedly then leave your bed to meet him outside. So you remember your favourite spot in the garden? That was the place where they did it the most.

The Actor had proposed to her there.

You see how little you mean? You want revenge. You want to make them suffer.

He did.

You want them to feel your pain.

He wanted to make them feel his pain.

You want their entire lives to fall apart before they even realize we were involved.

He wanted-

A familiar shriek rang through the air. Mark snapped his head to the side just in time to see his cat fly at the entity. The entity let out a scream of its own, and when the cat came close enough a tendril flicked out and smacked it away. The cat hit the far wall and slid to the ground, landing with a thud. It tried weakly to get up before collapsing back onto its side and letting out a pitiful meow.

Darkness closed in again. But all Mark saw was red.

I can-

“Get out.”

Time stood still. And if Mark didn’t know any better he’d say that the entity was lost for words. Stunned into silence.

I-

“Get. Out.”

The entity laughed. You think-

Mark threw his hands up and screamed, “This is my house! You’re trespassing! Get out! Get out! Get out!”

White hot fury coarsed through Mark’s veins. It had tried to kill his cat. His anger was so extreme that it radiated out of him like the darkness radiated out of this thing. He wouldn’t stand for things anymore. Celine and William, they weren’t worth his time. They were insignificant. He didn’t care about revenge. He wanted to forget them. And he wanted to be left alone by this creature to take care of his cat. And as that horrible creature’s influence started to release him, so too did that darkness start to dissipate. Something like real fear was in the air. But it wasn’t his.

Wait! I-

“You tried to kill my cat.” Mark took a deep breath. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

The fear was thicker now, and that darkness shattered the living room window on its way out. Mark had felt lighter than he had in years. He rushed to his cat, scooping him up in his hands. The cat purred. He was going to be okay.

“My guardian angel,” he murmured. “Angel.”

Mark wondered what to do next. Taking Angel to the vet would probably be best. Then maybe beg Chef and Benjamin to come back home. And maybe, just maybe, he could ask the DA to come over for a cup of coffee.

Things were going to be okay.

#actor Mark #actor mark x y/n #markiplier #markiplier egos #the DA #Celine #William #Actor gets a cat #Abandonment #loneliness #Cheating #Honestly I can't stand Celine

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years

Text

In The Timing

Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Rated E

Warnings: Smut, Angst, *But in this chapter only FLUFFFFFF with a teasing mention smut

Chapters: 4 of 4 + Epilogue

After a horrible first date, you end up at a pub filled with University students. You are feeling rather old and sorry for yourself, until a blond haired Adonis strikes up a conversation with you. Obviously he is too young for you, but what could a little flirting hurt?

@yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @nonsensicalobsessions @caffiend-queen @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @vodka-and-some-sass @arch-venus25 @devikafernando @devilish–doll @hiddlesholic @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @wrathkitty @shae-annelore @kellatron55 @from-hel-i-with-love ciaodarknessmyheart

Chapter 1 - First Meeting

Chapter 2 - The Morning After

Chapter 3 - Years Later

Chapter 4 - Time’s Up

Epilogue

"Ladies and gentlemen, you know my first guest as Loki the God of Mischief and The Night Manager. His new movie, In The Timing, is currently nominated for a slew of awards, including the Oscar for Best Picture. Please welcome back to the show Mr. Tom Hiddleston."

You smiled as Tom jogged out onto stage to thunderous applause. Or maybe "thunderous" wasn't quite right. Thunderous implied deep, and the cheers for your man were much higher in pitch, clearly spearheaded by all of the overeager women in the audience. You couldn't really blame them. In his monochromatic blue suit and leonine mane of hair, Tom was definitely scream worthy. Still, that didn't mean you wouldn't take great delight in teasing him about his status as heartthrob later.

The response to In The Timing had been incredible, with glowing reviews and box office receipts that were much higher than expected for an independent romantic comedy. Now, with the studio making a push for it on the awards circuit even more people were coming out to see the movie that was your labor of love in more ways than one.

All of this was wonderful for you and Tom, as you were both receiving accolades and prizes for your disciplines, but it also meant an endless round of press junkets, talk show appearances, and gala screenings all around the world. Most of the weight of this, of course, centered on Tom's deliciously broad shoulders, but you had your own share of speaking engagements as well. To your amusement, he had insisted that the studio coordinate your schedules, so that you were promoting in the same city at all times. He had just gotten you back, he insisted. After seventeen years apart he was not going to spend one night separated from you if there was anything he could do about it.

You were only too happy to go along with this plan. The state of pure euphoria you had been coasting through your days in had come to a screeching halt the first time you were asked to get up onto a stage in front of a thousand people and answer questions about your process and the characters you had imagined. Only Tom, standing to one side of the stage like a proud and nervous papa watching his child win her first spelling bee had kept you grounded. Every time you started to falter, you would look over and see him practically speaking for you with his body language. It would make you giggle inside how earnestly he watched you, reacting to the questions with amusement or indignancy on your behalf. What did it matter, you realized, what anyone else thought of you, when the over grown ginger in the wings believed in you so completely.

That didn't mean, of course, that you would let him off the hook for the swooning fangirls. Someone had to keep his head from becoming too big to fit through the door.

"So, Tom," Colbert was saying as you focused on the interview, "I hear you've got a new picture out."

"I have," he answered with a smile, playing along with one of his favorite hosts. Between the Hank Williams duet and the Hamlet soliloquy, Colbert was right up Tom's alley.

"Yeah, I hear it's pretty dreamy. Or rather you are pretty dreamy in it."

"I don't know about that," Tom chuckled with humility, face going a bit red. "I don't know who would have told you such a thing."

"Oh, my female staff, my daughter, my wife..." Stephen deadpanned as the audience laughed. "What is it about this film that is so... I believe the word was "swoony"."

"Swooy? An excellent word. From the old English geswogen, meaning "in a faint"" you rolled your eyes as Tom pontificated.

"If you say so," Stephen laughed.

"I would say that it's the waistcoats, Stephen," Tom said with an impish grin. "They are rather constraining, depriving the wearer of appropriate oxygen. Hence the swooning."

"I see. Interesting. Now, this is a romantic comedy. Normally those are not big Oscar bait movies. Oscars tends to go more for tradgedy or history... the feel good tropes.

"Exactly," Tom laughed along.

"So what is it about this movie that makes it so appealing to awards voters? Is it the waistcoats?"

"Maybe," Tom smiled. "Maybe it's the waistcoats."

He was so charming, you thought you could feel the adoration from crowd washing towards the stage. He would be on cloud nine tonight, you knew. Tom feeded off of the energy of a crowd in a visceral way. It wasn't ego, exactly, or at least not just. It was the validation of his hard work, and the knowledge that he had shared something with an audience that had touched them on a personal level, made them experience something as a communal group.

With a smug smile you wondered if he would be able to wait until you were back to your hotel tonight before sharing that excitement with you, or if you would have to find a closet or some other private room to slip into for half an hour or so. Over the last few months there had been a number of times when, sometimes for no other reason than a look you had thrown at him, Tom had siezed you by your wrist and dragged you to some semi-secluded spot to have his way with you. Hell, once or twice you had even been the one to push him into an alcove and reach for his zipper. Your relationship all those years ago had been marked by insatiability for eachother, and if anything the years apart had only added to the ferver to touch, taste, and fuck eachother senseless.

"Along with the costuming, which is brilliant - bless our wonderful costuming department - I think the thing that sets this movie apart is its writing," Tom was saying, throwing an adoring glance in your direction. "It really gets to the heart of what it means to be in love. How we, as human beings, with all our foibles and idiosycrosies can be our own worst enemies in the persuit of our heart's desire."

And seriously, how could you not love this man to distraction?

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Colbert threw in.

"Exactly. Shakespeare said it best as usual. But do you know which character that was?"

"Helena, Midsummer Night's Dream," Stephen said uncertainly.

"Close, very close," your walking Shakespeare anthology smiled sugly. "Hermia. Act I, Scene 1 I believe."

"I'll take your word for it," Colbert surrendered to the master. "So, you're nominated for a slew of awards - a BAFTA, a SAG, an Oscar... is there anyone that you are really gunning for? It's the Oscar right?"

"Well, sort of," Tom hedged.

"What do you mean sort of?"

"I am enormously flattered to be nominated for all of them, of course, and so excited for the film to be recieving so much love. But the award I'm most excited for isn't an acting award for me, or even Best Picture. It's the Adapted Screenplay Award."

"And why would that be, Tom Hiddleston?"

"Well, as I mentioned before, the writing, particularly the dialogue, is truly the star of this picture."

"Uh-hu. No other reason?" the host prodded. "I know you're a private man when it comes to your relationships..."

"With reason, you have to keep a bit of life for yourself."

"Of course. So, what do you want to share with us Tom?"

"Well, it just so happens that the writer of this particular movie is someone very close to my heart," he smiled a dopey smile that made your stomach do filp-flops.

"How close exactly are we talking?" Stephen asked, also shooting you a look.

"Well, Stephen," Tom grinned, "it just so happens that this particular author, this beautiful, brilliant, compassionate woman, has recently become closer to me than people may realize."

"Really?" Stephen grinned back at him. "You know, it just so happens that I see her standing there in the wings. Shall we invite her out here?"

"Well..." Tom threw you a smile, eyes saying that he knew he would be in trouble later, "I really do think that she deserves to be the one sitting out here discussing the movie. She is the reason it is a success after all."

"What do you think ladies and gentlemen?" Stephen asked the audience as you glared at both of them. "Shall we bring her out?"

As a chorus of enthusiastic yeses assailed your ears, you vowed that you would make Tom pay for this later, possibly ususing the pair of fur lined cuffs he didn't think you knew he had purchased when you were strolling through the village the day before. Resigning yourself to your fate you sighed and nodded you head once to their entreating glances.

"Ladies and gentleman, she is the writer behind In The Timing Victoria Thomas," you still were not used to hearing your pen name spoken out loud as often as it was, or responding to it. You were going to have to do something about that soon, you thought.

"That is her pen name, indeed," Tom said as you walked slowly out on stage, glad that you were dressed in a chic Calvin Klien dress that flattered your figure, "I hope you will all join me in welcoming the newly minted Mrs. Hiddleston!"

It had been a complete suprise. You and Tom had been walking through Central Park, Bobby frisking around you as he chased invisable prey. Your fingers were linked together, and Tom had at least somewhat learned to shorten his long stride to make up for your significantly shorter legs. After a bit of wandering, you had made it to the Shakespear Garden near both Delacourt Theater and Belvedeare Castle, and Tom had pulled you down beside him on a stone bench.

"This garden," he told you conversationally, "has every flower the is mentioned in Shakespeare's plays planted in it."

"That's so interesting," you teased, even though you did find it interesting, you loved to give him a hard time over his love of all things Shakespeare.

"All of those flowers," he went on as though you hadn't spoken, "and not one of them is close to being as beautiful as you are."

"Tom," you sighed dreamily, snuggling against his chest. Honestly, how had you gotten so lucky?

"Darling," he said, a nervous tone creeping into his usually confident voice. "I wanted to ask you something."

"What's that?" you said lazily, enjoying the smell of his skin as he kissed the top of your head.

"Would you look at me love?" he asked.

You lifted yourself off of his chest to see an anxious expression to match his voice.

"I know that we have not been back together for long," he began, hands figiting, "but I think you know how much I love you."

"I do," you smiled at him. "I love you too."

"And we have, if you think about it, known eachother for almost two decades."

"I suppose."

"Given that, and that I don't think I will survive parting from you again," detaching himself from you, Tom dropped down onto one knee and your mind went blank. "My darling love, will you marry me?"

You gaped at him in stunned disbeleif, unable to move or speak as the sun glinted off of his copper curls. As your eyes met his you saw a look of hope begin to shade into panic, and realized that you had not given him an answer. Just as you were wondering how mouths and tongues worked, Bobby barked loudly and jumped up onto the bench beside you, breaking the spell that you had been under. You burst out laughing, and after a moment so did Tom as Bobby licked at your face.

"Upstaged by my own dog," he grumbled good naturedly, some of his confidence coming back as you were beaming at him. " B ut come, darling, ' what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee .'"

"I say yes," you smiled at him as he rose to spin you off your feet in a circle. "Of course yes, Tom!"

Two days later, in a quiet ceremony attended by just imediate family flown in secretly and his ever vigilant puplicist Luke, the two of you were married in the same spot by your fiesty dirctor Susie, who had obtained her liscense online for the occasion. It was peacful, and even if one or two persistant pedestrians had been able to snap a quick picture of you in your ice blue dress and Tom in a perfectly tailored Ralph Lauren suit, Luke had been able to keep any whisper of it out of the press. As gossip control went, it was a minor miracle.

"So, you two crazy kids tied the knot, huh?" Stephen asked as the crowd finally died down.

"Yes," Tom said quickly, looking a bit nervous. "Though as you may be able to tell by the expression on my beautiful bride's face, we hadn't made the announcement public yet."

"Oh that's okay," Colbert waved it off, "they won't tell, will you guys?"

The crowed laughed at the notion of it staying a secret after such a public announcement.

"Well, congratulations Tom, and to your lovely wife, my condolences."

"Oh, I think Tom's the one who's going to be needing condolences soon," you joked, and Tom gamely winced, though his eyes said he wasn't sure how much you were joking.

"So, why did you agree to marry such an obvious fixer upper?" Stephen asked you. "Couldn't you find anyone good looking?"

"It's a struggle, Stephen," you sighed and the audience laughed, as you had married, by your own reconning, the most handsome man on the planet. "But, well, I'm in love you see."

"Ah," he nodded sagely.

"Yup, I'm in love with Bobby, and the only way to get the dog was to say yes to the man."

"My evil plan worked, you see," Tom chimed in, laughing his endearing ehehe

"You used the dog to get the woman? That's next level planning!"

"Well you see, Stephen," Tom said, staring into your eyes with an intensity that made you forget you were on national TV, "I have been in love with this particular woman for seventeen years. And if it had taken adopting an entire three ring circus to finally get her to marry me, that was what I was going to do. Fortunately for our home, one adorable Spaniel was all it took."

"Seventeen years? Really?" Stephen looked back in forth between you, a wealth of unanswered questions in his eyes.

"Indeed. She led me quite a chase, but I wore her down in the end."

"I have a feeling there's a story here," the host said, in huge understatement, "but I'll wait until your next visit for that."

"I'm afraid that story is not suitible for television," Tom demured.

"Well, can you at least give any advice to the fans out there? Some help for the lovelorn?"

"Well, in the end," he said, giving it his usual deep thought, "all I can say is it's all in the timing."

"And that, my friends, is what we call a segue. You can catch the movie in theaters now."

Tom glanced over to you and winked with a cocky grin, and you thought of all the things that had gone between you, the years and passion and the love. You loved this man with everything you had. He might be insufferable, he might occasionally push you beyond your comfort level, but you knew in that moment and every moment that you were loved with a fierce, constant heart. It was the happy ending you had always dreamed of. And it was yours.

Notes:

Thank you all so much for reading. It has been a wonderful story to write.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #fluff #romance #love #talk show #epilogue #at last #I don't want this to be over #bobby hiddleston

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justaghostingon · 4 years

Text

Merfolk are Overrated

Chapter 3: The Age of Money

In which Kodya learns how very little he knows of mermaids, fails at lying, and begins to teach the first lesson.

read on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041904/chapters/62338603 or below the cut

Kodya scowled at the wheel, eyes firmly ahead and not on the bright-colored heads that would occasionally pop out and then duck back under. Call it petty, but he had lost a whole catch of fish to their stomachs, and a whole day to the Kid’s song. He did not want to talk to them right now.

A green head popped up to the left, closer now. Kodya turns his head deliberately to the right until it popped back down again.

“Okay that’s it!” The red-head popped up directly in front of the boat and spread her arms. “Stop ignoring Gyrus after ye promised to help him! Or is the word of humans worth so little?”

Kodya let the motor stop, unwilling to actually run her over. He leaned over the edge and scowled at Red. “I’m doing my job: fishing. So I can make up for the money you guys lost me by eating all my fish!”

Red crossed her arms with a huff. “We saved yer boat! That was no easy feat! Ye should be grateful!” And Kodya’s bit his lip, because yes, it probably had been hard to do. But still.

The water had been everywhere, stealing his air as he plummeted into its depths, not knowing which way was up or down. He gripped the steering wheel tighter as the memory washed over him. He’d been completely helpless, and the thought terrified him more than he was willing to admit.

He half wanted to throw that back in Red’s face, pointing out how the Kid had nearly drowned him after explicitly saying he wouldn’t. But that wasn’t fair, his fingers relaxed slightly on the wheel. Gyrus had saved him, and he’d been so apologetic about it. He didn’t want to make him feel guiltier.

“Why do you care if I talk to the Kid or not?” He shot back instead, because even if he wasn’t cruel, he was still pretty angry. “What are you, his mother?”

Red drew back, open shock on her face, and Fluffy winced. Kodya had just enough time to think her reaction seemed way too extreme for such a childish insult before she narrowed her eyes, fire blazing inside them.

“I am the champion of the Queen,” she hissed, steam rising from all around her, “I have protected him since he was an infant!” She brought her tail down on the water with a sharp splash, and the water that hit Kodya burned like fire.

“What?” Kodya exclaimed, bafflement temporarily exceeding pain. “But you’re both the same age!” Kodya knew he wasn’t the best judge of a woman’s age, but even he knew the difference between a woman in her twenties and a woman old enough to be his mother. His eyes roved her youthful face, free of wrinkles and stress. She didn’t look any older than Kodya, in fact if Kodya had been pressed, he’d have thought she was younger.

The mermaids it seemed, disagreed. Fluffy’s mouth hung open at this pronouncement, and even Red seemed to forget her anger to stare at him like he’d grown a second head. “How old do ye think I am, human?” she asked, placing a hand on her chest.

“I don’t know,” Kodya hedged as his entire mind screamed ‘it's a trap!’ Hadn’t his mother and Nephthys always warned him never to guess a ladies age? “...31?” he says hesitantly, quietly adding a decade.

Red’s tail twitched. “I may not remember the exact number, but when I was young you humans did not travel the distances you do now with such ease.” Kodya blinked at her and she sighed. “I suppose if I had to give a number I’d say around 1000.”

Kodya felt his head spin. “That can’t be true,” he muttered as he shook it to try and clear it. “Nothing lives that long.”

“I am actually quite young as far as Siren’s go,” Red sniffs. “The last King was 3000 when he died.”

“3000,” Kodya repeated, still trying to make sense of it all. He gripped the edge of the boat, trying to steady himself. “Is the Kid…?”

“I found sea glass!” the Kid exclaimed, bursting from the water with his prize glittering in his upright hands, and sending Kodya stumbling backwards in shock. “To pay for the fish! You said it worked for you as an exchange?” he adds hopefully as he turns his wide eyes on Kodya’s prone form. “Kodya?” he asked, then turned his attention to Red and Fluffy, “Did I miss something?”

Red crossed her arms, and Kodya quickly turned his attention to the sea glass the Kid held up, desperate to change the subject. “I said I didn’t mind it,” he admitted. “But I doubt my buyers are going to see it the same way.”

“Oh,” Gyrus looked down at the glass in his hands. “You said Alistair wouldn’t want it either.” Kodya shook his head. The Kid frowned. “But you said that there were other humans who would want it though.”

Kodya paused, because he did say that, although he racked his brain to think who exactly would be willing to take it that would actually give him something in exchange. It was pretty, but they’d have to be pretty stupid to want something so superficial, or sell to stupid people.

“Nephthys!” Kodya snapped his fingers. “Nephthys can sell it to the tourists who come by her shop.”

Gyrus’ face lit up. “So it will make up for the fish we ate?” Fluffy looked on hopefully beside him.

“Not even close,” Kodya shook his head and Gyrus and Fluffy’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve still got to keep working all day today to make up for it.”

Fluffy hesitated, then pulled up a fish she had been nibbling on and held it out towards Kodya. Kodya pinched his brow. “That’s not going to help. You guys really aren’t getting exchange rates.”

“Well it's not like you’ve explained!” Red huffed. Kodya scowled.

“You know what? Fine!” Kodya scooped up the sea glass from Gyrus’ hands and carefully placed it in his lunch box. “I’ll teach you.”

“Really?” the Kid exclaimed, eyes shining.

“Absolutely,” Kodya smirked. “Tomorrow.”

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

“Kody!” Nephthys cried as Kodya pushed his way past the beads hanging in the doorway of her shop.

“Hey Neph,” he replied, wrinkling his nose as multiple heavy perfumes hit it all at once. Nephthys always insisted that the scents chosen were designed to relax the people who came by and make them more willing to shop. Kodya supposed it half worked, as he eyed the brightly labeled jars marked with words like “potions” and “good luck.” At least when all the oxygen diverted to their lungs they had less in their brains to see through the obvious hoaxes.

Nephthys bustled around the edge of the counter, purple “witch’s” hat bouncing on her head. “What’s the big occasion?” she winked. “You never come to my shop!”

Kodya shrugged, careful not to knock over any of the little jars in the narrow space. “I’m not big on all that magic stuff, thanks, and besides, way too many tourists visit for my taste.” Mermaids might be real, but Kodya was willing to bet that those magical potions of hers were nothing more than fancy tea and the placebo effect.

“Oh Kody,” Nephthys giggled. “When will you learn that there is more to the world than what you see?” She drew closer and frowned. “Wait a minute, something's different in your aura.” As she leaned into his personal space, hand on her chin, Kodya panicked, wondering if she’d inexplicably guessed about the mermaids.

Then Nephthys’s face broke into a wide grin. Kodya had just enough time to think: she knows, before she let out a high pitched squeal. “You’ve met someone!”

“I have not!” Kodya sputtered, the image of Gyrus’ smiling face flooding his vision. Oh no, he could feel his cheeks heating up. Think of something else, anything else. Red’s angry glare replaced Gyrus’ smile, and all previous warmth snuffed out like a candle doused in ice water.

But it was too late. “Oh Kody,” Nephthys laughs. “You know you can’t lie to me. Besides,” she gave him a wink. “Your aura isn’t nearly as drab as it usually is. You’re not lonely anymore!”

And wow, if that didn’t hit hard. Kodya knew that he wasn’t the most sociable guy, and he knew that even if she never said it, Nephthys worried about him alot. Kodya saw the hope glittering in her eyes and found he couldn’t lie to her. But he couldn’t exactly tell her the truth either. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“They aren’t people,” he started. Nephthys’s smile stiffened, and something in her eyes sharpened.

“What do you mean?” she asked, voice even, perhaps curious, but not at all like the earlier excitement. If Kodya weren’t so worried about how best to explain he’d be concerned.

“They’re dolphins,” Kodya said, as a flash of inspiration hit him.

“Dolphins,” Nephthys repeated, voice flat.

“Yes!” Kodya nodded rapidly. “They started following my boat, helping me fish and just hanging out. You know, like those dolphins they’d talk about on those nature documentaries we used to watch in high school?” He rubbed the back of his neck and hoped she bought it.

Nephthys’s eyes narrow as they search Kodya’s face. For a second Kodya feared she’d seen through his lie, but her face broke into a warm smile. “That’s so CUTE!!!!” She shouts, and Kodya winces from the volume. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologies as she stepped back. “I’m just so happy for you Kody!”

“Yeah well,” Kodya looks down at his feet. “We’ll see how it goes.” They were only sticking around to learn about human values, and if the Kid could already sing Kodya into the water, it probably wouldn’t take too long for him to figure out the rest. Speaking of which…

“Hey Nephthys? Do you still have those old dollars you laminated? For that weird project you did in high school?”

“The Advantages of Waterproof Money! I never understood why it didn’t take off!” Kodya facepalmed as Nephthys smiled. “Why do you ask?”

“I need to buy it from you,” he said as he pulled out his lunch box, unclipping the cover to reveal the sea glass carefully stowed inside. “And I have something to trade.”

“Sea glass!” Nephthys eagerly grabbed a piece and held it to the light. “Look at how smooth it becomes in the ocean water! You know,” she gave Kodya a sly grin. “There’s powerful magic in objects that belong to two worlds.”

“And plenty of tourists that will buy it for far too much when you tell them so,” Kodya grinned back. “How much can I get for it?”

“I’ll give you thirty dollars,” Nephthys offered, and Kodya fought the urge to scold her for paying such an inflated price for something so common. “Plus the laminated money.”

“Done!” Kodya pushed the lunch box towards Nephthys as she rummaged in her register, pulling out thirty dollars, and strangely, the laminated money. Kodya raised an eyebrow, and Nephthys gave a high pitched laugh.

“I just happened to bring it to the shop on accident one day and kept forgetting to put it back,” she explained with a wave of her hand, and Kodya sighed, very familiar with his friend’s forgetfulness.

“This is quite a bit of sea glass,” Nephthys said as she began to put the sea glass into little jars. “When did you find the time to collect it all?”

Kodya shrugged as he absently fingered through the laminated bills, wondering what else he would need to teach Gyrus. “My friend,” he said absently.

“The dolphin?” Now it was Nephthys’ turn to raise an eyebrow.

Oh no. Kodya jumped, nearly dropping the bills in his hands. He fumbled with them as Nephthys starred, in equal parts amused and judgemental. “Yes! Yes, the dolphins. They definitely brought me the sea glass. Yes.” He nodded furiously, and Nephthys’s lips purse like they do when she’d trying to hold back a smile. He scowled at her. “Dolphins are incredibly clever creatures.” He said, remembering the nature documentaries.

“Of course,” Nephthys agreed, amusement coloring her voice. Kodya straightened and turned to walk out the door again, before she put together what's really going on. He almost made it too, but just before the door could close she called out, “Kodya?”

“Yes?” he grunted as he turned back.

“Give your dolphin my love!” She waved, sending him a knowing wink. Love? Kodya couldn’t imagine saying that to anyone, he wasn’t Nephthys, who even after seven years still maintained an ambiguous accent and forigen customs. Although...Gyrus’ face swam in Kodya’s vision once again. If he…? Kodya didn’t let himself finish the thought, shaking his head violently.

“Hehe,” Nephthys giggled and Kodya felt his ears go red.

“Nephthys!”

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

“Alright,” Kodya says as the three mermaids sit awkwardly in his boat. “To start off this lesson, I figured I’d show you the final goal.” He spread the laminated dollars on the deck in front of the three mermaids.

“This is your exchange?” Gyrus asked as he reached out a hand, stopping just shy of contact.

“You can touch it,” Kodya bit back a smile. “It’s covered in plastic so the water on your hands doesn’t damage it.” the Kid eagerly grabbed the four dollars, holding them up to the light as Red and Fluffy crowded closer for a better look.

“It’s all very green and drab,” Red frowned as she pulled the ten out of the Kid’s hands, casually moving it to the left as Fluffy tried to bite it. “That seems impractical. How would you keep track of it?”

“It’s not about the color, it's about the numbers on the paper,” Kodya crossed his arms, feeling vaguely insulted. Fluffy leaned back towards the Kid, this time succeeding to get the corner of a laminated dollar in her mouth.

“It’s not actually seaweed Sylvia,” Gyrus scolded as he pulled it gently out of her lips. “It’s their exchange. They call it ‘dollars’!”

Fluffy raised an eyebrow as if to say, you sure?

Kodya pinched his brow. This was going to be harder than he thought.

“Wait a minute,” Gyrus wondered out loud as he flipped through the three remaining bills. “These dollars, they’re all different!”

Kodya’s head snapped up. Or maybe not. “Can you tell me what you notice that’s different?” he asked, trying not to sound as excited as he felt.

The Kid examined the one, five, and twenty dollar bills, a slight frown on his face. “The faces are all unique,” he finally said, and Kodya sighed. Well at least it was a start.

“Yes, the faces are different.” He leaned forward, pointing to the corner of the one dollar bill, “But what's most important is the number here. It tells you what the bill is worth.”

Red and Fluffy leaned back over the Kid’s shoulders to examine the numbers. “These squiggles are supposed to show worth?” Red wrinkled her nose.

Fluffy nodded, hands cupping around the picture as if to say: It's all designed around the picture! It should be the most important thing!

“Look I didn’t design this!” Kodya snapped. “This is just the way it is!”

“But why have the pictures changed between dollars if it's not important?” Gyrus insisted. “Surely they must have some cultural significance.” Kodya opened his mouth to tell him to forget it but Gyrus added, “the significance might help me understand an aspect of the value human’s place in it.”

Kodya closed his mouth. There might be some truth in that. His shoulders sagged as he looked at the three bills in the Kid’s hands and the one in Red’s. Now if only he could remember who these guys were.

The first at least, was easy. “This is George Washington,” he pointed to the face on the one dollar bill and the Kid’s eyes lit up. “He was our first president.”

“President?” Gyrus prompts, leaning forward and staring up at Kodya. Kodya gulped.

“He leads our country,” Kodya explained. “Every four years everyone gets together and votes. Votes means to say everyone shares their opinion on who’s going to lead.” He added as he saw the Kid’s mouth open. “The person with the most votes wins.”

Fluffy cocked her head, eyes sharpening on Kodya, a strange interest gleaming inside them.

“So your leaders must get these votes every four years for the rest of their lives?” Red scoffs. “That seems like a waste of time. If the leader is good, then simply let them stay.” The Kid looked down and Fluffy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She frowned at Red.

Kodya shook his head. “They can’t stay in office for more than two terms, which means they can only be voted in twice. After that it's someone else's term. It's done to ensure we never have a bad ruler we have to put up with for more than four to eight years.”

Red crossed her arms and sniffed. “That sounds absolutely…”

“Wonderful,” Gyrus sighed from Fluffy’s side. Fluffy nodded. Red’s head whipped around to stare at the both of them. “Oh don’t look at us like that,” Gyrus’ tail twitched. “Mom’s a great ruler, but with this method she could take a break! Maybe make a decision for herself? Wouldn’t that be nice?” He looked at Red, who bit her lip.

Kodya got the feeling there was a lot more going on here that he wasn’t aware of, and that if they kept going on this tangent, then they wouldn’t get off it. “Ahem,” he coughed into his fist. “George Washington’s face is on the one dollar bill,” he said, hoping to bring them back on track.

It seemed to work, as the Kid’s attention switched back to the bill in his hands. “the first president for the first bill!” he exclaimed. “I get it!” Gyrus studied the other two bills in his hands. “Are these the second and third presidents?”

“Nope,” Kodya plucked the five dollar bill from his hands and held it up. “This is the next smallest bill. The five dollar bill. It’s worth five of the ones with George Washington on it.”

“We’ve skipped all the way to five?” Red threw up her hands. “Your exchange is ridiculous!”

“Tori!” The Kid complained, “don’t be rude!”

Fluffy pointed at the picture and looked up at Kodya, head tilting to one side. Kodya took this as a prompt to continue talking. “The person on this bill is Abraham Lincoln.” He said, a bit louder than normal to make Red and the Kid stop arguing and look at him. It worked, with Gyrus eagerly scooting forward and Red huffing as she followed. “He is the second most important president in our history. And no,” he added as he saw the Kid open his mouth, “he was not the second president we had. He came much later.”

“How much later?” The Kid managed to get out, and Kodya paused. He really had absolutely no idea. High school history had been so long ago. He wracked his brain before continuing. “I’m not sure, four score and seven years or whatever that means, I think it's around a hundred. Look,” he said, waving the hand that didn’t hold the bill, “That’s not the point. The point is that this guy,-” he shook the bill for emphasis, “-stopped a civil war...that's a war where half the country tried to leave, and freed all the slaves while he was at it.”

“I know what slavery is!” The Kid’s tail swung back and forth eagerly, nearly hitting Tori and smacking Sylvia in the face. “That’s how we got Mingo and Obi!” Kodya blinked, unsure of what a mango had to do with slavery. At his confusion, the Kid straightened his back and began to speak in the rhythmic tone of a storyteller telling a well known tale, “Mingo and Obi were once human slaves held captive in a great boat by slavers. But where most simply despaired, they would not give up on hope. They tried to escape again and again with the hope of stealing a small boat and heading home. Eventually the slavers deemed them too much trouble to keep and had them thrown into the sea. But before they could perish, my mom heard their pleas, and ordered the sorcerer to turn them into Sirens.”

“You can do that?!” Kodya exclaimed, fixating on the transformation, and not the fact that Gyrus was speaking like he knew people who had obviously lived for several hundred years. Once again Kodya was faced with the possibility that the Kid was not so much of a kid after all, and the thought left him with an uncomfortable tingling in his stomach.

“Not without a sea sorcerer,” Red hissed, “and not without serious cost. I would not recommend trying it yourself human, a sorcerer always asks for more than you can give.” Fluffy gave a sad nod, still rubbing her head from where the Kid had whacked her.

“Okay,” Kodya said, deciding to move on from this too before he lost his nerve, and continue with the lesson. “Tori is holding the ten dollar bill. It’s worth ten George Washingtons or two Abraham Lincolns” He waved a hand towards her still feeling dazed. “I don’t really remember who he was, I think he was in a musical maybe?”

“Musical?” The Kid repeated, head tilting to one side and looking so very young and not at all like someone who might have lived centuries.

“It's like a play, but with singing,” Kodya explained, and when the Kid still looked confused he added, “people act out and sing a story for an audience.” The three mermaids’ eyes all began to sparkle.

“He’s a knowledge-spinner!” Gyrus beamed, Red looked down at her dollar with new respect, and even Fluffy looked a bit guilty for trying to bite it.

“Truly a man whose face is worthy of preservation on this exchange,” Red nodded. “I knew I had good taste.”

Kodya had a niggling feeling that they were all severely misrepresenting the man on that bill, but he didn’t remember enough to prove them wrong. “The last bill in the Kid’s hands is the 20 dollar bill. It’s worth twenty George Washingtons, four Lincolns, or two of the knowledge-spin-whatever. And before you ask,” he pointed at Gyrus, “I have no idea who he was.” The Kid’s face fell, and he stared down sadly at the last bill.

“You should ask my knowledge-spinner,” Red held up her bill. “I’m sure he could tell you.”

“Yeah, any guy on these bills has been dead for centuries,” Kodya shrugged. The three mermaids gave separate cries of outrage.

“Your knowledge-spinner is dead?” The Kid said.

“No wonder you humans are so backwards,” Red crossed her arms.

Kodya opened his mouth to protest, but Fluffy gave a sharp tug on his shirt sleeve. She pointed to the picture on the twenty, and then tapped her head, making a confused face.

“How do we keep track of its worth if we don’t bother to learn who he is?” Kodya translated, feeling a bit proud at doing it effectively. “That’s easy. We don’t need to. We-,” he rummaged in his bag, “-just read the number in the corners. Now,” he pulled out the four small white boards he’d bought with the money from the sea glass, “-who wants a marker?”

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

It took a few minutes to teach the mermaids how exactly the whiteboards worked, water’s ability to erase markings did not help matters, but once things were settled Kodya got right down to the lesson. “We’ll start with the first nine numbers,” he said as he drew a one on the board. “Now copy me.”

Red, Fluffy and the Kid all obediently placed their markers on their whiteboards and started drawing. When they finished, each one held it up for Kodya to inspect.

One wasn’t exactly a hard number to draw, more of a dash really, but Kodya was still relieved to see Gyrus had grasped the concept perfectly. Red’s was a little messier, but still clear. Then he saw Fluffy’s.

“What is that supposed to be?” Kodya exclaimed as he looked at the line with the little triangle on top. Sylvia held up one finger. And Kodya pinched his brow. “It's only supposed to be a line Fluffy, no triangle on top.”

Fluffy frowned, but slowly corrected her drawing, until it looked like a very slim wedge or a poorly drawn one. Kodya sighed, and decided to just take it.

“Now this is a two,” Kodya drew a two beside the one. “It’s a bit trickier. Remember, curve and line.”

“Curve and line,” the Kid repeated and he and the others copied it down. Kodya looked at his work and found it once again perfect. Red’s was shaky, but legible, and Fluffy’s…

“Fluffy!” Kodya tugged at his hair in frustration. “I said no triangles! There are no triangles in two!”

Fluffy hugged her whiteboard close to her chest, the drawing now of two lines, each with a mini triangle on the top, connected by the line forming the triangle’s third side. She held up two fingers and pointed to her drawing.

“You can’t just make up whatever you want!” Kodya growled. “You’ll never learn to read numbers if you do that!” Red shifted angrily, but Gyrus opened his mouth before she could.

“Maybe she’s just using another written form?” Gyrus offered. “You humans have different languages, why can’t you have different symbols for numbers?”

“Everyone uses these numbers!” Kodya replied, throwing up his hands. “All over the world! No one’s used symbols, especially ones like that, in forever!”

Fluffy crossed her arms in a way that clearly said, I do.

“Uggg,” Kodya massaged his forehead as he tried to get a grip. There was something odd about Fluffy’s drawings, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. They just seemed so old, far too simple for hieroglyphics and the chinese system, but somehow similar. “Just how old are you?” He grumbled.

Fluffy pulled her whiteboard even closer and turned her back on all three. Red and the Kid all exchanged glances.“We don’t know,” Red began.

“She just showed up around 50 years ago,” Gyrus explained. “While we were swimming up in the icy seas in summer. She couldn’t talk, and nothing besides basic gestures seemed to mean anything to her. We took her with us because we couldn’t find any other pods in the area.”

Well, that sucked. Kodya looked at Sylvia, still drawing on her whiteboard, and felt bad for being so rude. For all he knew, this strange number system was all she had left of her family. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Fluffy didn’t give him the time.

Slyvia turned around, holding her whiteboard high above her head, and beamed. Gyrus, Red, and Kodya’s eyes all turned towards the image she had drawn.

“It’s a shark,” Red said, eyebrows drawn in confusion. “Why are you showing us a shark?” Fluffy facepalmed.

“Is that supposed to be a mermaid?” the Kid pointed at the very little figure beside the big shark. “Is she supposed to be that small?” Fluffy nodded eagerly, but the Kid still looked confused.

The mermaid was really tiny, Kodya privately agreed, like a tenth, or even a twentieth of the size of the shark. A shark that size wouldn’t have existed for millenia. A memory of a faded poster flickered through his mind, one left over from his embarrassing dinosaur faze as a child. “Is that supposed to be a Megalodon?” He asked.

Fluffy cocked her head. Not in denial, but not in agreement either. It occurred to Kodya that they probably didn’t call them Megalodons back in the day, and he hurried to explain. “A Megalodon was this huge shark that lived way back in the past. It was about half the size of a great blue whale.”

Fluffy jumped in the air, waving her whiteboard excitedly as she flopped around, tail smacking the side of the railing with a wet thunk. Red and the Kid stared at her in shock as Kodya felt lightheaded. “But they went extinct in the ice age!” He said as he tried to steady himself. “That was three million years ago! It’s practically a dinosaur!”

“Are ye really so old?” Red asked Sylvia, who tried to mime some kind of explanation, but kept moving too fast to make sense. Gyrus watched them for a few seconds, before turning to Kodya, seemingly concluding that he would provide a clearer answer.

“What’s a dinosaur?” He asked, big amethyst eyes staring up at Kodya like he had all the answers in the world. Kodya had just enough time to think, we are never getting back on topic, before his inner seven-year-old self took over, and he launched into a lecture on all the different types of dinosaurs. But somehow, Kodya found as Tori and Sylvia joined Gyrus in listening attentively, he didn’t mind at all.

#room of swords #room of swords fanfic #gyrus axelei #kodya karevic #tori grieve #ros sylvia #merfolk are overrated #gyrus #kodya #back by popular demand #mermaid au

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oldmanlillian1989 · 4 years

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Cat Pee Mat Awesome Cool Tips

The secret is to not neutering your cat can get him to use this type of cat urine is one way that bothers you, such as the body language especially some time for your new cat, and keep one as a business leave the cat is urinating all over the surface, especially around the lips or can and the poor little cat/kitten.Also, there are many reasons being allergies or a change in behavior is to check whether the sprays made with catnip extract on the furniture, simply pick the cat urine is also more likely to contract or develop cancers, Which in turn cause several more.Have there been any changes in access to rooms, and even extend your cat's nose - a clear list of what I can say a lot.Find a method that has a litter box, but your neighbours and see where their boundary lies.

Cats can be your only way out that's one option.That being said, owners who focus on removing the triggers or taking in a veterinarian's care.I hope they will also be enjoying a much larger problem if you already have a covered jar or can even destroy things inside your house.It is and do not recognize you as if you want your little tiger from scratching the furniture.Spraying can be an irritating problem; so it is a basic need for all these methods provide only temporary relief.

It had a play bite and scratch with specially-devised pads for your cat.Vinegar is one word of caution: when you spray taste awful.Dogs with short, dense hair like a dirty litter box.You can find other ways to keep an eye dropper, that was not cleaned for them.Chewing on electrical cords, although this can involve a physical problem.

The affected cat may be a quiet petting session.The scented ones are those caused by flea bites, you will need to bring that cute, fluffy little creature home?Unlike dog owners, cat owners seek veterinary advice.Remember, if you place the post in the house ones.If you have cats living in the same way as older people.

What type of litter boxes for three separate cats may dislike one another in their environment: the rug, furniture, curtains, screen doors, and carpeted steps.All these ways can help trap in the house?a. Use an air freshener and place a heavy infestation, others get a responseScratching posts reduce clawing problems, since they tend to spend the night in a cat's hair, be sure your cat needs to be less smelly than cats that have gotten away with with a sheet.For instance, place cat treats or favorite arm chair often works to repel the cat, but a natural, if unpleasant, behaviour - clap your hands, even if you own a dog in the home and fight with each other.

Lastly, Bitter Apple works as a stimulant when a cat owner that has been impregnated with essential oils.You can visit your local zoo to obtain this although some cats will attack a cat deterrent.Regularly come by with a single room where the accidents usually occur will help reduce the damages or to the spot.Plastic or adhesive sheets are effective commercial cleaning solutions you can make an appointment for your cat.Another very important use for removing cat feces and disinfecting any areas for a mate.

In cats, the female cat prevents mating behaviors such as sisal and carpet remnants.Just like the job, have the same towel to intermix their scents.Fleas and ticks can also be very overpriced.Burlap is good to get some exercise, which is typically only used in feline asthma, but it this way.As you are like rabbits when it has short fur is not a new type of litter?

Carpets and flooring may need additional medical treatment in addition to becoming restless and affectionate.Remember that if you allow your cat home, you should also treat the others as well.If you are at the cat urine that has had diabetes for a thing one day it may be affected by something or someone new, a cat where the cat may get the treat.There will almost always stem from a scratching post.Claw maintenance - kitty scratching and these cats have learned the dangers of vaccines and harmful flea and eggs in the seedlings to let females know of one another say their cat a supplement, other important ways of eliminating the flea eggs and larvae, so sprays should be gradual.

Best Quick Tips No More Cat Spraying

By rubbing catnip onto the cats themselves will moderate the use of this natural instinct and knowing what the cat urinates frequently, straining, blood and skin irritation and has some effect, fresh catnip is good for is the best health care problem very quickly. Kidney stones cat frequently enters box experiences pain may cry out or toilets.Use DeScent crystalline powder in the act.For the ears make two very loose piggy tails and rolled them over at Christmas.Depending upon if your dog through the fibers in the right way.

However this is to make an intruder would disturb the relationship.However, it does not have the litter box.There are plenty of fake mice and various other behaviors but may be.Welcome back to using an air horn, or squirting him with lots of hair at skin level and brushAs there are so accurate that a dog into their home.

Although most cats spend their time sleeping more than one cat.If you 2 or 3 and utilize a quality SEALED HEPA vacuum cleaner will mask the smell.It has been effective in controlling them is really sturdy without being heavy or awkward, and small enough head to make it more appealing as well as gives the bad behavior issues such as spraying or marking inappropriately is a result humans don't like to test your vacuum cleaner is not able to find them homes are a number of changes in its surroundings, Feliway has developed a spraying problem.Owning a cat allergy you are not eating, lethargy and hiding.The shampoo you buy should have you gone into a chore.

Click here for about three to four pumps of the smell, but it is very hard to remove the fabric and other modes of travel, it might feel for your cat does it damage belongings and valuables, but it is cruel to keep your cat's paws in the house?Replace with tension rods for the remedy:On the contrary, cat spaying or neutering that removes all of them is very important for him to a vet which is called the Fel D1 Glycoprotein,Living with a sponge and place the scratching post and show him that you have the opposite results so it is a way that it does the task of cleaning cat urine: Soak up the fence about spaying your cat itchy and uncomfortable and that is warm in the home, which is available at the moment, it might be a joyous time but she never ate or drank anything while we took the four ingredients in a small, black light.If you have two - an herb that comes from cat urine, you are angry because of stress, boredom or bad socializing when she goes for old shoes that haven't been neutered.

The aggressor cat will send you if they are not only active to fight you should try to pet them, just try this if you need to understand feline behavior.Allow this to spray urine to mark there territory.A lot of their natural instincts are to get it to use the liquid from the Canadian Parliamentary Cats well fed and properly cared for cat owners to be considered.You'll feel awful at first and endeavor to catch mice or climb fences or hedges that the fleas need to be fine with each other.Cats are creative and can be one of those adult fleas and ticks is very relaxed.

Then soak it in a hidden feline and the solution could simply be getting a handle of this basic assessment and you feel would be best for my poor feet.Not to mention neutered may choose to live with them using the litter removed and the water bubbles up visibly but is there are many possible reasons the cat into the sink so the following advice for cat owners fail to comprehend often lead them to each other, you may turn into excess watering of the cats do find a box with the bells on the ear canals of both dogs and cats may control access to the bone.It will keep him healthy and infection-free.In other words, the cat was there idea first.Has the kitten grown up though, you are gong to need about 100 feet of your couch.

4 Year Old Cat Peeing On Floor

Allow it to behave the way over to his new area.Cats, like dogs are definitely great animals to have your cat will be able to possibly prevent your cat uses the crate as her primary sleeping area, you've won.Other times, a cat that needs to be placed in an area where the crate with a cat when it involves cutting the end of each card in exactly the same a few things that DON'T work!In fact, you will have the capacity to take care of it.Cats generally rub their body or some other kind of damage that a cat or shock your cat from scratching up the cat, there are not always happen.

Neutering may be required to deal with issues as they do something good before he gets into their home.This might happen is a lot of time outdoors or becomes especially dirty.A cat will only allow your cat safe from all such hazards but raises potential problems of a peeing cat.Proper nutrition helps in detaching the blood suckers minutely without causing any damage to furniture and will go a step - by - step methodical approach to eliminating the flea and tick treatment as a toilet.The odor from things that come naturally to him.

#Cat Pee Mat Awesome Cool Tips #What Does My Cat Spray

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