#chapter twenty one
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Burning Hearts: Chapter Twenty-One
(AO3 counterpart here.)
The weather was a bit moody over the next few nights. Powerful winds shook the (at this point, mostly bare-branch) canopy of the forest and sent painfully cold and heavy drops of water down to the unlucky cats that weren’t in their dens, soaking them to their cores. Then, suddenly, the storm would stop, and the sun would shine bright enough to wake Fireheart up in the middle of the day, and leave an almost-warm night behind it. Again would come a storm, and again the sun reappeared, apologetic for the chill. Fireheart wished Suriin would make up her mind on what she wanted the weather to be; getting teased with open skies was just painful at this point.
Still, he refused to complain, even if his Clanmates did. He just performed his duties diligently, catching what prey decided to risk the cold and wet and patrolling to ensure no foxes or rogues made their way into the forest. They never did, but supposedly autumn made everyone desperate. It was good to check.
One night, Fireheart was outside of camp, sniffing for any prey close by, when lichen curtains rustled behind him. He turned and bowed his head to Bluestar as she stepped out of her den.
“Good evening!” he said brightly, doing his best not to shiver in the cold of the cloudy night.
Bluestar gave him an amused look as his tail shook out some of its chill. “I suppose it could be considered a good evening, yes. What are you doing out here? Tigerclaw didn’t assign you to anything, did he?”
“Oh, no, I was just walking around.” Fireheart flicked an ear in the general direction of the forest to his right. “Just hoping to maybe find something to eat. The prey we have right now is a little skinny.”
“Doesn’t even fill you up?” Bluestar asked with faintly-teasing surprise.
Fireheart shuffled his feet sheepishly. “Well… I guess I could do with something more, but, I mean, Goldenflower’s hungry too.”
“You’re a diligent son.” Bluestar’s eyes creased warmly. “Well, if you aren’t busy, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”
Fireheart perked up and stood straight, tail high. “What can I do?”
“Tigerclaw sent Darkstripe to tell me there’s a scent he wants me to inspect on the Houses border,” Bluestar said. “Unfortunately, I’m already going to meet with Crookedstar. We need to discuss our prey donating situation.”
Fireheart tilted his head. “Didn’t we already stop?”
“We did, but some extra prey may have gone over the border, and I want to ensure our ledgers are equal. I’d rather not have given him more prey than I had to.”
Fireheart couldn’t hold in a sigh of disappointment.
Bluestar narrowed her eyes at him, lacking any real anger. “I know you’d love to give them as much as we can, but we do have our own Clan to feed.”
Fireheart didn’t respond (though stars knew he had a litany of arguments against this), just nodded for her to continue.
“I’d like you to head to the border for me,” she said. “Just to get an idea of what’s going on over there while I’m busy. I have no idea how long talking with Crookedstar will take, and I don’t know how dire this scent situation is. Tigerclaw should still be there…” She paused for just an instant, giving Fireheart a meaningful look. “And if he’s not, you could always look around for him. Perhaps ask if anyone’s seen him.”
Rosy’s merry face immediately dashed through his mind, followed by a sleepy Smudge. Fireheart’s tail curled over his back. “Just anyone, then?”
“You never know who might help,” Bluestar said lightly.
Fireheart did his best not to look too excited, but he said a little quickly, “I’ll take care of it right now.”
“Thank you.” Bluestar nodded and turned away, setting off at a trot in the direction of Sunningrocks. “Come find me if it’s something dangerous. I’ll be at the top of Sunningrocks.”
Fireheart gave an affirmative noise before splitting off himself, barely keeping himself at a trot until he could no longer hear Bluestar’s movements, at which point he broke into a run, tail jittery with excitement.
She must have had her kittens by now, he thought as he rushed on. Maybe she’ll be outside, or she’ll be at her door and I can ask her about them! Or Smudge could be out, talking with that Witch-Hazel molly, or…
His mind flitted about with imagined conversations and guesses as to what Rosy’s kittens would look like, until his eyes were only seeing his excited sister jabbering on about the names she’d picked for them. His thoughts turned to if the kittens would be safe with him—but then again, it wasn’t like he’d be going in her house, right? He’d just see them from a distance and get to compliment Rosy on how pretty they all would be. Would they be safe with Smudge? He was definitely altered by this point. Would that affect how a tom would react to kittens that weren’t his—?
What returned him to the real world was the sudden end of the treeline. He skidded to a halt, grass and wet soil piling up under his paws and leaving a little streak of mud behind them. Fireheart took a moment to shake out his feet and spread his toes to wipe them off on unbothered grass, looking around and sniffing as he did so.
Curious. There was no scent here.
Well, it did look like he was pretty far from where he’d gone before and scented rogues. Maybe he just needed to head north.
What little rain had been popping in and out had ceased by this time, to his relief. It made tasting the air easier, once he pushed past the remnants of yesterday’s storm. He kept his mouth open as he padded along through the grass and past the fenceline.
Smudge was not outside when Fireheart went past his house, but smoke curled up and out of his chimney and the lights were on. Fireheart’s feet tried to pull him to his yard, but he forced them forward in a straight line. He reached the road he took to Rosy’s house, but he paused, tasting the air again.
There it was—rogue-scent. Fresh, too. Very fresh.
Like they’re still here.
Just as that thought went by, a pair of large shapes came around the corner of a far-off street and started towards him. Fireheart squinted and leaned forward a bit, trying to decipher what they were. Black-and-white, about the same size—
Black-and-white?
“Fireheart!”
Distracted, he looked over his shoulder and blinked in surprise. Tigerclaw was trotting towards him at a brisk pace he had not seen the deputy take before. His eyes were wide and oddly anxious, another first.
“What are you doing here?” he said when he came to stand in front of Fireheart, blocking his view of the shapes. “Is something wrong?”
Fireheart looked up at him, quizzical. “Er… no. Bluestar sent me to see what was going on over here. She had to talk to Crookedstar, so…”
Tigerclaw’s gaze drifted towards the forest and he breathed out, “Ah.”
Fireheart leaned to the side to look past him. “I think those cats—I think they’re cats—they’re going to be trouble. Should we do something about them—?”
“No, no.” Tigerclaw looked back too, his tail lashing side-to-side once, then again. “They’re certainly rogues. We can’t handle them alone.”
“Then what do we do? They might come over the border.” Fireheart’s stomach tensed. “And I’ve been told about patched cats like them that may have killed Lionface…”
He trailed off as the pair of what he could now see were cats suddenly turned and went down another road—thankfully not near Rosy’s house, but closer to the forest. Both ThunderClan toms were silent for a long moment, watching to see if they were coming back, before Tigerclaw turned to Fireheart again.
“We’ll be alright for now,” he said quietly. “Let’s just get home and report to Bluestar.”
Fireheart’s mouth twitched into the slightest of grimaces as he considered whether it was safe to leave or not. Tigerclaw’s weary and worried expression preemptively silenced him and he simply nodded. With the faintest relieved sigh, Tigerclaw started back for the forest, using his tail to guide Fireheart as he turned around and walked with him, having to pick up his pace a bit to keep up with the massive tabby’s long strides.
“So this call was for them?” he asked once they were in the woods. “Or just the scent?”
“Initially, I only smelled them in the grass,” Tigerclaw said, “but they were still here, as you saw.” He looked down at Fireheart with great concern. “You need to be careful, Fireheart. The Houses are dangerous right now. Please, stay behind the border if you come here alone.”
Fireheart blinked reassuringly. “I’ll be alright. I don’t really come here very often anyway, not now.”
“All the same… please.”
Fireheart observed Tigerclaw, somewhere between surprised and touched at being worried for. It would be easier to tell on another cat, but he could find the kindness in the deputy’s eyes behind the muted anxiety. He didn’t have it in him to argue; he just nodded once and blinked again, slower.
Tigerclaw’s own eyes shut briefly as he sighed through his nose, like a weight had been lifted off of his back. He touched his nose to Fireheart’s forehead before turning his head forward again.
“Thank you,” the dark tabby murmured, then added after a pause, “Goldenflower would be quite upset with me if I let you get hurt.”
Goldenflower upset was not a fun image in Fireheart’s memory. He shook out his pelt with a bit of joking over-exaggeration. “No kidding. She’d never let you forget.”
The faintest chuff, followed by, “I wouldn’t let myself forget, with or without her.”
A bright warmth spread through Fireheart’s chest. He couldn’t help a beam on his face as he padded along, tail high and curled.
They spoke of nothing else until they got back to camp, their comfortable silence only broken when, as they stepped into the sandy clearing, Goldenflower called, “There you are! Come here, please!”
Fireheart shared a curious glance with Tigerclaw before, together, they crossed the sand to the nursery. Goldenflower was standing outside of it, as usual, but she was almost dancing in place, her already long fur fluffed out until she looked like a spotted cloud. Her amber eyes sparkled bright enough to beat the sun and her tail jumped about wildly.
“You’re in a better mood than usual,” Fireheart remarked, then paused as a scent drifted into his nose. He frowned as he sniffed it: familiar, even nostalgic, but he couldn’t name what it was.
“You smell it, don’t you?” Goldenflower bounced a little on her pads and said to Tigerclaw, “Do you smell it?”
Tigerclaw copied Fireheart. His eyes went wide and his tail stood straight out.
Goldenflower trilled and bent her head to Fireheart’s level, her glee threatening to stretch her beaming face to its breaking point. “Do you know what that is?”
Fireheart shook his head.
“It’s mother-scent!” Goldenflower’s fur fluffed out even more somehow. “I’m expecting kits!”
Fireheart nearly jumped in place, eyes popping out. “Kits!”
“Kits!” Goldenflower agreed giddily, purring the hardest he had ever heard her purr (which was quite the statement). “We’ll have a wonderfully big family now!”
Tigerclaw actually started purring himself—a deep, rumbling sound, like an idle car. He stepped forward and pressed his cheek against his mate’s. Goldenflower pushed back hard enough to almost topple him over, which she didn’t appear to notice.
“Does anyone else know?” Fireheart asked once her attention was back on him.
“‘Does anyone else know?’,” Teaselfoot repeated as he walked by. “She’s been running around telling everybody that comes in! Sometimes twice!”
“I couldn’t contain it,” Goldenflower admitted through a purr. “Frostfur sniffed it out first, and she’s right! Ohh, I can’t wait for them to start growing! I’ll get to feel a kit’s kick in a belly for myself!”
Fireheart looked at her in surprise. “Kits kick before they’re born?”
“They do all sorts of things!” Goldenflower’s jumping tail swatted Tigerclaw as he came around to sit beside her. “Kick and turn and grow—this will be so exciting! Isn’t it exciting, Tigerclaw?”
Tigerclaw had a rare face of somehow serene delight. He leaned against Goldenflower, causing her to sit down too. “It’s been a long time coming.”
“I know!” Goldenflower suddenly stretched out a paw and scooped Fireheart towards her. Fireheart complied and let her hold him in an embrace against her chest and front leg. She touched her nose to the top of his head, vibrating with joy.
Fireheart knew perfectly well that he looked silly being held like a kit, but he couldn’t be bothered to care beyond a cursory awareness. His mind was racing with possibilities and questions.
How big will the litter be? Will I have more sisters or brothers? Will they be bigger than me by the time they become apprentices—? Of course they will, don’t be silly — What will they look like to begin with?
This last one got his interest the most, so he pulled back a little bit to look up at Goldenflower and ask, “What do you think they’ll look like?”
“Oh!” Goldenflower let him go to gesture aimlessly with her paw, her eyes distant as she seemed to mentally rifle through her ideas. “Well, if you get brothers, they’ll be gold, like me. Possibly pale gold, since I have some family behind me with that color, but it’s not likely. Sisters, let’s see… they’re all definitely going to be tortoiseshells, but whether they’re tabbies or not, I can’t say.”
Fireheart regarded her with a little bit of awe. “You already know? I just thought about if they’ll be big like Tigerclaw or not!”
“Well, that is part of my job as a matriarch.” Goldenflower puffed out her chest, which was easier to see now that her fur was smoothing a little. “I can tell you what colors they’ll be, easily. They won’t have Tigerclaw’s colors, I’m sure, unless the sisters have it as part of their coat as tortoiseshells. Sons of a ginger or gold cat like me tend to have the same color as their mothers.”
“Wow…” Fireheart tilted his head, pondering. “I didn’t know there are rules to fur.”
Goldenflower chuffed. “Oh, there certainly are! You’d be surprised at the funny things our colors decide on. For example, did you know only mollies are born as tortoiseshells?”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“I’m not sure on the ‘why’, just that it’s the rule.” Goldenflower hummed, calmer now in her thoughtfulness. “Though I have heard stories about tortoiseshell toms, but they’re barely anything but folktales. I’ve certainly never seen one for myself. Oh, and did you know—”
And like that, she was off, growing excited again as she shared fact after fact about stripe patterns and coat colors and fur length. Fireheart was immediately lost, but he listened anyway, delighted to see Goldenflower so happy and discussing something so passionately.
“If I may interrupt for a moment…”
Goldenflower cut herself off in the middle of something Fireheart had no hope of understanding, and she and her mate and son turned their heads to see Bluestar standing close to them, looking amused.
“Sorry to break up the conversation,” she said. “I’ve just gotten back. I heard the news, Goldenflower. Congratulations.”
Goldenflower purred again. “Thank you.”
“Tigerclaw, I couldn’t get to you as soon as I had hoped,” Bluestar continued. “Crookedstar and I got confused on a few things when I talked with him. Darkstripe said it was rogue-scent on the border?”
Tigerclaw nodded. “It was.”
“Oh, I saw a couple rogues, too!” Fireheart piped up. “Two big ones. They went away before they came towards the border, but they were definitely there.”
Something black popped up in the corner of his eye. He looked over to see Ravenwing listening in. His green eyes were narrowed in thought, and he seemed to be watching Tigerclaw as he added, “Two large black-and-white cats, yes. Fireheart seemed familiar with them.”
“When I was asking kittypets about Lionface, they mentioned black-and-white cats,” Fireheart explained, turning back to Bluestar. “I don’t know if they’re the same ones, but it’s worth noting.”
“It certainly is,” said Bluestar. She sighed. “Well, we definitely know there are rogues around. We’ll have to increase the size of patrols on that border. I don’t want anyone being caught off-guard and alone.”
Tigerclaw nodded. “I can organize them if you want to have a meeting about it tonight or tomorrow.”
“We better go through with it tonight, while everyone’s home.” Bluestar turned and started for the meeting stump. Tigerclaw licked Goldenflower’s ear and moved to follow his leader.
Fireheart decided to stay with Goldenflower. Her joy was still radiating off of her, and it was comfortably warm, like the heater at his old house.
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April 15th Chapter Twenty-one
AO3
The woman is a tiny dynamo. She runs out the flung open door, her skirt held in one hand. The bun her dark hair is held in barely hangs in under the force of her running.
“Jamie!” He let’s go of Claire to catch her up in his arms.
“Jenny!” he hugs her for the space of time it takes Claire to lift Fergus down from the carriage, “meet my wife and our son. Claire Elizabeth Fraser and Fergus Henry Fraser. My sister, Jenny Murray.”
To her shock, her sister -in-law throws her arms about her and Fergus. “My dear sister, welcome to the family and Lallybroch. Oh, you are expecting?”
“Yes.” It is the first word she is able to get out. How will her new sister respond to her English ness?
She claps her hands in delight. “Oh, how exciting. You are English.” Then she turns her attention to Fergus, “Hello little one. I am your Auntie Jenny.”
He clings to his mama’s bosom and stares at the strange woman. “It is okay. She is family.” She is reminded of the rest of the family. Jamie, a step ahead, has assisted Mary and Hazel down. Now he makes introductions.
“Jenny, meet the widow, Mary MacNab and her daughter, Hazel. Mary was Fergus ‘ wet nurse and is staying on as his nanny.”
“Very nice to meet you, ma’am.” She gives a curtsy which Hazel copies.
Jenny smiles at them. “Very nice to meet you both. Welcome to Lallybroch.”
A tall, sandy haired man, joins them. “Jamie, so glad you are home.” He hugs him, patting his back.
“Ian, meet my wife and son.” She is introduced to her brother -in-law.
They all head into Lallybroch. Mary and Hazel are given the small nurse’s room beside the nursery. She starts to settle in, giving the family time to get aquatinted.
“It isn’t that I need a nanny,” Claire is explaining, “it is just, we couldn’t abandon her and Hazel. They have become like family to us.”
“If course. You did the right thing. There is room here for them. I am sure I can find her a husband.” Jenny’s eyes gleam in the gas lights.
Ian chuckles and pats her hand. “Now Jenny, the lass just arrived. Dinna start your match making yet.”
“I am good at it. Almost had a match for Jamie,” she confides to Claire, “before he went off to school.”
“Where I found my own.” He adds, patting his wife ‘s hand, “I am so thankful. For you are my heart.”
She nervously smiles, hazarding a glance over at Jenny. She finds her beaming.
“That is all I wanted for him. A grand thing, is marriage for love. That is what Ian and I share.”
“Jamie and I, as well. Not at first, at least not for me. But, it wasn’t long after our wedding that I knew.”
All this she says with her head down. Her husband lifts it, drawing her to his side. Fergus, playing on the floor with his new playmates, wee Ian and Maggie smiles up at his parents. Yes, they are home.
#my writing#outlander fanfic#april 15th#chapter twenty one#jamie and claire#cannon divergence#outlander fandom
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Before I go crash and die. Here's chapter twenty one for all the insomniacs out there.
Chapter Twenty One
Enjoy and goodnight y'all
#rottmnt#rottmntau#rottmntoc#rottmnt future timeline#rottmntsona#chapter twenty one#night guys#insominac#wattpadstroy#wattpad rottmnt story
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Chapter Twenty-One: Even or Odd
WARNING: PANIC ATTACK AND GAMBLING!
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Lucy walked along with Freed, Rufus, and Midnight, searching for a sign that proudly proclaimed Celestial Spirit Gate Keys as a prize. They made their way through a wide, dimly lit hallway. It had a line of doors on each side. The hallway had many other people, but not to the point that it was crowded, the small group had plenty of room to move around. Nevertheless, the four stuck close together, all watching the possible wizards surrounding them as they also looked at the signs on the doors.
Lucy tried to keep her eyes from lingering too long on the people around them. She felt as though she was being watched and it made her uncomfortable. She stepped closer to her friends and crossed her arms over her chest. She jumped a little when she felt an arm wrap around her. Looking up to see who the arm belonged to, she found that Rufus was smiling down at her, his eyes behind his red and gold mask were soft and gave Lucy a strange sense of comfort.
She unconsciously leaned against him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her body more. She felt warmth radiating off of him. For some reason, she felt comforted and safe, something that she didn't expect to feel anytime soon. She then heard Rufus whisper to her after he dipped his head toward her ear, "are you alright?"
Lucy could only shrug. She was uncomfortable, tired, and the uneasy feeling she had earlier still hasn't eased even a little. What was the reason behind that feeling? Why did she feel like something bad was going to happen? Was she being paranoid like Rufus had suggested? Should she listen to her gut? She wasn't sure. Her eyes scanned the crowd around them, searching for Terra, Lust, and Nyx. She hoped that they weren't here. Fear rose from within her gut at the thought that those three were here.
She gulped, her mouth dry for some reason. Very quickly, her skin became hot, suddenly, she was burning. Not like when she's outside under the summer sun, but instead, like there was a fire underneath her skin, burning from inside of her. Her breathing became slightly faster and a little shallow. She gently pushed Rufus away, his body heat becoming too much for her to bare.
She stopped walking to calm herself. Her breathing steadily became faster and shallower, her mouth was dry, every part of her body was burning hot, her heartbeat was racing, and she felt dizzy.
"Lucy?"
She wasn't able to recognize who had spoken, but she knew that Freed, Rufus, and Midnight were now watching her. She kept her eyes on the stone floor, unable to look at her friends. A feeling of nausea and fear settled upon her as she stumbled backward, quickly ending up on her ass. As her breathing became audibly quick, she brought her hands up to cover her face, noticing that they were trembling. She placed her hands over her face and brought her knees up to her chest. Her heartbeat was pounding against her chest, the sound filling her eyes to the point that she couldn't hear any other sounds.
After what felt to her like several minutes, she felt a small hand gently grab her wrist and press something cold and metallic into her palm. She jumped at the sudden cold feeling. The owner of the small hand that held her wrist gently forced her fingers closed around the cold object. Lucy's hand began to hurt dully. Her heartbeat calmed just enough to hear a man's voice speak to her in a whisper, "Princess, breath in through your nose for four seconds."
Lucy curled further into herself, refusing to make an attempt at the order. The voice repeated, a bit more forcefully this time, "Princess, breath in through your nose for four seconds."
She finally attempt to do so, managing to suck in a breath through her nose. The voice counted to four as she breathed in before continuing, "hold it for seven seconds." He counted to seven as Lucy held her breath. "Good, Princess," the owner of the masculine voice gently rested a hand on her back, "now breath out through your mouth for eight seconds." Lucy obeyed as the voice counted.
This process repeated, Lucy breathing in through her nose for a count of four, holding it for a count of seven, and breathing out through her mouth for a count of eight, the voice directing her as she went. The other person, the one who had small hands, continued to hold her wrist with one hand and keep her hand closed around the cold object.
When her heartbeat had neared its normal pace and her breathing became more controllable. The fire that seemed to be underneath her skin lessened gradually until it was barely noticeable. She moved her legs away from her chest and looked at the people who were with her. She first saw that Loke was kneeling next to her, a kind smile on his face and his hand still on her back. Turning her gaze to the other person who was sitting by her, she found that Tucana was holding her hand closed and smiling at her as well. The female celestial spirit asked, "how are you feeling, Princess?"
Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She tried again, but once again, nothing. She placed her hand over her mouth and coughed, her throat dry. Loke announced, "I'll be right back." He then disappeared with a flash of golden light. He returned after only a few seconds and handed Lucy a bottle of cold water. The blonde accepted it and downed the water after unscrewing the bottlecap. She ended up drinking the entire bottle and sighed before she gave Loke an appreciative smile as he took the empty bottle from her.
Lucy then looked at Tucana and, after a few seconds of slight hesitation, she muttered, "I'm alright now, Tucana, thank you."
Tucana's smile widened, her eyes shining with pride in herself for being able to help. Lucy thanked both of her spirits before the pair disappeared back to their realm. Lucy sighed from her place on the floor, her mind still trying to process what had happened.
A hand rested on her shoulder, drawing her attention, and Freed questioned with worry clear in his voice and on his face, "are you alright? You scared us."
Lucy looked away from him, feeling ashamed of herself for letting her friends see her like that, as well as for scaring them. She responded softly, "I'm sorry."
Rufus asked from where he stood on her other side, "for what?"
Lucy heaved a sigh, "for what you just saw."
Midnight was the next to speak, "we don't have time for this. We need to move on."
Freed scolded him, "don't you realize what just happened? Lucy doesn't need to feel overwhelmed and rushed right now!"
Lucy pushed his hand off of her shoulder and stood up, saying, "no, Midnight is right. We need to find all of the keys here as soon as possible."
She pushed past Midnight, ignoring the sounds of Freed and Rufus urging her to stop. She kept her eyes on the doors that she passed, forcing herself to not think about the feeling of being watched that began to weigh on her and the uneasy feeling that was still nestled into her gut.
She eventually caught sight of a sign that had the words she was searching for etched into it. With a small smile appearing on her face, she raced toward the door and looked at the sign, reading it.
'Two Celestial Spirit Gate Keys up for gamble!'
Feeling a rush of relief, she grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door open, stepping inside to find the room empty, save for a man sitting at a desk in a swivel chair. There were also two couches on opposite sides of a coffee table. She walked toward the man, hearing her three partners walk in behind her and close the door. The man smiled at the group, greeting them, "welcome to my den! You're here to gamble, I presume."
Lucy nodded, her brow furrowed in determination. She didn't care that she's never gambled before, nor did she care what the game was, she was determined to win the keys. She watched as the man stood up and walked around the desk, observing that he had long, brown hair that was pulled into a high ponytail, brown eyes, pale skin, and was dressed in a burgundy suit jacket with a white dress shirt and black pants.
The man spoke again, sitting on one of the couches that were on opposite sides of a coffee table. He gestured toward the other couch as he spoke again, "whoever is gambling against me, please sit."
Lucy instantly moved around the couch and plopped down. She wasn't going to let Freed, Rufus, or Midnight get an opportunity to take the challenge for her, or any of the other challenges that are to follow. This was her mission and she was going to do as much of the work as she can. Her three companions were merely there to assist her whenever she permitted it.
The man spoke again, "I'm Bub. May I know your name?"
"Lucy." She said it with a tone that told him she wasn't interested in unnecessary pleasantries.
Bub chuckled as he stood up and walked toward the desk and opened a drawer, certainly looking for the game that he wanted to play. After several moments of thoughtful humming to himself and of Lucy getting irritated at how long this was taking, Bub reached into an open, wooden box before he walked back over. He sat down again and held up a purple cup and a white die, allowing Lucy to see the items.
He then spoke, "let's play a simple game of Even or Odd. I will toss this die into this cup. You have to guess if the number that it lands on is even or odd. Do you accept?"
Lucy stared at him. It was stupid to ask her if she accepted the challenge. There was no way that she would turn away. She remembered what Midnight had said earlier, that the den owners here will cheat and didn't want to pay what they were offering as a prize. She responded seriously, "I have two requests before we begin."
Bub raised an eyebrow, asking, "which are?"
Lucy raised a single finger as she answered, "you let me see the keys that you are offering. I want to be sure that they are real." She then raised a second finger as she continued, "you let me analyze the die. I want to be sure that it's not loaded."
Bub chuckled and tossed her the die before he reached into a pocket and slid the keys toward her. Lucy first looked at the die in her hands. She didn't feel it weighed down on any of its sides. She didn't know of any statistics that showed one side was more likely to turn up than the other sides. She gave a silent sigh, not very happy with the fact that she will need to rely on sheer luck.
She tossed the die back to Bub as she instructed the three men who stood behind her, "keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't try to switch the die."
She then turned her attention to the keys. She picked up one, observing that the silver key's blade was shaped like a sword while on the circular bow was Medusa's head, looking quite fearsome, as if she was threatening an opponent.
Lucy was able to quickly tell that it was real. She sat the key back down and picked up the other silver key, observing that the blade was shaped like a standard key, but the bow was shaped like a pegasus in mid-flight.
She sat the second key down and pushed the two keys toward Bub, saying, "they're real."
Bub smirked, "you're an expert?"
"Yes. Now, let's get to the game."
"Alright, alright."
Bub held up the cup and die again, pausing in that position for a few moments. He then swiftly tossed the die into the cup and slammed the cup down onto the table, the opening pressed against the wooden table tightly. Bub fixed his brown eyes on Lucy's own, saying, "so, did the die land on an even number or an odd number?"
Lucy stared at the cup, racking her mind for a number. It was a six-sided die. That meant she had a three out of six chance to get it right. A fifty/fifty chance. She bit her lip and balled her fists on top of her knees. She didn't know what to say. What if she got it wrong? Could she ask for another game? She couldn't lose these keys. She felt panic rise from within her gut. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she felt an urge to run and hide from any prying eyes.
She jumped slightly when she felt a cold touch against the back of her neck. It jolted her back to reality. She blinked the tears away and raised her eyes to meet Bub's. She had no strategy to rely on. She had no visible evidence pointing toward the number that the die had landed on. She had to guess and pray that she got it right. She suppressed a growl when she noticed the smug look on Bub's face. He was clearly enjoying her near breakdown.
Lucy took a deep breath before she spat out, "it's even!"
Bub's smirk grew and he lifted the cup.
Lucy's eyes instantly looked at the die.
Four. The number that it landed on was four. An even number.
Lucy felt a wave of relief crash down onto her and she heaved a sigh that reflected this. She had gotten it right.
Bub clapped his hands once and announced, "congratulations! Take the keys!" He pushed the two keys toward Lucy, who snatched them up before anybody could blink. Lucy stood up and nodded to Bub before she walked toward the door, intending to make her way to their quarters and make her new contracts.
Lucy glanced at her three friends, who sat on the furniture in their assigned quarters. She set one of her new keys on the coffee table and sighed before she turned around, facing the door, and pointed the blade of her new key away from her. She summoned, "I connect to the World of Celestial Spirits! Heed my call and pass through the gate! Open! Gate of the Hero: Perseus!"
The sound of a large bell sounded and a bright, silver light shined, quickly fading to reveal the new celestial spirit. Standing before the blonde woman was a tall and muscular man, probably the same height as Bixlow. He had olive-tanned skin, black hair that was short and curly, and sharp, dark brown eyes. He was dressed in a white tunic, and winged sandals on his feet. In one hand was a harpe, a sword with a sickle protrusion. Resting on his back was what looked like a silver, polished shield. Resting on his hip, tied around his waist, was a brown sack that held something heavy. Finishing off the look was a clean, metal helmet, resting on top of his head.
Lucy smiled, greeting him, "hello, I'm Lucy. I was wondering if you would like to make a contract with me?"
Perseus sheathed his sword behind his back before he stepped toward Lucy and kneeled in front of her. Lucy watched in surprise and confusion as the spirit took her hand into his and kissed the back of it, speaking, "I've heard much about you, Princess. I would be honored to serve you." Lucy noticed that he sounded oddly similar to Laxus.
She felt her cheeks heat up at the knight-like action. She responded, "um...th-that's great."
When Perseus released her hand and stood up, she continued, "what days can I summon you?"
Perseus gave her a small smile and answered, "any day that you need me."
"What can you do?"
The celestial spirit pulled out his harpe from where it was sheathed behind his back. He answered, "I don't use any kind of magic skillfully. I use this harpe to fight. The sword on my back can deflect any magical attack, no matter how strong. The helmet atop my head gives me the ability to become invisible. This sack you see contains the head of the Medusa, and with it, I can turn any person into a permanent stone statue. Finally, the winged sandals on my feet allow me to fly."
Lucy nodded, silently marveling at his cool abilities. Remembering the other key, she turned around to pick it up, holding it for Perseus to see as she asked, "Pegasus belongs to you, right?"
Perseus' smile widened and he nodded, answering, "yes, Princess. He is my steed."
Freed spoke from one of the two chairs that were on either side of the coffee table, "excuse me, I apologize for interrupting, but why do you need a flying horse if you can fly on your own?"
Perseus answered, "do not apologize, friend. The answer is that my sandals allow me to fly with the speed of a peregrine falcon, however, they are incredibly fragile. I require Pegasus for flight, in the event that my sandals break during battle. I also do my best fighting when I have him fighting with me."
Freed nodded and leaned back in his chair, satisfied with the answer. Lucy turned back to her new spirit and pointed her second silver key at the spot next to him. She announced, "I connect to the World of Celestial Spirits! Heed my call and pass through the gate! Open! Gate of the Winged Horse: Pegasus!"
In an instant, a large horse, with white feathered wings sprouting from his back appeared. When the silver light faded completely, Pegasus folded his wings at his sides. The winged horse was a beautiful, pure white color, his mane and tail a sparkling gold color, and his eyes were an ocean blue color. Perseus rubbed his hand up and down the spirit's neck, greeting his beloved steed, "it is nice having the same wizard again, indeed?"
Pegasus neighed and rubbed his head against Perseus' chest. Lucy smiled at the sight, feeling happy to see two friends united under a new celestial wizard again. She asked, "what days can I summon Pegasus? And what can he do?"
Perseus answered, "you can summon him anytime you wish. He can provide a method of transportation and is quite skilled in Wind Magic."
Lucy nodded before she reached out her hand. Pegasus stepped toward her and sniffed her hand. He soon walked closer to her and rubbed his head against her, causing Lucy to laugh and pet him.
Lucy then welcomed her two new spirits into her family and said goodbye before Perseus and Pegasus returned to the Celestial Spirit World. She turned around to look at the men behind her and asked, "should we go look for other keys or stay here for the night?" She stole a glance at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was well into the night.
Midnight stood up, answering, "it's up to you, I guess."
Lucy nodded. She wasn't excited about going back out there, but she also knew that she had to collect the rest of the keys as quickly as possible. She decided, "let's try one more den, if we can find one."
The three men nodded and followed her out of the room, walking down the wide hallway to look for another den that was offering Celestial Spirit Gate Keys.
#fairy tail#lucy heartfilia#freed justine#rufus lore#midnight#macbeth#loke#leo#tucana#perseus#pegasus#gambling#panic attack#oc#even or odd#chapter twenty one#multi chapter story
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More Needs to Change Ch. 21
Chapter written by @halloweennut
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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)
HOUR EIGHTEEN
in which eddie shows you deftones, texts are missed and calls are answered, and lines are crossed once more for good measure.
→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn
→ warnings: strong language, light dry humping?, upside down does not exist, minors dni
→ wc: 4k+
masterlist.
spotify playlist.
◁ previous part, next part▷
18:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00
Steve-O: rise and shine, campers! time to get back at it with these wellness checks. gonna need some proof you two are still alive.
HOUR EIGHTEEN - 9:00 AM
Eddie’s eyes narrow in concentration at your phone as his thumbs fly across the screen, navigating the Spotify app with ease to find the Deftones song he specifically wants. He doesn’t do as you had and go to their artist page – he searches with purpose, in no mood to scroll through albums to find the song he’s looking for.
“I still don’t understand how you can type so fast,” you mumble, watching with fascination that you try to tamper down with faux boredom, “Even I can’t type that fast, and I own the damn thing.”
He doesn’t even glance up as he scrolls along the screen, finding the song and clicking on it, “I’m just good with my fingers.”
There it goes. The air from your lungs, once again vacating the premises as he freezes beside you.
It isn’t fair. An internal whine that nearly works itself up your throat and out your mouth, making you want to stomp your feet like a child. You hadn’t even recovered from the casual drop of baby yet. And now he’s going to just say that?
“Oh, God, I-” he’s looking up finally, eyes wide and stuttering with embarrassment, “Fuck, I swear to God, I did not mean that as an innuendo.”
You open your mouth. You close it. You repeat the process. You’re fucking speechless and it’s a little bit embarrassing.
“I’m serious!” he persists when you don’t reply, and only stare at him in continued shock, “Seriously! I- Fuck, I was referring to with my job. At the autoshop. I’m- Fuck,” he cuts his explanation off, dragging a hand over his face and falling back into the couch, “Kill me. Kill me now, please – and be sure to make it quick and painless, pretty please.”
You finally laugh. It’s a bit choked, a bit strangled, but it instantly has Eddie lowering his hand.
“I think if we were going to kill each other, Munson, it would have happened hours ago,” you try to tease him, but something about the sentiment comes out far softer than you intended. Like it’s not a joke. Like, in your own odd way, you’re trying to whisper a truth to him – everything has changed for me now.
“Probably,” he sighs, relaxing a bit and leaning back beside you as he looks to the phone once more and clicks on a song, “Proba-fucking-ly.”
For the first two songs, there is a distance to be kept between the two of you. You peek at the screen and catch the titles – Cherry Waves and Sextape – and make a mental categorization of which one you enjoy more. You nearly audibly snort at Sextape, but manage to keep your immature humor to yourself. You prefer Cherry Waves, anyways.
The songs that follow become a bit of a blur. Because for the first two, the distance existed. You can focus on the guitar and the vocals and the bass drum and everything except the man sitting beside you. But then song three comes on.
Fucking song three. You don’t catch the name, but it might be your favorite yet. Or you might be biased.
Because it’s during this third song that something changes. Eddie is no longer content in just leaning back beside you, in letting you consume the new music in a sort of solitude that was impressive to achieve when not actually alone. You first notice his restlessness in the bounce of his knee, shaking beside yours as he finally puts the phone down on the coffee table rather than balanced on his thigh. You don’t comment on it, you let it slide. You faux indifference. But then, the flexing of his hand starts.
It’s odd. Sure, plenty of people mess with their hands in relation to nerves, but you’ve never seen it happen like that before. The slow stretch of him pushing his fingers to their limits before retracting them, bending his knuckles as he tucks the tips in. The veins along the top of his hand popping exceptionally.
“I’m just good with my fingers.”
I fucking bet he is.
You curse yourself for the warmth that burns in the pit of your stomach. Focus. You should be focusing on the music, on taking in what he’s sharing with you.
Not on his hands. Specifically his fingers, and how good they’d feel-
Fucking stop it. Cut it out. No.
It takes an ungodly amount of willpower for you to look away, but you manage it. Unfortunately, what you don’t manage to do is ignore the bouncing of his leg. You don’t manage to extinguish that burning that he’s begun in you — a fire started from his kindle.
Impulsive. Impulsive, and a little stupid, and endlessly daring. That’s what it is when you finally reach out a hand to land on his knee midsong.
The shaking immediately ceases, and you take over the soothing motions as you let your thumb initially rub in arcs against the side of his thigh. With each strum of the guitar that rings out, you let your thumb complete its semicircle motion. With each pounding of drums, you give a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t say a word about it, and neither do you. Especially when he drops his hand over yours, wiggling his fingers between yours with the failure of a casual grace. You try not to smile as you flip your hand and let him properly intertwine them.
Flexing, but this time, it’s to squeeze your palm to his. You still think about those goddamn fingers.
“So, what do you think so far?” Eddie asks after he clears his throat.
“They’re good,” you nod, finding yourself shuffling subconsciously closer to him now that he’s gripping onto your hand, “Really good.”
“I’m just good with my fingers.”
You know that he’s more than just good. Just like Deftones, you’d dare say he’s really good.
The song switches, and both of you have scooted close enough to one another that your thighs press together. Shoulder to shoulder, sharing enough space to feel his breath on the side of your bare neck.
His grip on your hand tightens.
You want the opposite. You suddenly want his hand to detach from yours and to find home on your cheeks, hands on either side of your face before he’s pulling you into him, throwing caution and formality to the wind. You two have already crossed that line; why was it so hard to take that leap once more?
The song is still playing. You don’t recognize the tinny guitars that are on the loop of repeating the same notes, an echo effect of sorts layered over them.
It’s just the guitar. And suddenly, the rasps of Eddie’s breaths are something your acutely aware of. Like he’s closer, like he’s letting his head tilt even closer to you. You feel that heat transferring between your biceps that are smashed together, not even thin layers of t-shirt or the sleeve of the crew neck able to stop it.
It all happens suddenly.
The guitar pauses and Eddie’s hand loosens in yours. Your heart races, and you realize you’re preparing yourself for what he’s doing before he’s even sprung into action.
Kiss me, the sigh you let out whispers.
It’s answered by the song, and by Eddie. A combination of the two that you can’t differentiate.
The silence in the song is cut off by whimpers. One from the lead singer on the track, one from Eddie. Both breathy, both shakey, both whispering of the loss of control.
“Fuck it.”
Two words. He says those two words again as his warning before he lets go of your hand and is reaching up, shifting your two bodies impossibly quick as his hands do exactly as you had craved. One on each cheek, and then he does it.
He kisses you.
It is neither kind nor gentle, despite the allusion that it might have been from the way he cradles your cheeks. The callouses on his fingers scrape your cheeks, you can feel every crack in his bottom lip as it slots between your own. It’s easy and quick work, the way your mouths can mold together so effortlessly. Tongues that were once so sharp as they’d spit venomous words at once another now meet and pass over teeth, blurring the lines of where you end and he begins — of where hatred ended and this began.
Whatever it is, whatever it will be for these last few hours, whatever it will be once the clock runs out, you’re grateful. You, your vinery, your civility — they all scream their prayers of thanks as his hands drop from your cheeks and find your hips. You don’t even process that he’s tugging you onto his lap or that you’re letting him until it’s happened. Your thighs bracket his own hips, and he gives you no time before he’s pressing your full weight into him, hands clawing at you, desperate to keep you close.
You can’t even hear the song anymore over the roar of your own heart.
“Baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you realize now what the price is.
The price is your sanity. The price is a loss of control, and letting him consume you whole. A small price in the grand scheme of it all.
“I-“ you start a sentence that you have no idea of what the ending would be, but he interrupts with his mouth. The teeth your tongue had once met bite down on your lip and you swear you taste blood, swear you see crimson as he sighs out again into your open mouth.
His hands guide your hips against his. A steady rhythm, and with only a few passes, you can feel him harden against you. Your pace picks up of your own doing, the friction of your panties and his pajama pants nudging your clit and leaving you breathless.
What the fuck are we doing?
You should stop it. You should mind the delicate balance you two have been trying to achieve since you first crossed this line.
You only push down harder on him, only bite down on his lip as he had yours. This time, blood might have honestly been drawn — the hiss that escapes him says it all.
“You’re going to be the fucking death of me,” he chastises you between kisses, “You want to know what was fucking wrong earlier? You. You are driving me insane, you are driving me straight into the fucking grave.”
Oh.
Oh.
The way he had leapt up. His nervous energy. The way he had put as much space between the two of you as possible.
“I affect you that much?”
It is not a confident question — you completely pull away from him, leaning back as you breathe it out, hands finding home on his shoulders as you survey him.
He’s being honest.
His pupils are wide but those brown, doe eyes have softened as they meet your gaze. His chest is heaving, his lips are already bruising pink as they fall apart so casually.
He’s being honest.
You affect him, you’re doing this to him — he’s caught up in flames, no sign of salt water in sight.
“You always do,” he says, “Always have. Probably always will.”
Your grip on his shoulders tighten.
I could never hate you.
How blind you had been. How absolutely, blissfully unaware you had been functioning all these months.
A hand trails from its grip on his shoulders, fingers slipping over his bare collar bone, “What do you mea-“
You don’t get to finish the question or dig any deeper into the revelation. The music both of you had long since abandoned has been replaced by the ringing of your phone.
Eddie’s eyes immediately pinch shut, face twisting with irritation. You can’t tell if he’s more annoyed at the interruption due to whatever breakthrough you two were on the precipice of, or because he’s still painfully hard beneath you. But he quickly wraps one arm around your waist, tugging your torso flush to his as he leans forward quickly and reaches out to grab your phone.
“Oh, what the fuck,” he huffs once his eyes are open again and he’s looking at your phone screen.
Your face has been pressed into the crook of his neck due to the current position and way he’s tightly holding you to him. You have no clue who it is, but you have five decent guesses to throw out.
He answers for you. Sharply and bitterly, he snaps out a, “What do you want, Harrington?”
Steve. One of the five guesses. Go figure.
“Yes, we’re fucking alive,” Eddie holds no patience for your friend, all the softness he’d held for you gone save for the stroke of his thumb against the bare small of your back, “We were-“
A pause. You wonder for a second if he is going to admit it. If right here, right now, he would confess to your friends what has happened. How he could never hate you, how you drive him insane, how by nothing changing that everything has changed.
“Sleeping.”
An answer to your question. You hate your disappointment, and bite it down with vengeance.
You can faintly hear Steve’s voice over the phone, not quite as trilling or pitched as Nancy’s or Robin’s. Eddie’s annoyance still rolls off of him in waves, and you imagine that you’d catch him rolling his eyes along with his little huffs of air if you were to finally lift your head from his neck. But you’re selfish, and his arm is still around you waist as it presses you tight to his chest, so you indulge yourself. You dig your nose deeper against the junction of his neck, you take in his lingering cologne and let the stray curls tickle your cheeks.
You should have known he wouldn’t admit it.
“Okay, okay,” Eddie grumbles into the phone, barely getting out the repetitive word before his breath hitches as you pucker your lips against the skin you’ve been burrowing into. It’s only a chaste kiss, but it has its desired effect, “Okay, Harrington. We’ll send a fucking photo. You done?”
Then it hits you. A fun game, a distraction from your disappoint and a way to crawl under his skin all in one. You fight hard not to let a smile spread at the risk of him feeling it against his neck as you take a deep breath in through your nose, noticing the way his shoulder nearly reflexively lifts slightly as if it tickles, because you’re puckering your lips again.
The second chaste kiss is testing the waters. He doesn’t react. And so you go forth with your plan, mouth falling open, teeth grazing his jugular.
He reacts microscopically. His chest halts movement.
It’s not enough for you.
So you suck. Hard. Puckered lips and a vendetta to prove, you let your teeth bite at the skin that sucks into your mouth.
That does the trick.
“O-Okay!” he yelps out in surprise, his hand bruising as he grips you harder. He tries to pull his neck back from you, but his hand only presses you down onto his lap and you feel his dick twitch beneath his thin pants, “Christ, Harrington. We fucking get it. We’ll send a photo. And we won’t sleep another wink, so bite me,“ he pants out as you move to the spot beneath his ear, finding where his jaw connects to his throat, repeating the process and doing exactly as he had told Steve. His hips buck up into you, “Okay, I’m hanging up now, Harrington. Bye.”
You’re grinning wildly against his ear as he tosses your phone carelessly somewhere on the couch — or maybe the floor, you couldn’t tell at this point — before he’s flipping you down onto your back on the couch and hovering over you.
Your head falls back instinctually, leaving your neck open for him to begin an assault of kisses.
“Are-“ A kiss. “You-“ A bite. “Fucking-“ A soothing lathe of tongue over the bite. “Kidding-“ A harsh suck. “Me.”
You writhe beneath him, but he’s pressing his entire weight down onto you, hips slotted between yours and one hand pinning both your wrists to the cushion above as the other stays glued to your waist.
“Did you think that was funny?” he breathes out against you, letting the tip of his nose barely graze over the base of your throat, “Doing that shit while I was trying to talk Harrington down from that damn ledge?”
“Why was he on the ledge to begin with?” you breathily question, trying to move your hands from his grasp, the urge to run your fingers through his curls growing. He only tightens his hold.
“Apparently,” he pauses and presses a quick kiss at the edge of the sweatshirt collar, looking up at you through his bangs and lashes, “He had texted, and we didn’t respond. Photos are back in demand.”
“We’re quite the commodity,” you try to joke, avoiding his gaze. Trying to avoid the softness buried deep inside there, all soft and melted in shades of brown, “We should start charging them.”
“We are charging them, technically,” he snorts, finally letting go of your wrists and leveling his face above yours.
Right. You keep forgetting the promise of a cash prize if you make it out of this alive.
Alive, not unscathed.
You’re already picturing that cash as blood money, some pathetic trophy that won’t even begin to cover the irreversible scars that will be left behind. All the hurt, all the fights, all the realizations — no amount of promised money can erase them.
You start to consider what could erase them, but you stop yourself when you realize that that admittance is too heavy.
He’s here. The weight of him is pressing into you, the smell of him is encasing you, and the stare of his big brown eyes is locking you in. You have him. For a few more hours, you have him.
The wounds can wait. The time to heal and scar over will come later.
“I guess they are, huh?” you laugh when you realize you’ve gone too long without replying.
The stare turns curious. Still melted chocolate, still deathly soft for you, but curious all the same. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”
You’re about to retreat into your own head and consider what he might do with his share of the cash, but that voice in your mind whispers once more.
He’s here. You have him. Just ask him.
“What are you doing with your money?” you blurt out.
He chuckles and shakes his head, curls falling over his shoulders and creating a curtain as he continues to balance his weight on his forearms settled on each side of your head, still hovering over you.
You should probably comment on that. Make a snide remark about it. Shove him off.
You don’t.
“Is that really want you’d like to talk about right now?”
Right, the weight of his hips as he rolls them gently into you reminds you of what the two of you had been doing before the phone call. The boundaries you’d hopped right over, all the lines you two had been in the process of crossing.
The affect you have on him.
Your stomach twists and suddenly your legs fall open wider to welcome him in, only to wrap them up around his waist. He lets you, lets you pull him right in until your chests are flush to each other. The only thing separating your skin from his is this damn sweatshirt.
“I… Maybe,” you force out just before his lips capture yours. It’s not as urgent as when he’d pulled you in for a kiss to Deftones, but it’s still enough to shatter every bone in your body before melding them all back together into something new, something different.
Something changed.
Eddie smiles, and it’s almost shyly. “Maybe?”
You hum, but it’s cut off, caught in your throat with another roll of Eddie’s hips.
“Okay. Let’s talk about it then, sweetheart.”
Another roll of his hips, and you lift your own to meet the thrust this time, trying to catch him against you in a way for reprieve. You can feel the wet patch gathering on your panties, your thighs clenching onto his hips harder.
“What ever shall I do with my money?” he pretends to ponder, eyes shooting up to look away from you in faux contemplation.
As he does it, one of his hands wander over your sternum, dancing above the fabric of the borrowed clothes.
“Maybe I’ll buy a new bike,” he muses, the hand wandering lower, tracing a steady line down your abdomen, “Maybe I’ll get myself a new guitar.”
His hand has reached the hem of the sweatshirt, slips beneath it and plays with the edge of your panties.
Your mouth will be your damnation as you snipe back, “Or maybe you can buy yourself a whole collection of playboys, filled with plenty of models who definitely don’t look like someone you claim to hate.”
His hand retracts immediately, and you can’t help but begin to giggle.
“Wait, wait, wait,” you start to gasp out when he lifts away from you, reaching out to grab onto him.
He’s fast, but your hands are quicker. You wrap them around the back of his neck and tug him into you, only for him to continue to lift himself up and bring you with him as well this time.
You resemble a koala, and can only imagine what the scene looks like to an outsider.
“Eddie!” you practically squeal, and can feel the vibrations of his own laughter as he sits up on his knees, you still clinging to him.
His arms wrap around you and you lean back, catching that mischievous glint in his eyes. It breaks through the softness, burns brightly in your chest as your laughter fades into soft breaths that hit his freckled cheeks.
You stare at each other for a moment, a tangle of limbs and unspoken words. His earlier admission isn’t forgotten, the lines crossed all painted in red now.
He’s here. You have him, for now.
You can only imagine the claw marks you will be leaving behind when the clock strikes twenty four hours, and you’re forced to leave him and this behind.
“You, sweetheart,” he finally breaks the silence with gentle smirk, “are a certified boner killer.”
You don’t miss a beat, reaching down between you two, hand cupping his still prominent erection, “You sure about that?”
He only groans in response, and in your following cackles, your hold on him slips.
He could have let you fall back roughly on the couch, especially given his distraction with fighting his ever growing smirk. He could have let you smack your head back on the cushion and let you deal with the dull ache that would have followed. He could have, he could have, he could have.
He doesn’t.
He guides you back with his arms still tight around you. Makes sure that you land softly against the worn plush. Takes his time removing his grip on you before he’s standing up from the couch.
You lay back, so sincerely content as you let out a final breath of a laugh and watch him shake his head in amusement as he turns to leave.
“Where are you going?” if it weren’t for the residual giddiness of the moment, you’d have been embarrassed by the clinginess that had threaded its way into your tone.
“The bathroom,” he answers without hesitation, back facing you as he starts down the short hall.
You call after him, “Okay. Don’t take too long this time!”
Even as his laughter echoes faintly, you know you still have him. For now.
taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777
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#twenty four hours#my writing#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#i may have hyped this one up a little too much#next chapter has some action though lol
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Starting February 29! Read the classic story by renowned science-fiction author H. G. Wells!
(the invisible man is just a silly guy) (who's very smart and impulsive and makes bad decisions)
#the invisible man#substack#literature#h. g. wells#how does one tag these things#invisible man#fun fact: the first chapter will say the story starts in early february but a few chapters later will say it started on#'the twenty-ninth day of February' lol#the drawing in the info image is by H. G. Wells btw :3#I CAN'T BELIEVE I STARTED A SUBSTACK I FEEL SO NERVOUS AND POWERFUL AHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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[4]
WOOPS there it goes! Now featuring: side explanation that Evil Wolverine has frozen Fai and Kurogane in place. Which is honestly just rude of him at this point.
OOPS that was the last one he needed?
I suppose this last one must have been a BIG boost to cross the finish line, since it has the experience of hundreds and/or thousands of years behind it. The way Evil Wolverine describes it makes it sound like this may have ended up being the strongest feather of all. Which I'll just let him have, since the feathers can do what they like, really.
But also! Syaoran must have known something, because he said to let this happen too, didn't he? There must still be an opening to turn this around after this.
#I LIVE IN HOPE#But also there's like twenty chapters left still#OH MY GOD ONLY TWENTY CHAPTERS#I don't like how close that is#Or do I?#I just don't know any more#Liveblogging the reservoir chronicle#Tsubasa#Vol 213#Mokona#Sakura#Evil Wolverine#Fai#Kurogane#Syaoran#Lava Lamp Guy#Oh poor Lava Lamp#To once again be SO CLOSE#To have his whole life remembering this ONE point#and to be RIGHT THERE again#And to be STUCK RIGHT BEFORE HE CAN ACTUALLY REACH ALL THE WAY TO HER#Emotional torture right here at the climax of it all
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.street poetry.
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i want vegeta's childhood to be miserable in the silliest way possible
#vegeta#king vegeta#dbz#dbs#“i have a feeling this is my father's fault somehow”- Vegeta in that one DBS extra chapter#king vegeta will you be a good father for once#this is why your son will be your opressor's favourite twenty years from now#tarble#forgot about him#like toei really
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Roses and Pearls by HalfHope (thesweetnessofspring)
Rated: E
Description: Peeta Mellark is the sole victor of the Quarter Quell. With District 12 nothing but ash, he rebuilds his life by moving to the Capitol and falling in love with Rosalia Snow, granddaughter to Coriolanus Snow.
Then people Peeta thought long dead kidnap him and Rosalia, including the one person he hates more than anyone: Katniss Everdeen. They say he's been hijacked. They say that he used to love her. Locked away in District 13, Peeta is determined to protect his mind and his fiancée from the rebels. But while imprisoned, videos disprove his memories and his feelings toward Katniss grow confusing. Who can he trust, and what really happened in his past?
Thank you @louezem for betaing!
Chapter One | Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
Katniss’s eyes find mine as Finnick and I walk into the propo meeting, eager just hours after seeing me at breakfast. I remember how obvious we were with Delly and Finnick last night, and so I try not to give too much away. With the weight of this propo, I probably pull it off. None of this meeting and preparing is Katniss and I. Somehow, it’s gotten harder to navigate this now that we’ve decided to be an actual couple. How much are we honest in front of the cameras, and how much do we keep to ourselves?
“So, then, the big star-crossed lovers propo,” Plutarch says, rubbing his hands together. “We’re sending out scouts to find a location today and our writers are polishing up the script.”
“I thought Katniss didn’t do well with a script,” I say. “That she had to do things naturally.”
“More like impulsively,” Finnick says teasingly. Katniss nods in agreement.
“Yes, well, this is an important one,” Plutarch says. “And you’ll be the one doing most of the heavy lifting here. You’re really a born actor, Peeta. Once the war is over you should consider making it a career.”
I can’t help wrinkling my nose at that idea while Katniss rolls her eyes and Finnick scoffs.
Continue reading on ao3
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WIP — WHEN THE WAR CAME (Toye/Correspondent OC)
"Three letters to the editor asking for an update on your boys. And that's just what they published."
Jo didn't know what stopped her more, three letters to the editor or Kay saying her boys.
Story tag | OC tag
#band of brothers#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers oc#wip: when the war came#jo's tag#moodboards tag#sorry to do this again [checks archive] twenty days after the first one#but i sat down to make a little inspiration thing for my next chapter and ended up liking it#not to be posting about as yet unposted works but it's well underway and i post excerpts all the time!#and. honestly. if you know me even a little bit you're getting way more of this fic than you ever asked for
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Out of Time Chapter Twenty -One
AO3
They whisper together after the children sleep. He has both lads and Mary has Faith. The little girl had stayed by her side all day, rebuffing any attempts that Frank made to be friends. He sleeps with his fiancé in the next room. Well, they will sleep eventually.
“Faith really doesn’t like him. The boys don’t much either.”
“Aye, I wonder if it is just a stranger danger response.” He can’t say he is the lad’s fan either. Man enough to admit he is jealous. Not of the relationship but of the intimacy. As bad as it sounds, he can’t help but wish it was one of his people. It is hard to accept that they are gone.
“I don’t think that is it, or only it. This situation has heightened all our senses. I trust what Faith feels.”
He nods. Fergus lays on his back, sleeping soundly. William though, he lays against him. The soft noises he makes tells Jamie his dreams are not pleasant. It is their job to see to them.
“Claire trusts him.” They both wince a little at the sounds of love making coming from the next room, “ a lot. But, you are right. We won’t let down our guard. Love can blind a person. We need to keep our eyes wide open. They are counting on us.”
“Agree. They and wee Alex.” Her hand not holding Faith falls on her abdomen.
“Aye. I promise Mary, I will look out for all of you.” She gives him a shy smile.
“Thank you.” The noise from next door ceases and they are finally able to go to sleep.
He lays and watches her. Beautiful and just as hot. It is a shame hat he has to get rid of her. They have someone picked out for him, to procreate with when it is time again. He will miss Claire. She is tigress in bed. A sigh. Well, orders are orders. The little girl, she doesn’t like him. She will be the first of the children, he decides. Laying on his back, hands behind his head, he smiles. It is a good thing no one sees it.
#my writing#outlander fanfic#out of time#chapter twenty one#jamie and claire#cannon divergence#outlander fandom#modern au
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it looks..uhh..tasty and not..radioactive??
Next->
<-Previous
#the ambitions of an eccedentesiast#dr jekyll and mr hyde#taoae#ocs#chapter one#page twenty four#next page is the chapter two cover!!!#lets gooo!!!#also this page looked wayyyy better in my head oopsies#...forget that I forgot his coat tails..while walking jus- uh- its fine#:w:
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A/N: Well, hi there!
I'm back! Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, lmk what you think, I love hearing from you guys x
Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.
TW: swearing, casual 1940s racism, yelling/fighting, not much else tbh....
Tags: @malarkgirlypop, @panzershrike-pretz hmu if you want to be added
Made of Glass
Chapter twenty one: Chock-a-Block
The next month was uneventful compared to previous ones. June was slow and felt heavy, dragging on and seeming longer than it was. Birdie spent a lot of the month by George’s side The two became increasingly close, sharing all sorts of pleasantries and childhood stories. Birdie loved hearing about his nine siblings and the practical jokes he pulled on them. It reminded her of her own mischievous family who she was missing more than ever.
July came and went by comparison. Birdie received a letter from her brother-in-law, stating his wife, her oldest sister, Helen had safely given birth to the couple's second child. They already had a little boy, Daniel and now were blessed with a girl. They named her Gracie, a variation of Bernadette's middle name and asked her to be the newborns' Godmother. Of course she was ecstatic and accepted gleefully. Sadly, she would miss the babies christening but the sentiment was there.
By the end of August, rumours were spreading that they would soon be on the move. Their next destination was a curious speculation. A bet ran through the regiment: Europe or the Pacific?
September started and the 506th was preparing to move once again, leaving Camp Mackall behind. Easy presented themselves prim and proper in their class A uniforms and packed everything they had in the basic olive green sacks provided for their belongings.
A train awaited them, the soldiers climbed aboard without question. It was packed but no one minded too much, they just bunched up and invaded their neighbours personal space like it was a game.
Bernadette shuffled through the teeny walkway of the moving train, legs and bags stuck out making her journey that much more difficult.
“Birdie! Saved you a seat!” Her attention was captured by the brown haired man calling out to her. She smiled when she saw him, guarding the space next to him like it was his job. Bernadette tried to make her way closer to Luz but the train wobbled and threw her off balance. She toppled over ungracefully and landed atop someone's lap.
She began spitting out apologies and her face turned red, rightfully embarrassed by the situation. When she looked up and saw Liebgott's face smirking at her, she wanted to die; right then and there.
“Good trip?” That shit eating grin made Birdie want to slap him, she settled for rolling her eyes and scoffing instead. Birdie got up and balanced herself, making sure to use his shoulders to aid her ascent. She shoved him hard enough for him to understand she was less than pleased about the whole ordeal, but in a playful manner so that he knew she wasn’t really mad. Joe smiled at her, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and caused her to reciprocate.
“Birdie!” George called out again, sensing she was distracted and needed some prompting. She whipped her head round to him and nodded to show she had heard the impatient man.
“You better go before he screams so loud the whole train hears.” Lieb joked, he didn’t really want to send her away but there was no real reason for her to stay. The southern woman spoke softly, telling him she would see him around before joining her friend at the other end of the train car.
Liebgott had been accepted into her posse with little resistance, he was already friends with most of the guys she hung around anyway. It was mainly Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere who didn’t love the fact that he and Bernadette were on friendlier terms, the two still held grudges against him for his previous treatment of the woman. He didn't really blame them, he had been particularly difficult when it came to Coldwell.
Over the past months, Joe had come to terms with the fact he actually wanted to be Birdie’s friend. Tipper kept trying to get a love confession out of him but he was adamant it wasn't like that. Sure he liked the woman, but in a totally platonic way of course. Besides, they were both soldiers being sent to the front lines, when would they have time to date and fall in love? Not that he wanted that. He didn’t.
Joseph Liebgott was perfectly happy being friends with Bernadette Coldwell and that was that.
The train had taken hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers aboard to a shipyard in Brooklyn, New York. It was Birdie’s first time in the city, though she didn't get to see much of it as they were ushered onto the SS Samaria in an orderly fashion.
The sun began settling, turning the sky a beautiful mix of pink and pastel orange, Birdie's favourite shade of the fiery colour. Luz had snagged a life vest for the woman and shoved it on her so he could pull her out onto the deck and watch as the ship passed the statue of liberty.
It was a surreal moment, one Bernadette would always remember. The green lady loomed over them, as if bidding the soldiers goodbye and good luck. It felt real now, they were finally leaving their beloved home country and joining the war effort.
As the ship left the mainland of America behind, the sombre mood grew. George and Birdie shared a cigarette on the deck before returning to the bunks below. It was crowded, more than the train had been and now, the lack of space was starting to get on everyone's nerves.
Everyone tried to keep themselves busy, playing cards, writing letters home or reading whatever books they could find. Most of the men smoked freely which caused the already state air locked in with them to be tainted with tobacco.
After five full days stuck in the overcrowded, sweaty mass of men, Birdie had had enough. She was ready to get off this ship, unsure if she could take another day. She had seen men get sick from the constant swaying and vomit where they stood and now she was noticing the raise in tempers as cabin fever descended.
It was unbelievably hot and all Birdie wanted was some fresh air and silence but conversation continued on around her, disregarding her wants.
She could hear Muck and Malarkey chatting to each other while they approached the area she was stewing in. The men in question climbed up the sides of the hammock like cots as you would a ladder and settled into the spaces next to and above her.
“Hey guys, I’m glad I'm going to Europe.” Toye spoke up, inserting himself into the conversation. He pulled out his switchblade knife and flicked it open for dramatic effect, “Hilter gets one of these right across the windpipe. Roosevelt changes Thanksgiving to Joe Toye day, and pays me ten grand a year for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”
“What if we don’t get to Europe? What if they send us to North Africa?” A voice from above Birdie called down. The woman tried to shuffle closer to Bill, her bunk mate, to see who it was but his body got in the way and unless Birdie wanted to mount the man, it would remain a mystery. Bill ruffled her hair and plucked the cigarette out of her hand.
“My brothers in North Africa.” Guarnere took a long drag of the stolen smoke, “He says it's hot.”
“Really? It’s hot in Africa?” You could actually see the sarcasm coming off of Malakey and he paused his reading of the comic he held in front of him to make fun of the man's obvious comment.
“Shuddup!” The Philadelphian shot at the redhead before continuing, “The point is, it don’t matter where we go.” Birdie reclaimed her cigarette while Bill was distracted, mid sentence, “Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself, and the fella next to you.”
Bernadette cleared her throat, raising her eyebrow at her talkative friend as if to tell him to rethink his words. Bill rolled his eyes and added, “Or lady next to ya. Happy?” She nodded, that would suffice.
“Hey, as long as he’s- uh… they’re a paratrooper.” Toye added from his place by their boots, trying to avoid a glare from the Mississippi woman.
“Oh yeah?” Luz exclaimed from the opposite side of the aisle, “And what if that paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?” He was climbing up to his bunk on the top most rack, George hoisted himself up and past Christenson, who added his two cents to the discussion,
“If I'm next to Sobel in combat, I'm moving on down the line. Hook up with some other officer, like Heyliger or Winters.” Pat had a special hatred for the CO after he was made to march twenty-four miles, full pack and in the dark, half of it completely alone; all on Sobel’s orders.
“I like Winters. He’s a good man.” Bill began speaking once more. It was then that Birdie noticed Skip leaning over his hammock above her and poking his head down so she and Malarkey could see him. Malarkey eyed up the cigarette he had in his hand and silently asked Muck for a puff, she shook her head and giggled at the two.
“But when the bullets start flying, I don't know if I want a Quaker doing my fighting for me.” Guarnere thieved Birdie’s nearly finished smoke yet again, she responded with an outraged, “Hey!” but he ignored her, pushing himself up and jumping down to the ground. Bernadette shuffled over into the empty space Guarnere had left.
“How do you know he’s a Quaker?” Skip asked, flipping down into Birdie’s, now vacant, cot and giving her an unlit cigarette to make up for the blatant robbery he had witnessed.
“He ain’t Catholic.” Bill shrugged, snubbing out the butt of his pilfered tobacco stick on the floor with his boot.
“Neither is Sobel.” Don called, passing his comic to Skip who immediately started flicking through the pages with interest.
“That pricks a Son of Abraham.”
“He’s what?” Liebgott, who sat across from where Bill now stood, had perked up at the term he used. He was happy to listen in to the conversation, it kept his mind occupied but when the expression was used like a slur he had to say something.
“He’s a Jew.” Bill clarified, assuming Lieb just hadn't heard the phrase before.
“Oh fuck…” Liebgott muttered under his breath, he laughed but not because anything humorous had been said. He threw the cigarette butt he was fiddling with down before shuffling off his bunk and jumping. He landed with a thud and stepped over to Guarnere so they were face to face. Joe looked down at the man, chest puffed, “I’m a Jew.”
Several men (and Birdie) sat up or shuffled closer to the two hot heads, anticipating a fight to break out.
“Congratulations.” Pronounced bitingly, not actually intended to congratulate, “Get your nose outta my face.” Bill pushed Lieb’s chest, forcing him backwards.
Birdie stared, she knew Lieb was going to swing, she could see him planning it out in his mind. She noticed his curled fist and knew an attack was imminent, before she could do anything, Lieb took a jab. His target blocked him and they grabbed onto each other attempting to… Birdie didn’t know what. Strangle each other? Hug? Who knew?
Multiple men also grabbed into the pair but no one could break them apart. Birdie scoffed and jumped down, she shoved people out of her way and when she got close enough to see her friends through the growing crowd, she yelled. It was the loudest her voice had ever gone; a screech, if you will.
“That’s enough!” Her words froze the horde of angry sweaty men. Bill and Joe still held onto each other, fists grabbed onto handfuls of shirt but now their focus was on the girl. She huffed and pushed surrounding men away from the idiots who began the kerfuffle until she reached them. Everyone else watched on, curious to see angry Birdie in action.
Bernadette yanked them apart, fuming. She turned to Guarnere first, her eyebrows were furrowed and her teeth clenched.
“You!” She pointed to him, glaring, “Keep that prejudice bullshit to yourself! No one wants to hear your stupid ass opinions! What the fuck is your problem?” Bill shrunk back, he had never seen Birdie this angry before and he didn't care to see it again. The woman whipped around to face Joe, he was smiling at her rude comments aimed at the man he wanted to punch. His joy in the situation only pissed her off more, if that were even possible.
“You think this is funny, huh?” She hissed at him, Joe’s smile dropped.
“Not everything is a personal attack so calm the fuck down. Why do you think punching him is the solution to everything?” The question was rhetorical so Joe only looked down to the floor, avoiding eye contact with the scary southerner. She was absolutely at her wits end and just had to get out of there.
“It’s like a fuckin’ pissin’ contest in here, Jesus!” Birdie growled as she turned and stomped off to get some fresh air on the deck of the overcrowded ship.
A/N: ooooo she's mad...
~ next-autopsy ~
Chapter twenty two
#band of brothers#easy company#hbo war#made of glass#band of brothers fanfic#fem oc#oc#made of glass chapter twenty one#next autopsy#george luz#joe liebgott#joe toye#bill guarnere#pat christenson#skip muck#donald malarkey
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we're writing a fanfic in the tumblr clique discord server and I made this video with the incomparable @silkysong who contributed the art <3333 here's an exerpt
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