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sea-side-scribbles · 3 months

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Solas wakes up in the strange new world of his own making and it terrifies him. Frail and confused, he has to learn everything from scratch again. The more he learns, the more the world looks like a nightmare.

When he joins the Inquisition, he figures he's still not strong enough to withstand everything this world throws at him.

In the end, he made too many promises and he can't keep them all.

But who said the Din'anshiral would be easy?

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Part 1 | Chapter 1- ? | Right after uthenera, Solas is found by a Dalish clan. This goes well until it doesn't.

(Basically my excuse for world building and hilarious misunderstandings.)

Chapter 7

For a while, nothing happened other than Rosala's happy crunching and pawing the floor with her hooves. Solas needed the moment of silence, to let all the information sink in. With a few chestnuts in his hand, he watched the halla's excited movements. Her swift legs. Suddenly, he felt the urge to get up and force his weak limbs to move as well. He was done with lying around. He was done with crawling back into that aravel and waiting for someone's help. He was sick of himself.

So he slipped off the wagon and let his feet hit the ground while his hands clasped the rim. For the blink of an eye, he stood on shaky legs. His body struggled against the pressure. As quickly as he could, he heaved one leg and the effort alone made him draw breath with a hiss. The other leg on the ground protested as colours began to dance in front of his eyes. Rosala watched him closely, fluttering one ear. With a stern grimace, he dropped the foot again and then noticed he stood rather unstable, with his legs spread, wobbling from one side to the other. Now he had to draw the other foot forward while standing on a dangerously shaky leg, but he was about to lose his grip of the wagon with his sweaty hands.

He didn't hear Rosala's squeaks, but he noticed the hands that quickly helped him out. Halven tried to put him back on the aravel, but Solas squirmed. “No, let me walk! Just a few steps! I need to...” “If you feel like it, lethal'lin”, Halven agreed calmly, even if a little amused. “Let's see how far you get.” The Healer doubted the elf would get far at all, but he didn't want to hold him back. He'd rather kindle the fire inside him and let him draw new strength from it.

With new support, Solas began the next step forward. He didn't dare to look his helper in the eyes while he tried. He needed to pay attention to the ground anyway. His cheeks felt hot and he told himself it was the struggle that pumped blood into his head. With the Healer's help, he accomplished two careful steps more, before he couldn't move his legs any longer. He just stood, shaking, clutching Halven, until he reluctantly admitted he had enough. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes in embarrassment. It didn't help that the Healer lifted him off the ground and carried him back to the aravel. Rosala happily took over and dragged him to bed, where he buried his face in his pillow, done with this cruel joke of a free life.

When he felt the animal curling up next to him, his head shot up and he growled at her: “Leave me alone!” His trust was gone. Too many open questions. He needed to think. Alone.

Rosala left immediately without a sound and Solas felt the lack of her warmth. With a deep sigh, he fell back on the pillow. His thoughts didn't give him comfort. He lay in emptiness, only recalling Halven's words over and over again. He came to terrible conclusions. First of all, if he was right, he had to deal with an enraged Evanuris thirsting for blood. Who riled up another kind to make the Elvhen People pay for their betrayal. In the second possible scenario, there was an ancient creator. An unknown enemy. One way or the other, the Evanuris still had a way of controlling their people from the beyond, because why would they still wear vallaslin and pray to them? Why would they not know the truth? What happened to his rebellion? He didn't like what this implied.

But something else brought him to the verge of tears. 100 years. They live no more than 100 years. Really all of them? Halven had made no exceptions. But did he know the truth? The terrible feeling came back. Alone in the beyond, looking for his friends. Nobody answered. Were they all...? It couldn't be. It was only 2000 years ago. Surely some of them must have... But where were they? Why didn't they answer? The prison! It was the straw he clutched at. It didn't allow him to reach them! Those “shemlen” must've punished the Elvhen People like this!

Elves. Now this word moved him. He had always overheard it. The translation had seemed simple, but it carried a horrible truth. He couldn't call them “the People” anymore. He had to clarify which. This world belonged to the shemlen now and the People were just elves. They had lost their name. Their identity. And perhaps rightfully so. Who stirred the Maker and why?

Solas wiped his wet face. His head hurt now and he still didn't know what to do. Out. He needed to get out. Get stronger. Perhaps find the answers in the beyond. He needed to sleep. But carefully. The Maker could watch. The thought made him chuckle bitterly.

Indeed, the beyond had a surprise for him. For the first time, he caught glimpses of the camp itself. Images of memories flickered in front of his eyes. A sense of it's calm and peaceful loneliness came to his mind. He saw shades of wanderers, a couple holding hands. Their words a mere unintelligible echo of the past. They stood by a tree, carved their names in the trunk. The tree still sang the words. Longing, missing, waiting. Their love was the sharp blade of a knife, sweet pain and numb scars. Solas eyed the tree, unable to read the names. But he liked their song. For a blissful moment, he just listened, let the memory carry him away. Then something gentle nudged his arm. Another thing chirped in his ear. He nearly jumped and lost the image, but smiled when he found his spirit friends surround him. They circled the tree, played with the leaves, made the branches swing. Solas realized that he had been nothing but curious.

He kept his smile and let the moment linger. It felt too good to leave it. And when he continued to wander through the camp, he did so more lightheartedly, allowed the forest to speak to him. He didn't force any answers out of it because it would only hurt. Gratefully, he let go of the Maker and the dreadful history for what felt like a merciful eternity.

Eventually, his body claimed him back. But even awake, he was thankful for the good dreams. The beyond had given him new strength and patience to focus on the only plan he had. So he crawled out of the aravel and soon put both feet on the ground again, clutching the wagon. Suddenly, something landed heavily on the wooden planks, made them crack so loud, Solas almost lost his grip. A halla stood over him. He guessed it was her, for the intense stare alone. “Rosala...I'm sorry....”, he began, but she interrupted him by bumping her forehead against his skull. Again, Solas almost fell backwards into the grass. He gasped and held himself just about, then leaned over to wipe his throbbing head. “Ouch.” Rosala folded her legs to lie down, visibly content with herself and the intense stare changed into friendly blinking.

She watched his efforts and it didn't take long until Temalas found him this time. As embarrassing as it was to be held by the Keeper's apprentice, he used the time to ask questions, wondering if Temalas had more details or a different perspective to offer. He learned that the Emerald Knights had wolves as companions, which was interesting enough. Also, he tried to study the staff, but that strained him more than walking. After a while, he fainted in the First's arms and woke up to being dragged back into the aravel. In sleep, he visited the camp again.

Since the Dalish didn't stop his efforts, he began to spend his time learning to walk and looking for signs in the beyond.

He remained careful around the elves, because a vengeful Evanuris could've ordered his slaves to look out for the Dead Wolf. Even the shemlen could look for him, to please their Maker. Why nobody found him yet remained a miracle to him. But the Dalish continued to help and his body gave up it's stubbornness step by step.

One day, as he rested awake in the aravel, he heard Temalas call for him. This was strange, because the elves had never called him before. They had always waited for him to come out by himself. Solas didn't trust this, but he had no chance than to act casually. He answered the First and Rosala climbed in, eager to drag him outside. Reluctantly, Solas complied.

It was still nighttime and that worried him, too. He tried to recall what he did wrong. Everyone had seemed to support his training. Then he realized something. It set his guts aflame. Was he ready? Would they consider him ready to be branded?

With shaking legs, now for a different reason, he climbed out of the aravel. Temalas looked unusually exited. The sight behind him made Solas' worries grow further. Between the trees, little spheres of light hung like stars above the camp, drowning it in bright colours: gold, red and blue. The elves were all up, so it seemed and he heard drumming. A steady, but inciting rhythm coming from the group.

For a second, Solas feared he knew the rhythm. But luckily, it was different.

Then a humming rose over the noise. The elves sang. Solas just wanted to turn back to the aravel, but now Rosala blocked the entrance. He gave her a stare, the sting of betrayal pounding in his chest. Temalas caught his attention again. With a solemn smile, he held him in his grip and what had been helpful in the past days now looked like a trap. Solas considered to wind himself out of it. To run. But his weak, lonely self against the whole clan? Ridiculous. The First alone would strike him down.

Temalas looked unaware of Solas' struggles. He moved towards the group with him, step after step, making sure they'd reach the destination. Solas despair must've become visible because Temalas suddenly whispered: “Ssh...it's okay. This is a night you wouldn't want to miss.” “What are you doing?” Solas didn't like how high his voice became. “Something beautiful. Just wait.” “I don't think I'm ready for this...” Temalas was surprised by the elf's fear. He thought he would've been drawn to the lights alone, like all the da'lens when they saw them for the first time. Maybe there was something terrible he recognised? “You don't have to do anything, lethal'lin. Just watch.”

Temalas words gave Solas hope. Perhaps it would be just a cozy night with lights and songs. Maybe drinking and telling jokes. No divine rituals. The group opened a spot for them as they approached and the movements looked uncomfortably coordinated, the way they threw their arms up and stepped aside in unison. As he was placed between the others, he had the feeling that all eyes were on him, even though their faces were bathed in lights and shadows alike. The humming intensified and the unknown melody rang in Solas' ears as he tensed and waited for something to happen. Then the lights went out and the music stopped. Solas could hear his pulse pounding in his ears and he feared the others heard it, too.

Without warning, a bolt crashed down from the trees and struck the earth right before his eyes, accompanied by a ear-shattering outcry of an invisible choir. A woman emerged from the blinding sparks, clad entirely in white. Solas could see her braided hair, decorated with pearls and flowers. She stood in front of the group, with her arms wide, as if she waited for something. When the elves began to sing and drum again, she winced and shuddered to their rhythm. The pearls clinked as she moved. Even the lights now flickered, matching her rhythm. Suddenly, she fell into a frantic pace, swirling and kicking her legs as the group spurred her on, clapping their hands.

Solas cowered in their midst, his ears twitching unnoticedly, eyes wide open. He wondered if she danced of her own will or if she was the puppet of the crowd. Her movements flew like water, but always in time with the music, rapid but seemingly effortless. Whenever the light illuminated her face, he saw her closed eyes and her smile. Her clothes were scarves wrapped around her body, swirling with her, creating shapes - spirals, limbs, wings. She seemed to transform in front of him.

When he asked himself if she really transformed, she straightened herself, lifted her arms over her head and went off in flames. It was a blazing white fire, like the bolt that had struck the ground. The invisible choir screamed again. Nobody was alarmed by this. The crowd continued to hum and the drums provided their steady rhythm.

Solas stared at the fire. It changed it's character, from white to orange, emitting a soft, golden light and sending out dancing sparks into the air. It cackled and roared. And then the woman stepped out of it again. No, it was someone else. He couldn't smell her vallaslin over the fire, but he recognised her face and movements. It was the Keeper. Solas unwittingly backed away a bit, eyeing her warily.

She offered her hand to the fire and it began to wander up her arm, becoming a fireball she then held between her fingers. The voices began to sing in the forgotten language. Solas' flesh crawled when he heard them. “Sylaise, arlise’amelan, ehnas ise te’elan mathem. Lanir’sha var’lin’en su mar sul’anathe...”

The Keeper's voice echoed through the camp as she began to speak: “Sylaise, Keeper of the hearth, protector of Clan Enasvaral, we pray to you! We hear you from the depths of the fade, in the howling of the winds, in the thrumming of the rain and the rushing of the trees! Tonight, your voice is loud and your healing hands are reaching out to us! Let me be your vessel and rekindle the flame that warmed us for centuries! ” In an instant, everyone was silent, all eyes fixed on her. Solas wished she was wrong and Sylaise out of reach, but then the flame in her hand exploded. Thundering, dancing, growing like tree branches along her arm. The elves cried out this time, but with joy. Solas watched in horror how the Keeper was engulfed in flames within seconds. Their beauty – glittering in all colours of the rainbow - didn't persuade him. His body was tense, ready to dodge the burning branches. The Keeper moved slowly, crossing her arms as if she hugged herself. Hugged the flame. They grew wings behind her back. Solas gasped. Did she turn into a dragon?

Nobody seemed to worry about it. They continued to hum and clap, as if they kindled the fire like this. Did they feel it too? Sylaise?

Solas felt more and more uncomfortable around them. He searched for a way out while the burning wings grew high above his head. The invisible choir reached another peak. Solas expected a disaster to happen any second. Suddenly, the voices yelled as if in pain and the lights changed from gold to red. The fire turned to ice one second to the other. Another figure walked into view, wrapped in a dark robe made of pelts. Their hood was pulled deep into their face, hiding their features. Glowing red jewels were sewed into the hood, where the figure's eyes would be. Solas' heart almost stopped. They lifted a hand and snapped their fingers. With a clashing sound, the ice broke and the Keeper straightened herself as her wings shattered on the ground.

“This stage play is really charming”, the figure quipped. “But shouldn't you be at home, spinning thread or the like?” Solas realized the voice belonged to Temalas. What was this about? “My dear Trickster, what a pleasant surprise.” The Keeper – or Sylaise? - didn't hide her disgust in her tone. “I didn't expect to see you among the People. Shouldn't you rather stay in the shadow and lick your wounds? Perhaps try to grow your tail back?” That earned laughter from the elves. Solas had no idea what they referred to. The two elves now circled each other.

“It's all but muddy water under the bridge already. The healing arts aren't as elaborate as you claim them to be.” “Are you certain? You know, I listen to every cry for help. Even yours.” “Even mine, how generous of you, dearest Sylaise. But actually, I am here to help you instead.” “How so?” “Fire is a gift and a curse, Hearthkeeper. Dirthara ma.” A fireball shot out of his hands and hit something in the distance. In the flickering light, it looked like an aravel. It's sails were quickly consumed by the fire. “May the elven people bless your fire, Hearth Keeper”, Temalas spat. “And may you curse the day you decided to play with it!”, the Keeper replied.

With a flashing of lights, they attacked each other. Fire roared against ice. The clashing elements grew shapes out of thin air, froze and shattered in a hasty flow. Sparks darted around, stopped and fell. The spellcasters moved in the midst of it all, strutting, waving their arms. The drums, the choir and the voices of the elves became one collateral noise. It was impossible to make out who spurred on who in this creative and destructive dance. Solas felt his heartbeat pound in his ears and his cheeks burn. So far, he only understood this wasn't a fight. The two elves still circled each other, swaying their arms and spinning around. Their movements were coordinated, nobody had the upper hand. Until- The Keeper released a swarm of icicles on the “Trickster”. It was the first time she used that spell. Temalas' arm was now caught in a pillar of ice and he looked at her, struggling to get free. With a wide gesture, she lunged out for another frost wave. Her voice already stung like cold wind on exposed skin when she sneered: “Undirthalan!”

Temalas disappeared in a wall of ice that shot up from the ground, so high it nearly touched the trees. The elves downright cheered, apparently abandoning their choreography for this pinnacle of joy. The Keeper strutted to the newly created sculpture with her hands on her hips, looking very content with her work. Then she spread her arms and said: “May Elgar'nan pass his judgement on you.” Solas felt like she kicked him in the guts. Let Elgar'nan be the judge? Nobody would do that. But they did it to him. He pressed his eyes shut, fighting against the memory. Her eyes. A blazing light, an endless pit of fire, deeper than the void. How could they be so cold? Her sneer froze the blood in his veins. She'd do this to him. Mythal's -

He was ripped out of his memory by multiple hands that nudged and shoved him. Sylaise had turned around and eyed him now. The crowd moved him into her direction, cheering and clapping. Solas wanted to scream in agony. And with rage. With embarrassment. They had known it all along. Of course they had. And he could only hope they made it quick.

„Bell'sulahn“, he whispered to himself as he staggered forward. „Re min ma asahngar?“

They didn't avoid any stereotypes. They made him kneel. Not that he could still stand, anyway. He faced the Keeper with a glare. She remained unimpressed and lifted her hands. Solas tensed, but forced himself not to flinch. He was puzzled when she sprinkled something over him. It felt cold and soft, nothing else. Then she held her hand over his head and said with her thundering voice: “May Sylaise always stir your fire, may she heal your wounds and lead you through the passage of despair into blessedness, as she guided our people for millennia! May the creators watch over you!” More cheers followed and Solas stared at her with a gaping mouth. The Keeper smiled and he had the impression she enjoyed his astonishment. Also, she wasn't finished. “From now on, you will be known as Revanas Enasvaral. You may stand up.”

Solas' body complied, but he didn't know why. The elves still shouted and drummed. The noise rang in his ears. He guessed standing up brought him closer to getting away from here. Halven appeared at his side and Solas clutched his tunic, hoping the Healer was a sign that he could go to bed now. The man helped him through the crowd that shouted words at him. He was too tired to listen. Halven shooed them away as good as he could.

The dancing and singing of the clan continued. Solas only managed to gulp down a drink the Healer gave him, before he sank back into his pillow.

Notes:

“Sylaise, arlise’amelan, ehnas ise te’elan mathem. Lanir’sha var’lin’en su mar sul’anathe” : Sylaise, Hearthkeeper, whose fire cannot be quenched. We give ourselves gladly to your service.” “Dirthara ma”: May you learn. “Undirthalan.”: I learned. „Bell'sulahn, re min ma asahngar?“: Song of Eternity, is this my fate? “Revanas”: spirit of freedom

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #solas/dorian #dragon age solas #dragon age dorian #maker preserve #dalish elves

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doppaminedogg · 2 months

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Uhhh more oc writing n stuff also look at this drawing yay thanks for reading/looking

TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ PLEASE READ

-implied rape

-drug use

-alcohol use

-s.a

-bad age gap

-groping

-Dead dove do not eat

-trauma

THIS IS AN OC LORE, NON OF THIS IS REAL!

Read with caution!!

You have been warned...oooo....

Pine furrowed her eyebrows and kept her eyes to the ground, watching her claws flex with each step she took. The humans that had just slaughtered everyone she knew decided to keep her. She didn't know why they did, but they did.

Eventually, she was led up to an old rickety house where the door was rotted and beaten. The man who held onto pines horn knocked on the door. She lifted her ears, listening to the inside. There was some music playing, and when the door opened it stunk of cannabis and sweat. She wrinkled her nose and looked up, watching the two men exchange words. She couldn't understand them, but she decided that if she did live, she would learn human language. All of it.

She was ushered inside, her claws dug into the ground as she tried to fight back. The man yanked her by the horn, a sharp pain striking her head and flowing down her spine. She yelped and tears formed at the edge of her eyelids.

The man growled something to her that she didn't understand. Everybody inside the house looked dead in a way. Their eyes were glossed over, or red, or just... lifeless. pine was pretty sure some of the people in that house actually were dead. A couple of men got up from their spots and followed pines captor to a room in the back of a dark hallway. Her breath got caught in her throat when the door opened. A heavy smog violated her scent glands, it smelled of smoke, fire, sweat, lust and sex. Pine was almost blinded for a second from the smell. Suddenly, she felt a heavy weight knock her forwards onto her hands and knees into the room. Two female that sat on a large circular bed cooed at the sight of pine. She lifted her head, her eyes wide and she stared at the large man that stared back down at her from the bedframe. He said something, but again, she couldn't understand. The door closed behind her and she snapped her head back, cowering before her captors. They picked her up by her arms, in which she failed and yowled, trying anything to escape.

She was tossed onto the bed without a care. Her horns were still too dull as she was still too young, so they weren't of much use for proper self-defense. She barely got to sit up before she felt those gross naked human hand pulled and petting her fur, groping at her from any angle they could get. She was far too scared to fight back. Fear had her frozen and dumbfounded. The back of her head where her kit fur was long and fluffy was grabbed and pulled her head up. It was the large man. The scary one. He said something in a tone she couldn't wrap her head around. Her claws dug into the soft mattress as she was pulled towards him. Her tail lashed about and she tried to yelp, whine or even yowl, but nothing came out.

By the end of it, she was in pain. She was wet, smelly, aching, crying, horrified. Her fur was stuck together in dried clumps of human ooze. Pine had been tossed away when they were done with her. They probably assumed she was dead. She sat outside in the cold in the dirty old dumpster. Pine hadn't moved yet, she'd been still for hours, just wanting to die. She heard something moving outside of the trashcan. Scared of who it was, she froze, her breathing ceased. "I can smell her, look everywhere." Somebody said. Pines heart jumped when she realized she could understand who was speaking. Immediately she sat up, her paws clasping the edge of the dumpster. She peeked over the edge, spotting a group of anthros. They weren't her species but non the less, they could help her. "Help! Help!" She cried, unable to hold back the tears of hope and relief. One of them turned around, a slim calico with cropped ears. "Oh my goodness!" She gasped and hurried over, picking up pine and holding her close. Pine wailed, shaking and wrapping her arms around her savior tightly. "This is awful." Somebody said. A Doberman, he also had cropped ears. "She stinks." A young calico said. She looked up at pine. "Ikia! Hush!" The Doberman popped the small calico in the back of the head. Pine was just relieved to be helped, her eyes grew heavy and soon, she had fallen asleep, her snout buried in the soft crook of the calicos neck.

Again thanks for reading uhh sorry if this traumatized you

-was this necessary? No , no it wasn't but I wanted to write out some character lore

-why did I write this? Cuz I wanted to I apologize if this made you icky or if it is icky I promise it's just character lore

-WHY DID I MAKE THIS CHARACTER LORE???!!!-because nothing is ever perfect, there is no good trauma or anything like that, I like realistic stuff, of course I'm not saying all trauma that isn't like this isn't trauma, I just prefer the harder to swallow stuff, I wanted something that would make people sympathize for pine, I wanted people to feel bad about this, it's realistic in way, some people might read it as an awareness lore or whatever.

AGAIN THIS IS ALL CHARACTER LORE!!

#oc art #my ocs #oc #oc lore #lore #trauma #read with caution #illustration #dead dove do not eat #be careful #read carefully #please don't cancel me #its just lore i promise

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brownandblackpearls · 3 years

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☾☄✯☁ Moonlit Bath in the Oasis (Asra x BlackReader) Pt. 2

PART 2 SUMMARY:

After a long, harsh journey, the Beast delivers you and Asra to a hidden oasis in the desert for some relaxation and rejuvenation. You wander off to take a bath in the oasis’s mystic pool. Asra decides to join you. To make a long story short, neither of you focus on bathing.

─── Asra x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── Nighttime, aftercare, penetrative sex, praise kink, magic lotion, body oils, pretty bubbling pools

☾ previous. ☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

Your eyes trail every move Asra makes as he undresses to enter the pool. When his hands grip his trousers to slide them off, you have half a mind to look away and spare him some privacy, some modesty. And yet, you see the ripples of muscles in his abdomen and he leans down, the cords of his neck and he tilts his head to keep his eyes on you, the sinew in his legs as they appear before you.

You see everything.

...And something tells you that Asra wants you to see it all.

Impressed, is what you are until your eyes draw to his lower half. Your brows nearly raise to your hairline, shocked. You look at him there for a beat too long before dragging your eyes back up to his face, humbled. You are more than pleased with what you’ve seen.

You expect teasing or smugness from him, but Asra simply gives you a somewhat shy smile before dipping his toes in the water, testing the temperature.

Satisfied, he jumps in and sends waves splashing your way.

“Aah!”

You shriek, raising your hands to try and fail to cover your face from the spray.

Caught between groans and giggles, you turn away wipe the water out of your eyes before feeling a heat at your back, pressing in on it.

“Can I touch you?”

His voice calls gently from behind over the rush of the bubbles and jets in the pool.

“Yes,” you respond confidently, waiting. “Please.”

It is the word needed to draw him closer, to line him up against your back until every inch of your back and his front is touching. You can feel all of him.

Asra gently moves your soaked, springy hair aside to reveal the soft crux of your shoulder and neck, tucking his chin securely there, peering at you as his arms snake around your sides and his hands clasp together right over your navel.

You inhale slowly and the rise of your stomach does little to ease his clutch on you, skin on skin. You can feel his breath brush against your ear, his wet hair against your neck, and the entirety of his body pressed up behind you.

With anyone else, you might’ve felt encroached upon, smothered, or unsafe. With Asra, it is the furthest from those things. With him, you feel secure, happy, wanted, and cared for. Like a little treasure belonging only to yourself, and often, to him.

His lips kiss at your neck and you let out a deep sigh, feeling his kisses trail from underneath your ear, down your shoulder, to the nape of your neck, and back up the edge of your hairline where the softest curls dance against his nosebridge as he continues to mark your skin. You feel the grazing of teeth once, twice, before he is kissing back up your neck to bite at your ear.

You love the feel of it, closing your eyes and furrowing your brow in concentration on the feeling. You feel hot all over, and only his hands seem to soothe the ache. You paw at his clasped hands until they separate, urging them upward with your own hands. Asra’s are quick to follow your lead, smoothing up your belly, across your sides, until hesitating. You sigh again, leaning back into him and resting your head back on his shoulder.

You pull at his hands to let him wordlessly know that it’s alright, that this is something you want, something he can have if he wants it too.

Finally, you feel his broad, mage hands cup and knead your breasts. You could almost cry from relief, every trailing of his fingers lighting nerves across your collarbones, shooting down to your toes and right back up to your nipples that he continues to graze.

The jets aren’t enough to smother the sensation of him hardening behind you, pressing against your backside with need. You can feel the aborted rocking of his hips as he tries to control himself and focus on pleasing you with his mouth, his hands.

You know Asra will make no move without your initiation. Not because he lacks the edge, confidence, or strength to do so…especially since you have an inkling suspicion that this is not your first time with him, that there may have been something in the long forgotten past that lets Asra know your weak spots, know just how to handle you…no, Asra hesitates because he values you your consent overall. Your participation is just as necessary to him as his is necessary to you.

You both stoke the fires of one another’s lust when you both know for certain that both of you want it, need it, crave it.

You roll your ass against him, grinding into his steeling member and eating up the sounds of his quickening breath, his lusty groans, and his tightening hold. You rock until he is pulling you back by your middle, seated on his lap. How…?

You look and realize you’ve both moved towards the pool’s edge, and Asra has conjured an interior seated rim, submerged deep in the water. He sits there now, with you atop of him, back still facing him as he grinds up into you with better leverage, one hand purchased on the underwater seat and the other hand purchased on your chest.

You have all too much fun grinding against him as he moves back against you, the mystic pool changing colors around you.

When his nimble hand finds your hardening nipple and begins to tweak and roll it under his thick finger pads, you can’t help but croon in delight. The move shoots lightning through you and you can’t stop from bouncing firmly against his member now, eager to give him as much pleasure as you’re feeling.

You’re certain you must look desperately horny and silly, but you can’t help it. He makes you feel so good and your body responds to him before your mind can process it.

“Look at you,” Asra croons, punctuated by groans induced from your gyrating, his voice several octaves lower than what you’re used to. The sudden bass in his voice is enough to make you moan a little higher, bounce a little faster. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself. Immensely.”

You feel as though you’re going to cum and he hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet. You want the orgasm to hit while you’re both tied together, want him to feel your body curl and massage him until he blows too, until he fills you up and leaves no space between the two of you.

“✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ...” Your lips begin to move.

You whisper the incantation you studied ages ago, after you’d finally realized how much you wanted this, how you wanted to be ready for the night it happened.

It’s a fertility ward and a cleansing spell, to rid you both of any possible maladies and keep pregnancy at bay despite any close-contact activities you may engage in.

Asra gasps as the enchantment takes hold of you both, simmering underneath your skins.

You know that he recognizes it from the words you say, that he can now see what you intend to do.

“When did I teach you that?” He says, breathless.

“You didn’t. But I am enjoying myself,” you rasp back in answer, fumbling under the water for his shaft before you finally grip it. He bites down a moan against a finger and you ease your grip, turning your head to kiss his shoulder in apology.

“Are you hurt? Perhaps I’m too excited,” you frown, pausing.

“Not at all,” Asra insists hotly, quick to get over the pain. “It’s alright. I’m excited, too.”

You smile as he consoles you, kissing his lips for a moment before sitting back against him, trying your best to feel through the water and aim the tip of his length between your legs.

Asra murmurs that you wait a moment, before he reaches down through the water and lifts both of your thighs up and apart from behind, spreading you wide for him. He places a hand on you, between your legs, skillfully parting your labia with a scissoring finger motion, and trailing his touches from your bud to your perineum. He whispers his own chant, and you can feel both his erection and your insides grow slick and moist, enough so that it contrasts the water surrounding you. You feel the slickness in you seep out cover everything between your legs.

“Are you sure...?” He asks again, pausing for you. Always watchful, he is, always observant, and caring.

“Are you...?” You inquire back, twisting your neck to look at him. You’re seriously pondering whether or not this is something he actually desires or if it is just another way he seeks to please you, but perhaps not so much himself.

Asra sees the meaning lurking behind your words and kisses your lips, warding all the doubt away.

“I’ve been sure, longer than you know.”

He says it with a hint of longing and romance, but you can’t help but to mischievously wonder how many times he’s thought of bending you over and having you, ravishing you, all while you were none the wiser. His eyes can say so much, but only when he wants them to, the quirks of loving a Gemini man.

“What is it?” Asra wonders, beginning to massage your pussy, spying the mischief in your eyes. “What are you thinking about…?”

“All the times you’ve wanted to fuck me,” you murmur back, rocking against his ministrations and biting back a moan. “All the times you’ve wanted me laid out for you, and I had no idea. Did you think of doing this to me when you would teach me?”

Asra’s cheeks redden and he grits his teeth, dipping his finger in you and fucking you with the digits at an almost punishing tempo. You groan, welcoming his touch and spreading wider.

“D-did you...?” You barely repeat, stumbling over your words as pleasure takes hold and Asra, your heart, begins to plunge his fingers over and over into the most sensitive part of you.

“I did.” He admits quietly, the guilt almost smothered by the lust overtaking him. His pupils were widening, darkening as he scooped you over and over, watching your every twitch and jerk.

“Did you want it when w-we were-ah!- at the palace? Help-ping the countess?” You reach for the slit of his shaft, thumbing it and working it as he works you below. It takes some acrobatics to achieve but his long moan is worth it.

“I did.” He dips two more fingers in, thick and steady. Your eyes almost roll up in your head.

“Even when we—?”

“—I wanted it every day. I wanted it so much I felt like an animal. Like some beast of burden with no control, no discipline...just thinking of having you sunrise to nightfall. In my mind, I would pilfer your body from sun-up to sun-down. Do you really want to know...?”

You try and nod, but Asra pulls his fingers away and spreads your legs, aiming the tip of his length before it breaches you. You can feel the thick cockhead slip past your ring until it is finally inside. You’re gasping now, head back against his shoulders as he slowly, crawlingly, pushes more and more of himself inside of you.

“There have been nights in the shop, after you retired to your rooms…you would look so good in the moonlight, so enticing in the sleepwear that I made just for you, that I’d want to rip it off of you and keep you naked for myself.”

He is halfway in now, and your heart is racing, pulsing hard enough that you’re sure he can feel thrumming through his cock.

“There have been days, when you’ve been at Nadia’s side listening to her babbling, where I wanted nothing else but to push you across her ridiculous dining table and make you my meal. To claim you, the most important person in that castle, before them all. There have been days where we’ve been in Vesuvian streets and I’d catch the way the sunlight lit off your eyes, your hair, I’d catch your scent, and I’d want to crowd you into an alleyway and do whatever I wanted to you.”

He is seated fully in you now, as you mewl and rock against him, thrilled to feel the vibrations of both of your voices rock through your body. The stretch is magnificent.

“I’d call myself a bad man,” Asra starts, grinding the last of himself into you, “but it seems as if you like it.”

You yelp higher and higher and he begins to thrust into you in earnest, holding you close. One of his hands dips below the water again, moving to massage your clit in time with his thrusts.

“I d-do like it-!” You exclaim, near-salivating on the rush of pleasure he sends through you with each pelvic blow. “If it’s y-you, I’ll always want it. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Don’t promise something like that,” Asra groans, fucking into you deeper. It punches little sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make, and he seems to feed off of those sounds, thrilled. “I might just take you up on it.”

“Please, please, please,” you begin to beg, over and over his name falls from your lips over and over. You feel it blooming in you before you even understand it, a tidal wave faster and harder than your own fingers have ever brought upon you during those long, late nights in the shop without your teacher.

Without Asra.

You scream before the pleasure chokes it off, your entire body shaking as Asra slows in you, showing mercy and doing everything in his power to stave off his own fall over the edge. You can feel his thighs and arms clench in effort, his rod still thick and hard inside your melting walls.

He crowds behind you, whispering adornments in your ear that send wave after wave through you.

“Yes, take what you need...you’re so good for me...so gorgeous like this, so open...”

Asra lifts you off of his cock, rubbing consolingly at your aching pussy before standing you both up and turning you to face him. He holds your gasping frame up as he swivels you both around, planting your back against the stone of the pool’s edge. Understanding dawns in your eyes as he watches you hungrily.

Again.

He wants to make you cum again.

If you can infer anything from that heated gaze, it’s that he plans on making you cum all night long, in as many ways as possible.

Your cunt throbs and aches, yet a need in you rears its head up. You decide quickly that you want all that he has to offer, even if it may end up being more than you can take. You doubt that, somehow. You know you will take all of him.

Asra lifts your legs out the water, the buoyancy of the pool water aiding the both of you as you float into the position he wants you in: legs apart, facing him, straddling his hips. He kisses up your dripping wet arm, whispering again.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what..?” Your post-orgasm-addled brain struggles to comprehend his words.

“Did you mean it, when you said I can do whatever I want with you?”

You look into his hungry eyes, a hunger you’ve rarely seen on him until tonight.

He’s hidden it well, as you’ve never suspected the depths of his desire…but perhaps for too long, it seems. Something bristles behind the edge of it all, roaring to be released. Your aching pussy is proof of it.

“I meant it,” you promise. You did, after all.

Asra smirks smugly this time, securing your legs around him and moving in to mark your neck. You feel his hand guide himself back into your body, and you part all too easily for him, almost embarrassed at the quickness of it.

“Then I’m holding you to it,” Asra says against your heated skin, “because tonight...? You’re mine.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work including this one. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ previous. ☾ next.

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

Jaskier’s A-Z of Animals

Summary: “I have an idea!” Lambert announced loudly, his words slurring slightly. He’d clearly drunk too much white gull.

Jaskier flicked his ears and tilted his head. This could only end terribly.

- Or Lambert suggests a game of Guess the Animal.

Previous Story (but this can also be read alone)

_________

Jaskier purred happily as Geralt’s fingers threaded through his fur. The fire was roaring in the hearth and Jaskier delighted in the prickle of heat against his feline body. The witchers were all drunk as skunks but Jaskier hadn’t felt like joining in with their merriment. Their witcher booze did strange things to his head and he’d vowed to bring his own store of ale or wine along with him next time.

Lambert was pontificating loudly, swishing his hands about and rambling on about some stupid humans he’d met on the path. Apparently they’d tried to swindle him out of his coin after a contract. Jaskier yawned and flicked his tail, hissing gently. He’d seen enough of that behaviour over the last few months with Geralt. Luckily for Geralt, Jaskier the mutant dog/wolf companion had been incredibly efficient at persuading the more nefarious humans to relinquish their coin. Geralt scratched him behind the ears. Jaskier meowed and rolled onto his back so that Geralt could scratch his belly.

The witcher chuckled. “Always so needy, you bastard.” He murmured fondly but his fingers still moved to Jaskier’s soft fur on his underbelly.

Jaskier hissed and grabbed Geralt’s fingers under his claws. He didn’t draw blood but Geralt should know better than to call him needy. That just wasn’t fair.

“Jask.” Geralt warned and pulled his fingers away.

Well now, that wouldn’t do. He yowled loudly and tilted his head, widening his eyes as he peered up at his witcher.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Stop scratching me then.”

Jaskier mewed and rolled back over so he could climb up onto Geralt’s shoulder. He nipped at Geralt’s ear gently.

“I have an idea!” Lambert announced loudly, his words slurring slightly. He’d clearly drunk too much white gull.

Jaskier flicked his ears and tilted his head. This could only end terribly.

“Spit it out, Lambert.” Geralt grumbled.

“Fuck off, patience, White Wolf!” Lambert glared at him and tripped over the rug. He almost fell flat on his face but Jaskier was quicker. He leapt to the ground, shifting mid leap into a wolf. Lambert fell against him and laughed. “I found a Jaskier!”

Eskel snorted. “You didn’t find him. Geralt found him and then he shagged him.”

Geralt groaned. “You guys are drunk.”

“Yeah, well, You’re not drunk enough!” Lambert mumbled into Jaskier’s fur.

He howled and wagged his tail.

“See, Jaskier agrees with me!” Lambert grinned. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy?”

Jaskier barked, turning so he could nuzzle against Lambert. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of white gull hit him. Gods it stank, especially in this form. He really didn’t know how the witchers could bear it.

“He’s not actually a dog, Lambert.” Geralt sighed wearily.

Jaskier turned to Geralt and growled. He was a good boy! Geralt was just a grumpy witcher.

“Fine. Whatever.” Geralt rolled his eyes but came over to join them on the floor.

Jaskier wagged his tail and then sat in Geralt’s lap. Geralt huffed but rested his chin on Jaskier’s back. Lambert continued to scratch him behind the ears and he was in heaven. It really was a dog’s life at Kaer Morhen.

“I want a go.” Eskel whined. “Geralt always gets a go.”

“Get your own.” Geralt grumbled and buried his face in Jaskier’s thick fur.

Geralt was apparently a sleepy drunk this evening. Jaskier liked that, Geralt was always more cuddly when he was tired, but he was also being a grumpy bastard and needed to learn to share. Jaskier rolled his eyes and leapt from Geralt lap. He jumped at Eskel, putting his paws on the man’s shoulders, and licked him in the face.

“Puppy!” Eskel laughed and scrunched his nose up as Jaskier continued to lick his face.

“What was your idea?” Geralt asked Lambert.

“My idea! Guess the animal!” He yelled.

Jaskier sat back down and barked. He assumed he would play a part in this game. He growled quietly, a low rumble in his chest. The witchers knew that he didn’t enjoy being treated like an experiment. He didn’t want this game to turn into a test of his abilities like it had beenat Lettenhove. He shifted again into a mouse and scurried back to Geralt. The room blurred as he shifted and he used his whiskers to guide him as he buried into Geralt’s shift.

Geralt snarled at the redhead. “Lambert!”

“What?”

“He’s family, not a toy.” Geralt’s voice rumbled in his chest and Jaskier could feel the vibrations. He squeaked and nuzzled Geralt’s chest.

“I know!” Lambert whined. “But I thought…”

“You don’t think!” Geralt snapped. “That’s your problem.”

Jaskier squeaked again. He wanted to know Lambert’s reasons. He wanted to trust them. They were Geralt’s family and they’d be nothing but accepting of his gifts.

“I thought!” Lambert continued loudly. “That he knew he could trust us. I thought that it could be fun for him too, he could show off a bit and he knows none of us care what he can and can’t do.”

Jaskier considered that carefully and shifted back into a cat. He poked his head out the top of Geralt’s shirt.

“Jaskier!” Geralt grumbled.

He chirped happily. The temptation to shift back to human was almost too much. Geralt saw him naked all the time. He was allowed to enjoy the thought of ripping his boyfriend’s shirt to shreds, but instead he ducked back inside the shirt and crawled out the bottom.

When he was seated back in Geralt’s lap he shifted to human.

The others yelled and pretended to cover their eyes.

“I’m in.” He announced, not bothering to cover himself and batting Geralt’s hands away. “But I reserve the right to stop at any time. The moment I feel like it’s more than a fun game then I’m out. Got it?”

Lambert grinned and extended his hand. “Deal.”

They shook on it.

“Game stops once I turn into a wolf. No questions asked.”

There was a mumble of agreement.

Jaskier thought about his knowledge of animals. It wasn’t complete despite what the witchers may think. Some animals came easier to him, the wolf and the cat for example. He found mammals easier in general. He supposed the genetic make up was closer to his human form. He was also limited by what animals he knew. He’d spent a lot of time in his youth studying books on animals. They were the only books his parents had allowed him to have in his dimeritium prison of a bedroom. For years the books had been his only access to his abilities outside of the controlled ‘sessions’.

He would start easy enough. He gave Geralt as quick kiss on the cheek and winked before letting the magic loose once more. His skin rippled back into ginger fur and his bones crunched as he shifted in Geralt’s lap.

“FOX!!” Lambert yelled. “Aww look at you. So cute.”

Jaskier let out a screeching bark and trotted over to the redhead with his bushy tail trailing after him. He nuzzled against Lambert’s open palm and shifted again.

He slithered to the floor with a hiss. Reptiles were probably his least favourite animal so he was eager to get this out of the way. The room lit up in infra red and he flicked his tongue tasting the air as he familiarised himself with the room in this form. The witchers ran cooler than humans and it was difficult to make them out with the fire drawing his eye from the corner of the room.

“Snake!” Lambert shouted again and Jaskier turned to hiss at him. He slithered up the witcher’s arm and curled around his shoulders, flicking his tongue in Lambert’s ear. “Get off.” He grumbled. “Next one!”

Jaskier shook his head and hissed.

“We have to be more specific?” He heard Eskel ask.

He nodded. He’d chosen this particular snake for a reason. The scales were distinct, yellow and bristly. He slithered back to the floor and curled up into a ball.

“Umm… Viper?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier nodded again and hissed.

“Prickly viper!” Lambert tried.

“Spiky viper?” Eskel guessed.

Both good guesses but not quite right. He hissed and shifted to human, lounging extravagantly on the rug. “Spiny bush viper, found in desert regions.” He accidentally hissed on the ’s’ sounds and grinned sheepishly. “I saw a picture in a book when I was younger. ”

Before they could question him further he shifted again, blue and orange feathers rippled out this time instead of fur. He flitted between the witchers landing on each of their heads, and he suddenly had an overwhelming craving for fish, he was starving! He He wondered if there was any in the kitchens. He was sure Vesemir wouldn’t mind if he went for a snack.

Geralt must have recognised the animal instincts taking over and he caught Jaskier gently in his hands. Jaskier fluttered his wings angrily in Geralt’s hands and chirped loudly, trying to find an escape from his prison.

“Kingfisher.” Geralt said softly in a whisper. “Next one, Jask.”

Jaskier chirped again but let Geralt’s rough soothing voice ground him. He shifted in Geralt’s hands, his wings growing and the feathers disappearing until was a fluffy bundle in Geralt’s palm.

Geralt slowly opened his hands and Jaskier flinched away from the light. This choice had been logical in the darkness of Geralt’s hands but the bright light of the room was almost too much. He fluttered up to the ceiling, dipping a few times as his wings felt heavier than expected. It was time to rest. He felt incredibly tired all of a sudden. He curled his wings around him as he found a nook to rest in.

“Did anyone see that?” Lambert asked. “The bugger moved too fast.”

“You’re just getting slow in your old age.” Geralt laughed.

“I’m younger than you, old man!” Lambert grumbled and Jaskier heard the two witchers start to brawl.

“Jaskier!” Eskel called. “Come down and control your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

Geralt.

Jaskier closed his eyes and jumped from his hiding place. Shifting again mid-air into a kestrel, but for the first time in a while the shift didn’t come easy. He almost dropped to the ground before he managed to find the energy to flap his wings.

He’d done too many shifts too quickly. Cat. Wolf. Mouse. Cat. Human. Fox. Snake. Human. Kingfisher. Vampire Bat. Kestrel.

Fuck.

He’d hadn’t even noticed it had been so many.

Even back at Lettenhove he’d struggled with ten at a time. The most he’d pushed it before had been fifteen and that had almost killed him. It had been years since he’d tried. He could stay as any form for as long as he liked but too many consecutive shifts were exhausting. He’d forgotten about that. He usually settled after two or three, six at a push. There wasn’t much need to keep flitting about in different forms.

He tumbled to the ground, crash landing on the rug. The noise broke up the fight between the two grumpier witcher and Geralt scooped him up in his arms. “Jaskier, what’s wrong?” He murmured and he stroked a finger along Jaskier’s fur.

“Too much white gull!” Lambert slurred. “Drunk birds can’t fly.”

Geralt snarled at Lambert but didn’t answer him. “Can you shift to human?” He asked quietly.

Jaskier considered it. His wings felt limp but nothing was broken. He was just tired, he needed a nap and food… gods he was so hungry.

“Jask, don’t sleep. Not yet. I need to know you’re ok.” Geralt was obviously worried and Jaskier felt a little guilty for forgetting his own limits like that. He should have known better.

He’d just been swept up in the witchers’ joy and laughter, knowing the excitement they felt had nothing to do with wanting to use and abuse his abilities. The tasks had been so similar to those he’d performed at Lettenhove but the warmth and affection of the witchers had been the opposite of the calm calculated coolness of his parents.

Geralt needed to know he was ok. He needed words.

That meant he had to shift.

He let his magic go one last time and collapsed against Geralt’s chest. “Fuck!” He groaned. “Game over.”

And passed out.

________

When he awoke he was covered in furs and wearing one of Geralt’s black shirts by the feel of it. Geralt’s shirts were rougher fabric than his own. His whole body ached and he felt liked he’d run through one of the witcher obstacle courses, twice. Geralt’s fingers were in his hair and he could hear him bickering with Lambert.

“Well how was I supposed to know?” Lambert grumbled. “It’s not like I purposely set out to hurt him.”

“Again.” Eskel chimed, clearly amused by the entire argument.

If Jaskier’s head hadn’t been quite so sore he probably would have laughed. He’d underestimated the blond witcher when he’d first arrived at Kaer Morhen. He’d been taken in by Eskel’s kind and gentle personality. He’d hadn’t noticed the glimmer of humour underneath. Eskel seemed to thrive in chaos. He enjoyed gently pushing and teasing his fellow witchers until they were almost at each other’s throats and Vesemir had to calm everyone down. The others hadn’t even seemed to realise that it was Eskel manipulating the entire conversation. Jaskier had a huge amount of respect for Eskel as a result.

“Again.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier knew his witcher was about two seconds away from brawling with Lambert again and he took pity on the redhead. He groaned dramatically and snuggled further into Geralt’s lap.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s hands stopped in his hair.

“Morning…” He mumbled.

“What happened, pup?” Jaskier blinked a few times and then opened his eyes. Vesemir had joined them… oh and they were in his bedroom.

“Shifted too many times.” He muttered. “Forgot to take a break.”

“This has never happened before.” Geralt hummed thoughtfully.

Jaskier tried to sit up but his head span so he flopped back onto Geralt’s lap on the bed. Geralt was sitting up against the headboard and Jaskier had essentially been using him as a pillow, not an unusual occurrence. The others were crowded around the bed. He felt a pang of guilt. He must have really worried them for them to all be here.

“Not for years. When was the last time you’ve seen me shift more than…” He pause to think “six times?”

Geralt just hummed a response.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He grumbled. “Now can everyone please fuck off, I’m tired.”

The witchers all grumbled and began to filter out of them room. Lambert mumbling what could have been an apology as he left.

Jaskier’s stomach rumbled noisily. “Oi! Wait! On second thoughts! Lambert, darling, dearest witcher. Have we got any fish?”

Lambert groaned and stalked out the room. “I’m only doing this because I almost killed you, wolf.”

“Again!” Eskel pointed out with a laugh.

“Fuck off!”

Jaskier grinned and cuddled up against his boyfriend. Family, you couldn’t live without them.

_______

Next Story!

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #witcher eskel #witcher lambert #kaer morhen #wolfie's witcher writing #jaskier pankratz #jaskiers a-z of animals

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just-jordie-things · 3 years

Note

hi i love your writing so much!! could i request 28 & 58 with Sokka? thank you!! :)

prompt 28: first kiss prompt 58: moving around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other back against the wall/onto the bed ___

“It’s just not fair,” You muttered, slumping down against Appa’s saddle, and crossing your arms as you pouted. “How have all of you been kissed?” You asked your friends.

They kind of just shrugged their shoulders, not knowing what to say.

“I mean, Zuko?” You threw your hands into the air, making the firebender gape in offense. “Even you?”

“Hey!” He whined.

You rolled your eyes, and rolled your head back on the saddle to look at the stars above you.

“It’s bullshit. I’m seventeen, and no one has ever thought of me as worthy of a kiss. Unfair”

“Well, have you had boyfriends?” Suki asked.

“There was Jet” Katara said, meant as a tease, but you shot her a glare, not wanting to be reminded of Jet’s weird infatuation with you.

“Not really” You grumbled in response.

“I’ve never been kissed” Toph cuts in, trying to make you feel better, but it doesn’t quite work.

“You don’t understand affection, you don’t like it” You remind her.

“Can’t argue with that,” She says with a bark of a laugh. “Don’t know why you want to be kissed, boys are the worst anyways”

Your eyes glance at Sokka, who quickly looks down at his lap to avoid your gaze. Your heart drops to your stomach and you lean your head back again. You don’t want to think about your stupid crush who seems to hit on every girl except you.

“Yeah,” You mutter back to the blind earth bender. “They’re the fucking worst” __

Once you got to the island, Zuko showed you to his old family vacation home, which would serve as your shelter for the next few days, before Sozin’s Comet.

It was definitely the nicest place you’ve ever gotten to stay during all of your travels, and you had to be grateful to sleep in a real bed, even if the Fire Nation property gave you the creeps.

You were settling in for the night, unpacking the few items you owned and eagerly pulling back the covers of the bed, your features lighting up at the comfortable and inviting mattress.

That was when there was a knock on your doorframe.

You perked up to see Sokka there, standing awkwardly in the hall, not wanting to walk into your space without your invitation. You gave him a small smile and waved him in.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked, going back to sorting through the clothes in your luggage.

While you were preoccupied trying to figure out what needed to be washed and what didn’t, Sokka was nervously fiddling his hands together as he waited for your attention. It took a few seconds, but eventually you could feel his anxiousness wafting off of him, and you turned to him.

“Something wrong?” You asked, your brows furrowed.

“No, not really, I just... um... I...”

His stammering puzzled you, and you recognized his nervous tick as he brought his hand to the back of his neck.

“I felt bad, about what you were saying earlier, so I wanted to come in here and... um...”

He trailed off again, and you cocked your head to the side.

“About the kiss thing?” You asked, and he nodded. “You have nothing to feel bad for Sokka, I don’t need you to pity me,” You told him. “It sucks, but it’s got nothing to do with you”

“Well I thought-”

“Seriously, I don’t need you to feel bad for me,” You repeated yourself before he could make you feel worse. “Trust me, the last thing I need is you of all people sympathizing over me. In fact, let’s just not talk about it anymore because I’ll only feel-”

Before you could finish your rambling, Sokka had flown towards you, his hands cupping around your cheeks and bringing your lips to his in a fast and heated kiss.

Your eyes widened for a moment, but just as quickly fluttered shut as you melted against him. You lowered yourself from your tiptoes, and slowly, your hands fell against his chest.

He pulls away, and neither of you open your eyes for a second as you both catch your breaths, and let it sink in what just happened.

“Why... why did you do that?” You murmured, your eyelashes fluttering as you looked up at him.

His own eyes flickered over your features before he smiled softly at you.

“I just wanted your first kiss to be special,” He mumbles, his thumbs slowly tracing her your cheekbones. “And from someone that cares about you, not just some random guy”

You’re flustered, your heart is doing somersaults and you’re a blushing mess, but you still manage to tease him.

“You sayin’ you care about me, Sokka?” You asked, gently blowing at his ribs.

“Care about you?” He repeats with a scoff. “I’ve been in love with you for ages”

Your smile falls slightly at the confession, the surprise making you freeze up as your eyes widen.

He takes your expression as the first step of rejection, and drops his hands from your face.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Now it’s your turn to surprise him, as your hands seize his, and you lean up to capture his lips again.

It’s only your second kiss ever, but it’s explosive, and more than you ever could have fantasized about. You wonder if that’s what kissing is always like, or if that’s just Sokka.

As his soft lips slide expertly over yours, meeting them in sync and progressively becoming longer and deeper with every kiss, you decide it’s just Sokka.

You bring his hands to your waist, before throwing your arms around his neck so you can pull him down lower to meet your height. You kiss him enthusiastically, and you have a tough time biting back your smile.

A part of you wants to shut the door in case anyone were to walk by, but you just couldn’t be bothered to break apart from Sokka for longer than the half second it took to catch your breath, so you pay it no mind.

You pull him backwards, until the back of your legs hit your bed, and then you tug some more until he gets the hint and pushes you with all the gentleness he can back onto the mattress, following you down and propping one hand next to your head so he didn’t completely crush you.

You’re quick to shove all your things off the bed, not caring that your clothes would be in a lump on the floor and all need washing the next day. And then your hands are pawing at the material of Sokka’s shirt so you can tug him over you.

As you move back to be laying completely, and more comfortably, on the mattress you smile up at him, and your hands softly slide over his jaw, before mapping out the rest of his face.

“I love you too” You murmur, pulling him down closer to you, until his chest falls over yours, and your noses bump together delicately.

His free hand falls to your face, pushing your hair back before splaying his fingers over your skin. You blush from the way he looks at you, and you want to look away, but you just can’t, his eyes were too beautiful.

“You’re gorgeous,” He whispers, as though reading your thoughts. “And so very worthy of kissing”

You giggle softly, nervously, as he leans down to kiss you chastely.

He pulls too far away, and you chase his lips, but his hand brings your head back down against the mattress.

“Jet did try to ask you out” He admits, seemingly out of nowhere, and you furrow your brows.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You ask, and again try to kiss him, but he turns his head away.

“Because I told him not to”

Your confused look doesn’t go away, but you don’t look hurt like he thought you’d be.

“Why?”

“Pick a reason, he sucked” Sokka tried to laugh, but the sound was forced, and awkward.

“Well, yeah,” You agreed. “But what’d you tell him?”

“When he told me he had a crush on you, and, he, uh, wanted to ask you out... I told him that you were my girlfriend”

“Oh”

“And then I threatened him”

“Oh”

“And then when he said he was going to go for it anyways, and said some stupid shit about how you wanted him, I hit him”

“Oh my spirits,” You giggled, which wasn’t the reaction that he’d expected from you at all. “Sokka, that’s so ridiculous. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your hands wrap around the nape of his neck, fingers drawing shapes in his skin soothingly. It eases Sokka’s anxiety, if only for a brief moment.

“Because I was jealous and it was dumb and I didn’t think it mattered at the time”

“Well, then, why are you telling me now?” You ask, quirking a brow.

“Because I don’t want to keep anything from you because I love you and that wasn’t a fair thing for me to do”

You hum, appreciative and a little shocked by his complete honesty.

“I mean, it was weird, that’s for sure,” You tell him. “But it was completely fair, Jet was... the worst,”

Sokka gives you a small smile, glad that you weren’t upset with him since it was so long ago.

“But I’m more frustrated that you had to bring him up now,” You added, nodding between the two of you. “Things were kinda just getting good and you had to bring up that freakin’ guy?”

Sokka laughs, and he doesn’t waste a second before he’s leaning down and pressing his lips to yours again.

You sigh contentedly, and fall in love with him all over again. He was a dork, a jealous dork with apparently a bit of anxiety, but he was all yours. And you were all his. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

#sokka #sokka x reader #atla #sokka imagine #sokka scenario

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acatpersonapparently · 3 years

Text

@plzdonthitmewithyourcar requested angst so therefore I come bringing Jemtoria angst

Idealism must run in their blood. Victoria always looked up to Munkustrap and Demeter because they saw the world for what it was and still wished for more. No wonder their daughter was born with dreams dancing behind her eyes. She didn't view herself as negative, just realistic. The first time Jemima stops her paws to let ants pass she wants to scoff. She sits there for two whole minutes watching Jemima construct walls with pieces of bark around the ants marching path. Wishing them a safe travel, Jemima turns to her, smiling ear to ear, and thank her for her patience.

Anyone would do it, she says, pawing the earth.

ii.

Jemima cries when anyone else does. Victoria would call it a superpower if it wasn't so frustrating. The sniffling, the tears, the way she drops everything to sit there and let the tears flow. One time, Pounce takes a really hard tumble down a pile of trash and she finds Jemima on the tires, sobbing. She tells her that Pounce is fine, He wasn't even crying when I looked in on him and Jelly. But Jemima sits there, shoulders trembling and tears like rivers

He is, he is! Jemima insists. The tears just won't come out so I'm crying for him.

Victoria doesn't get that much at all, but she loves her sunshine girl and her little glass heart so. She wraps her up in the most loving and soft touches she can and waits for the storm to pass.

(Victoria checks on Pounce the next day. After Jemima had woken up and bounced on her way when the sun came up. He's limping and his shoulders sag with hurt pride and Victoria is almost frustrated with how right she was.)

iii.

It's after the Jellicle Ball that Jemima acts different. Her daydreaming girl is spending so much time... Elsewhere. A place that Victoria can't touch or reach. It's like she's floating along in a daze and Victoria is trying to tether her down. Jemima is still sweet and friendly and chatty with everything she meets, but the lulls in-between, it's like she stops being there at all.

Then she starts jumping. Startling out of their naps in the morning sun, jumping out of her skin while they're drinking water or chatting with Skimble, head popping up wide-eyed between bites of their meal.

Victoria sits next to her, shoulder to shoulder, and asks, Where are you?

Jemima avoids her eyes and bows her head, You don't hear that? Victoria shakes her head and suddenly her young friend looks much too old for her age. I just keep hearing somebody crying. And that's when Victoria reminds her that if someone is crying then she would be too and Jemima's shoulders shake a little with laughter and she agrees

They both decide to pretend that nothing is wrong at all now that it has become painfully obvious something clearly is

iv.

One of Victoria's proudest moments is when Jemima informs her that she's going to be the next Jellicle Protector just like her dad. Jemima is practically glittering with the good news. She positively gushes as she tell Victoria about the story-telling and fighting she's learning. The whole thing fills Jemima with a new vigor and sharpness that Victoria was starting to worry she had lost.

That's great... I wish you were spending more time with me. Victoria thinks to herself, Jemima immediately cocks her head like she's listening to something. Victoria asks her if she saw any cool flowers today to snap her back.

One of Victoria's angriest moments comes the next week when she swings by to visit Jemima and ask her how her first outing as Protector-in-training went. The den is completely dark and there's is a mountain of blankets shaking like there's an earthquake. She reaches out to lift them and-

Don't touch me! Jemima bursts out and scrambles across the room, pressing herself into the wall. Victoria flattens her ears. Everlasting, how long has she been crying in the dark? I'm his! I'm Macavity's! Jemima spits from across the room. Do you know what that means?

(She doesn't)

Victoria reaches out, to touch her sunshine girl and hold together that little glass heart. Jemima recoils like she's been offered poison. In that moment, rage bubbles up in Victoria's calm heart and she want to slash and claw and tear at everyone involved in making such a bright girl dark. Jemima flinches and Victoria's heart melts into love, love, love. They freeze, both waiting for the other to do something.

It means that all these voices are real. Jemima whispers to the dark and Victoria tackles her with a hug she can't say no to.

Pollicles attack the Junkyard. A rush of frothing, gleaming, teeth and heavy paws thundering. They rip up through dens and scratch up Victoria's favourite spot to sunbathe. She doesn't see Jemima after the chaos begins and Jemima yells for her to grab Jelly and Jenny and hide.

(She feels like a useless kitten cowering before a storm at the din outside. She's boiling with the urge to do something and fear as to what may be left when she steps outside.)

It's Alonzo who sticks his head into their dark hole to let them know the storm has passed, blood marring his monochrome.

You need to stay calm, He says

About what? She asks. He shifts his weight back and forth in his feet. She does not stay calm

Jemima, glass-heart and all, is laying hands on the wounded. Her red fur flickers like fire. She's the saint of gentle as their breathing steadies under her touch and then she gets up, stumbling. Only the blood on Jemima seems to be fresh and flowing. Victoria rushes forward to stain herself with it.

I can take their pain, Vi. Jemima's words have the cadence of an excuse made to circumvent a scolding. See? I can do this as Protector. I can protect them from all the pain, Vi. Victoria feels a creeping light pour into her, a soft prying into her ribcage. It coils around her concern, her fear, the pain that's aching in her heart at her sunshine girl being blotted out by so much agony.

She kisses Jemima. She kisses Jemima and lets the tears from her eyes pour down the smaller girl's crusting cheeks. She kisses her to stop her and because she doesn't know what else to do with her.

You can have all of me, but you can't have that. Victoria whispers. She will never be allowed to have that. The girl in her hands who loves and cares for everyone so much that it hurts needs the selfish love in Victoria's chest.

vi.

Months of ceaseless "helping" and "healing" follow. Jemima drawing grief from people's hearts and into her own. Pulling out thorns of agony, terror, and fear and letting them bury themselves in her flesh instead.

Victoria hates it. She really hates it.

Your compulsive need to fix things and help people is destroying you. Don't you see that? Victoria tells her, drawing her gentle lover up from the fetal position on the floor. She pushes back the sweaty hair in Jemima's eyes and tilts her chin up to look at her. Jem's brown eyes are cloudy, like she's look at her from the other side of the veil.

Jemima croaks. Her whole tiny body trembling with effort just to support herself. They're not in pain anymore.

Yes, but you are. I don't care about them, I care about you. Why don't you care about you. Victoria swallows all of those thoughts down, but since they're already so close. Not just close as Victoria's hands support Jemima but as two people who have mapped out each other's souls. Jemima feels those thoughts pass through her skin.

But who else? Jemima whispers. Even now, she can hear it all. The pain, the heartache, the despair that seems to be flooding out of every heart on earth.

Anyone else, Victoria tries to communicate through kisses. She wants to wrap Jemima in a blanket of love louder than all the pain that knocks at her door. She runs her hands up and down Jem's arms (Everlasting, when did she get so thin?) trying to share some of her warmth.

Jem, you need to stop. Come home with me, sleep with me tonight. We can watch cartoons and I can paint your nails, brush your hair. Victoria whispers the suggestions to the hazy eyed girl in her arms. Jemima pushes her away and takes a few stumbling steps, collapsing back to her knees.

I have appointments... Tomorrow... I'm protector. Jemima's head bobs with the sleep that always is evading her. Her hands clutching her head, rubbing her temples. Brain flashing between boiling hot agony and freezing cold grief. Mom and Dad said... I have to help people.

But not like this, Victoria thinks, rushing forward to catch Jemima's head before it hits the ground. Those happy idealists who raised you and loved you, They didn't mean it like this

#cats the musical #cause of death: The Softies #Jemtoria #Jemima #Victoria #sad little powerful empath #and the girl that would gladly say fuck em all to keep her #is this confusing? probably #i dont even sorta have a title for this #if i wasn't trapped on mobile I'd add a read more #i SWEAR

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years

Text

Spidey Sense

Fandom: The Old Guard

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: So the original prompt for this was something along the lines of: "hey, what if Joe and Nicky keep pictures of each other in their wallets to remind them of why they're doing this whenever they have to be apart" and this was born from that. Enjoy!

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin @perropascal

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my works!

Please like and reblog! I love feedback!!!

Gazing down at the image of the love of his life, forever immortalized by his hand, never failed to bring a smile to Joe’s lips. His drawings would never be as magnificent, as breathtaking as looking at Nicky with his own two eyes, but whenever they were apart, he had to make do with images drawn by his hand.

Slipping the small slip of paper back into his wallet, Joe flipped it shut and slid it into one of his many pockets. He hated going on missions without Nicky, but this particular job had required his expertise in infiltrating one building while Nicky’s skills as a sniper were required four blocks away. It was unfortunate, but not the first time it had happened, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

When Copley had informed them of the job, he’d made sure they knew that he’d been unable to get any estimates on the number of guards they’d have to deal with. It made Joe uneasy, but they’d gone through with it anyways. Some tech company was trying to use their software to hack into the Pentagon to steal the locations of missile silos located all over the US. The government was very concerned about this threat, and so Copley had called them in.

Joe was supposed to create a distraction at the main headquarters, drawing the company’s attention and thus, allowing Nicky to eliminate guards at the warehouse that housed the company's main servers, which would then allow Nile and Booker to get in and plant explosives. Boom! No more servers, no more threat.

Nicky had been worried about Joe causing a distraction when they didn’t know the amount of guards, but Joe had tried to soothe his beloved’s fears as best he could.

“Habibi,” he’d said, hand resting on Nicky’s waist, holding him close. “I will be fine. And if anything were to go wrong, I know that you will not allow them to hold me for long.”

Nicky had leaned his forehead against Joe’s, one of his many, silent, I love you’s that he bestowed upon Joe throughout the day. “I would prefer it if nothing goes wrong.”

“As would I.”

***

Nicky had been right to worry, and Joe knew he would never hear the end of it. There had been twice as many guards as Copley’s estimate, and even with Joe’s healing, and centuries worth of experience, he’d quickly been overwhelmed. They’d knocked him out–although, perhaps they’d killed him, Joe wasn’t entirely sure–and when he woke, he was chained to a metal chair, bolted in the middle of an all white room.

His first thought had been something along the lines of how poor of a choice it was to put him in an all white room, as it undoubtedly would become quite the grotesque scene when Nicky arrived. Blood clashed so horribly on white walls, and Nicky could get quite ferocious whenever Joe was threatened.

His second thought was on the fact that even while bound, he could tell that his wallet was no longer in his pocket. That, in of itself was of no consequence, practically everything in it was fake–it was hard to have valid ID’s and such when you were an immortal warrior born nine hundred years ago–but there was one precious item in that wallet.

The drawing of Nicky was one of many, but that didn’t mean it was any less special. Joe had saved every single scrap of paper he’d ever drawn Nicky’s likeness on, and while some had aged beyond recognition, he hadn’t had the heart to let any of them go. He knew that Nicky similarly had many, many photographs and paintings of him. Nicky always professed that he wasn’t as artistically inclined as Joe, but every time Nicky sketched him, Joe could see the love and care that went into each piece of art, and he fell in love with Nicky all over again.

He was jolted out of his musings by the door opening violently, slamming against the wall. He didn’t react outwardly, instead analyzing each of the men that walked into the room. Ten men entered, the last, an older man with grey in his hair, shut the door behind him, making a show of locking it. Joe wanted to scoff. These men didn’t intimidate him in the slightest, and they would have to try a lot harder if they wanted to get a reaction out of him.

“Who sent you?”

Joe laughed. So this is how they were doing this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man scowled, the expression twisting his features into a mask of hatred. “I don’t like your attitude, kid.”

Joe laughed even harder at that, his body shaking with mirth, although his eyes were cold as ice. “I’m not quite as young as I look,” he chuckled under his breath, watching as the other men shuffled awkwardly. They clearly feared the older man, and he could see in some of their eyes that they feared for him if he continued to antagonize their leader.

There was a sharp crack, and Joe’s head snapped to the side, the backhand delivered with an impressive amount of force. It might’ve hurt, if Joe hadn’t lived as long as he had, and had experienced far worse. Still, he kept up appearances. The longer these men were unaware of his healing and his immortality, the better.

“Who sent you?”

Joe grins, the perfect picture of innocence. “Who says anyone sent me? Perhaps I decided to come all by myself?” He probably shouldn’t be antagonizing this man, but he’s having too much fun.

The man snaps his fingers, and one of the other men rushes forward to hand him something. Joe recognizes it as his wallet, watching as the man flips through it, pulling out his driver’s license. “Joseph Jones? Is that even your name?” The man scoffs. “Why were you trying to break in?”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to break in.” The man looks confused for all of two seconds before Joe opens his mouth again. “I’d already broken in. Your men found me after I got in.” Joe can’t help but brag a little, because, well, their security was shit, but also because he was trying to stall for time, so that Nile and Booker could get in and out without any issues. “You really shouldn’t have picked white walls you know, white stains so easily–”

He gets another backhand for his efforts, and the man in front of him actually growls. He goes back to pawing through Joe’s wallet, and Joe can feel his heart stop when the man pulls out Joe’s drawing of Nicky.

The man looks at it, and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to think at first. He studies the drawing, and Joe can feel sparks of anger igniting in his chest, although he tries not to show it. The man suddenly laughs, and it’s a cruel, mocking laugh. He shoves the drawing at one of the other men before turning back to Joe, a cruel smirk on his face.

“How cute,” he sneers. “Mr. Jones keeps a picture of his boyfriend in his wallet.” The man spits on the ground at Joe’s feet. “God, that’s disgusting.”

Anger clouds Joe’s vision, bubbling up in his chest like rising magma before bursting forth from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Boyfriend? Boyfriend? Nicolo is not my boyfriend,” he spits, fire burning in his eyes. “You are a narrow-minded, childish, little man. Nicolo means more to me than all the stars in the sky. He has been my light, my heart, for over nine hundred years, and he will continue to be my light and my heart for nine hundred more. I have fought a thousand battles by his side, I have gone to war to protect him just as he has for me. There will always be those who try to separate us, those who cannot possibly understand the depth of my love for that man, and yet,” he pauses, a dark smirk on his face as some of the men step back in fear. “Those who try always end up dead. No, Nicolo is not my boyfriend. He’s all and he’s more.”

***

Nicky was in the middle of dismantling his rifle when he felt it. It didn’t even take him a moment before he recognized the feeling. It was the feeling he always got whenever Joe would make grand declarations of love, which, admittedly, happened quite often. While Nicky was more reserved when it came to lyrical speeches, Joe had no such qualms, and would gladly shout to the heavens–and had done so, multiple times–about his love for Nicky.

Just as he was reaching for his phone to call Copley–because clearly something had to be wrong if Joe was waxing poetic about Nicky when Nicky wasn’t even in the same building–the phone buzzed.

Nicky didn’t even have time to greet Copley before the man was launching into an explanation. “Nicky, I’m sorry, there were too many guards, Joe’s been captured. They’re holding him somewhere in the building, but I don’t have eyes inside.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sending a quick message to Nile and Booker, informing them of what happened, Nicky finished packing up his gear quickly, leaving his spot on the roof and descending the fire escape as fast–and safely, he’d be no good to Joe if he executed a swan dive off the fifth story–as possible.

***

Joe could feel his mouth filling with blood, so he leaned forward and spat some on the ground. Apparently the older man hadn’t been too pleased with being insulted, and he ordered his men to get answers out of Joe, while he watched.

The beating, while not one of the worst he’d experienced, had not been pleasant. Thankfully, the men hadn’t seemed to realize Joe was slowly healing from their attacks, but sooner or later they would get suspicious. He hoped one of the others would get here before that happened, he really didn’t like dying alone.

He’d just been punched repeatedly in the stomach when the man doing said punching stopped. Joe was confused, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about a reprieve.

“What?” Barked the older man, pushing himself off the wall and stalking forward. “What is it?” The younger man shook his head, looking around.

“Did anyone else–?”

He cuts off when a loud bang sounds from outside the door. All of the men turn to look at the door, missing as a smile spreads across Joe’s bloody lips. Another bang sounds, louder than before, closer than before, and some of the men jump.

“What do you think it is?” One of them whispers, and before anyone can answer, something heavy slams into the bolted door from the outside. The whole door seems to shake in it’s frame, and it’s only made worse by the sudden scream of pain.

There’s a sudden onslaught of noise, bangs, screams, gunshots, and crashes and–was that a cat screeching? The men all back away slowly from the door, hands on their weapons, but nothing could have prepared them for the way the door was blasted off its hinges, flying into the room and taking out two of the men.

There’s a sudden burst of gunfire, taking out three more of the men before they can react. Watching their companions fall around them, the remaining four men all aim for the door, shooting wildly at a target they can’t even see. The older man, the leader, unlocks Joe’s cuffs only to pull him upright, pressing a knife against his neck, using Joe’s body as a human shield.

Joe rolls his eyes. If only this man knew how ineffective Joe would be at being a human shield. He watches with interest as the men stop firing, only for a knife to fly through the air and embed itself in one of the guard’s skulls. The others start firing again, but even though it's three against one, they’re no match for a furious Nicolo di Genova. Bursting into the room in a flurry of movement, Joe watches, fascinated–and more than a little turned on–as Nicky becomes a whirlwind, attacking violently with his longsword, cutting down the three men–with violent efficiency–who stand between him and Joe.

The older man presses his blade tighter against Joe’s neck, but Nicky doesn’t even blink. Joe stomps on the man’s foot, and Nicky puts a bullet in his brain, quick as you please. The knife cuts Joe as he moves, but it’s certainly not life-threatening, so he’s unconcerned.

Joe looked around the room, taking in the blood and guts and gore that decorate the white walls and floor and ceiling. “I told them that white was a bad choice, blood stands out far too much–” Nicky strides across the room, and kisses Joe hard, before he can get another word out. Joe grasps Nicky’s face with his blood covered hands, bringing him even closer, moaning as his beloved steals the breath from his lungs.

Nicky pulls away, but only just, his forehead resting against Joe’s. “Yusuf, amore mio, are you badly hurt?” His eyes rove over Joe’s face, checking for any and all injuries.

“No, habibi,” Joe sighs. “The marks those men left are quickly fading. I am alright.” Nicky kisses Joe again, uncaring of the fact that Joe’s lips still taste of blood.

They stand there for longer than they probably should, and when they finally part, Joe asks the question that had been pestering him since he first became aware of Nicky’s arrival. “How did you know so quickly, Nicolo? They’ve had me for less than an hour.”

The look on Nicky’s face is one of fond exasperation, one that Joe has been privy to many, many times. “You were being incurably romantic again, weren’t you?”

Joe grins, his eyes shining as he looks at his love. “They dared insult you in my presence, hayati. Besides, you love it.”

Nicky sighs. “I do.”

Joe cups his face once more and kisses him, pouring nine hundred years of love and affection and desire into the kiss. He would defend his Nicolo to the ends of the earth, against anyone and anything that dared try to come between them.

***

“I do not understand, Nile. Why do you keep referring to me as a cross between a human and an arachnid?”

“You have spidey sense Nicky, of course I’m going to call you Spiderman! Except instead of sensing danger, you sense whenever Joe’s delivering a love speech worthy of Shakespeare!”

“Hey! Do not compare me to that jumped-up English playwright–”

“Shut up, Joe!”

#The Old Guard #Joe x Nicky #Fluff #Not even really any angst #Like joe gets captured?#but he's not worried?#joe is an incurable romantic #nicky loves it #nile thinks it's fucking hilarious #writing #fics

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seraph-novak · 3 years

Text

In honour of Dean Winchester’s 42nd birthday.

Dean wakes with a start, drenched in sweat and shaking all over, a strangled whimper lodged in the back of his throat. The utter darkness of the room throws him off for a second, makes him wonder where the hell he is. He has to blink a few times to let his eyes adjust, the narrow strip of light from the hallway casting a faint glow beneath the door. If he squints hard enough, the shadows begin to separate, illuminating the shape of his feet at the end of the bed. He wiggles his toes, sees the covers shift ever-so-slightly, and allows himself to breathe.

He’s awake. He’s alive. Which means he’s made it to another birthday.

The mattress shifts beside him, a familiar hand pawing at his chest. He clears his throat, hates the way it breaks, and reaches for it blindly, his shoulders slumping at the sleepy squeeze of fingers around his wrist.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, voice hoarse.

Cas wordlessly switches on the bedside light, his bleary eyes and pillow-smushed hair the first thing Dean sees at the ripe old age of forty-two. It’s a whole lot better than waking up to the sight of his dad’s angry face when he was five years old, the dream-induced memories of his mom sleeping soundly beneath him as he burned on the ceiling reflected in the fire of John Winchester’s eyes. He can still picture him now: large hands taking him roughly by the shoulders and shaking him awake, the barked order to “snap out of it, boy!” ringing in his ears.

The nightmares have only gotten worse since then: premonitions of his own death, some more believable than others, plaguing his dreams on every single one of his birthdays. This one was different though. This one felt... real. As if he was skirting past an actual possibility, a narrowly avoided moment in time. It twists him up inside, makes him want to crumple forward and forget everything.

He turns to Cas with a weak smile and whispers, “Hey.”

Cas tries to smile back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He hasn’t quite mastered the art of human deception yet. It’s only been a few months since he traded his celestial status for his freedom from The Empty, the remainder of his grace used to seal the cracks left behind by Jack’s self-implosion, blocking out the noise and allowing The Empty to go back to its eternal slumber.

As far as deals with ancient beings go, it was pretty sound. But Dean still feels responsible for everything that happened, even though Cas has done nothing but thank him for venturing into The Empty and bringing him home. He doesn’t deserve Cas’s praise, but he knows a graceless Cas is a whole lot better than a comatose Cas. He’s just glad to have him back at the bunker, where he belongs. With him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks, clearly not fazed by the soaked sheets tangled between them.

Dean screws his eyes shut, shakes his head. He isn’t saying no, just... trying to organise his thoughts. They’re a mess, as always. He doesn’t want to freak Cas out by spewing his emotional guts all over the place.

“It was a vamp’s nest,” he says, eyes still closed. “Me and Sammy were following a lead in dad’s journal. Haven’t done that in years. It was weird. Like... going back in time or something. And you weren’t there.” He looks up now, Cas’s face a blur. “I got pushed against a fricking nail, and you weren’t there. I just... bled out. Sam didn’t even try to help me. I died. And it felt real, man. Like a page straight outta one of Billie’s books, you know?”

Cas wraps his arms around him, one looping around his stomach, drawing Dean against his chest, and the other guiding his head to rest on his shoulder. His lips find Dean’s hairline, kissing the gray hairs sprinkled around his temple. Dean relaxes into the touch, lets the tears fall silently down his cheeks.

“It wasn’t real,” Cas murmurs softly. “Do you really believe Sam would let you bleed to death instead of simply calling an ambulance? Not to mention you could clear out a vamp’s nest with your eyes closed.”

Dean laughs, a wet sound muffled against the worn fabric of Cas’s oversized t-shirt.

“And I would be by your side, of course. Even if you hadn’t saved me from The Empty, I would’ve clawed my way out to be with you. I would never let you suffer alone. Especially over something as trivial as an ill-positioned nail. Surely you know me better than that?”

“I guess you do have a weird crush on me,” Dean says, playing along. “Kinda stalkerish. Always watching over me and shit.”

“This is true.”

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“And you, Dean Winchester, are a highly capable hunter with a family that loves you very deeply. The chances of you dying by an easily avoidable and rectifiable mistake on a hunt are close to non-existent.” He draws back, just enough to capture Dean’s face in his hands and dry his tears with a sweep of his thumbs. “You are going to live to see another half-a-century’s worth of birthdays, if I have anything to do with it. And I will be there for each and every one of them. As long as you’ll have me.”

Dean nods in a daze, his skin burning all over. “Of course I will, you idiot.”

“Good.” Cas kisses his forehead and smiles, this one bright-eyed and genuine, the kind that makes Dean’s heart trip over itself. “Now... Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?”

“I seriously doubt it, man.”

“That’s alright. I believe they play reruns of Dr. Sexy, M.D. between three and six. I’ll go make us some coffee.”

As he rolls out of bed, Dean grabs his arm and pulls him back. Cas lands against him with a soft thud, a curious brow raised. His eyes are still weighed down with dark bags, the corners crusted with sleep, and his hair is matted on one side and sticking out every which way on the other. He looks like a complete mess, and Dean is so in love with him it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t know how he got to the point where a fallen angel with a major case of bedhead is getting up before dawn to make him coffee on his birthday, but who even cares? He’s pretty sure he’s living his best life, and he’s not about to question it. Not today.

“I love you,” he says, melting internally at the look of stunned delight on Cas’s face. It’s the fifth time he’s said it (yeah, he’s counting) and Cas still can’t believe it. Maybe he should start saying it every day, like Cas does, just to drive the point home. But that’s not him, and Cas knows it. Respects it. Doesn’t ask anything more of him.

Plus, catching him off guard is fun. And kissing away the surprise is even better.

Cas makes a sweet humming noise against his lips, hands fluttering by Dean’s waist. His eyes are twinkling by the time Dean pulls away, his pinkened mouth pulled into a crooked grin.

“And I you,” he whispers in response.

Cas pauses on his way out the bedroom, hand resting on the handle and back pressed up against the frame. With a piece of his shirt tucked into his boxers, and his bare legs pale and hairy in the lamplight, he looks more at ease than he ever has before. Humanity really does suit him.

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

He watches Cas disappear down the hallway, his heart full. He could definitely get used to mornings like this. Maybe, if he’s lucky, there will come a year when he doesn’t wake in a cold sweat on his birthday, all the nightmares and waiting to die finally a thing of the past.

One thing’s for sure: he has plenty of time and a kickass support system to help him get there.

#destiel #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #destiel fic #deancas fic #spn fic #my fics #anti 15x20 #supernatural #spn

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pro-fangirls-unsocial-life · 3 years

Text

The Dark Side of the Full Moon (4/9) Were!Rex x Reader

A/N: Hey Everybody! Hope you enjoy this chapter! I know its a day early from my schedule but I have two finals tomorrow and wanted to focus on those while still giving you guys content. As always, let me know if you want to be tagged whenever I post a new chapter of this fic!

Length: ~2400 words

Warnings: angst. Ill also throw in canon typical violence just to be safe.

Previous - Next

It was quiet as the three of you walked through the woods. The only sound being made when the snow crunched under the feet walking through it.

You kept your eyes on the miniature crossbow that Wolffe had strapped to his back. He held his other in his left hand while he led the way with a burning torch in his right. You would glance back at Cody every now and again to make sure he was still alright. He kept his large crossbow up and ready, constantly checking behind him.

They had given you a short sword while you were all stopped at the armory before you left. When you and Rex had started dating, he had insisted that you get one so that he knew you were safe while he was not there. General Kenobi had been giving you lessons on how to use it whenever he was back from the front. You had become rather skilled with it. General Kenobi even went so far as to say that you nearly matched him when it came to mastery of form three.

You kept one hand on the hilt while the other was stuffed in your pocket, clenched out of fear and because of the freezing wind that blew through the trees.

In the silence, your mind raced with thoughts about Rex. How terrified he must be and how nervous you were that he was out there somewhere, all alone. Your mind kept flashing back to the eyes that you had looked into earlier that night. So beautiful and warm until they were harsh and murderous. Staring you down like you were its prey. The image of a gigantic paw raised, about to strike sent a shiver through your body. You shook your head, trying to wipe it from your mind.

No.

Rex would never hurt you. He would never hurt Cody. Whatever happened was not his fault. He couldn’t control it.

“Stop,” Wolffe said harshly pulling you from your thoughts. You froze and followed his gaze toward the trees in front of him. His hand tightened on his weapon as he raised it to point in front of him.

“What is it,” Cody said, his voice low.

Wolffe takes a step back, framing your body between his and Cody’s. “We’re being watched,” he said.

You quieted your breathing and listened, still only hearing the deafening silence of the forest around you.

You saw Cody scan the trees, his shoulders tensing as he readied himself for a fight. “Are we far?” His voice had an edge to it as he shifted back into his battlefield mindset.

You had your hand wrapped around the swords grip, readying yourself in case you had to draw it.

“No,” he said, his eye still scanning the darkness. “It’s just around that bend.”

You looked around and saw a faint glow of light through the trees in front of you to the left.

“Y/N, can you see well in the dark?”

You watched Wolffe’s face as he went over his plan in his head. “Well enough,” you said, understanding what he was going to do.

He gave a curt nod. “Good. When I put out my torch, we run to the house. Got it?”

You gave him a small hum and shifted your weight as you heard Cody softly grunt in response.

“Ready?” Wolffe raised his arm and you took a sharp breath in. “Now!” He plunged the light into the snow, extinguishing it. You began bolting toward where you had seen the light, Cody and Wolffe on either side of you. You could not hear anything other than the footsteps and heavy breathing of yourself and the two commanders, but you didn’t dare look behind you to see if anything was there.

The light began to get brighter and brighter before you could make out the shape of a small house, the windows glowing with green light that spilled out onto the snow. You reached the small wooden door and yanked it open. You rushed in and fell to the floor with Wolffe on your tail. Cody tearing in and pulling the door shut once he saw that you had both made it inside.

You took a deep breath as you got up, brushing the dust and snow off of your dress.

“You okay,” Wolffe asked as he put his hand on your shoulder.

You nodded your head and began to examine the interior of the house.

The walls were made of dark red stone and the wood that made up the frame was dark black. There was a lightless hallway on the other end of the room that you had no desire to explore. A table made out of the same stone that surrounded you was in the center of the room, small items outlining its perimeter. The fire in the fireplace glowed a bright green as it curled around the pot that hung over it. Two swords with curved handles and red blades sat in the corner along with a dark robe. The room smelled like an awful combination of rotting flesh and blooming flowers.

“Why are you here,” a voice hissed out from the shadows of the hallway. “Come back so I can give you a matching set, Commander Wolffe?”

Wolffe pulled the other crossbow off of his back and squared his feet, his mouth morphing into a snarl. Cody stepped in front of both of you and put his hand up in front of Wolffe’s chest, holding him back.

“We’ve come to ask for your help,” Cody said, his voice level. He stood straight and bowed his head lightly to show the mysterious figure good will.

The voice stepped out of the shadows to reveal a bald and pale woman. Her face was covered in tattoos and she wore black robes that covered her from the floor up to her neck. She sneered in disgust as she gazed at Cody. “I see that you have finally learned negotiation skills from that coward Kenobi.”

You looked at Cody, and saw his jaw tighten slightly as his face remained neutral. “We are not here to fight you, Ventress. We’re here on business.”

Ventress scoffed. “What kind of business?” Her eyes turned to you and she looked you up and down. She gave an evil and knowing smile before she laughed. “Oh, I see. You’ve finally discovered the little experiment on your brother. I guess that would explain the state of your face Commander.” She chuckled as she walked over to the table in the center of the room. “Although, I guess anything is an improvement for you.”

Wolffe pushed forward, Cody’s arm still holding him back from Ventress. “What did you do to Rex,” he shouted.

Ventress laughed again and waved her hand, a chair appearing below her as she sat down at the table. “Me,” she said feigning innocence as she evilly smirked at Wolffe. “I didn’t do anything to him. I just know of what did happen to him.”

Cody took a small step forward his voice still level and calm. “Then you know how to fix it?”

“Of course I know how to fix it,” Ventress replied with a scowl. “But why would I help half-breed Fett’s like you?”

Wolffe growled and tried to lunge forward at Ventress. Cody turned and held Wolffe back as he screamed at her. “Cody let go of me! What did you do to Rex you witch! I ought to kill you where you stand!”

“Wolffe!” Cody grunted as he held his rage filled brother back. “Calm yourself!”

Ventress held her hands out, summoning her swords to them. She vaulted over the table and raised them to strike at the two brothers that were struggling against each other. Before she brought her blades down, you threw yourself in her path.

“Please,” you screamed your hands coming up in front of you. Her blades halted in her path as she stared down at you in fury. “Please! I’ll do anything! Just help me save him!”

The room turned quiet as the three of them stared at you. Ventress lowered her blades as she contemplated what you had said. Cody had let go of Wolffe and they looked at you in shock.

You stared at Ventress as she turned back toward the table. She set her blades on the cold stone and faced you. “What do you have that I could possibly want?”

You took a step toward her. “I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“Y/N,” Cody said as he grabbed your arm. You looked back at him and saw the questioning look on his face, wordlessly asking if you knew what you were doing.

Ventress gazed at you with misunderstanding. “Why?” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Why would you be willing to do anything for that half-breed of a captain?”

You heard Wolffe snarl and felt Cody’s hand tighten around your arm. You looked down at the floor and then back up to meet Ventress’s eyes. “Because I love him. He’s my family.” You looked back at Cody and Wolffe, both of their faces softening slightly when you met their eyes. “And so are they.” You turned your face back toward Ventress with confidence. “I would do anything for them.”

Ventress stared back at you in confusion, the room silent. She gazed down at the trinkets adorning the table and ran her hand over one of the curled up purple bow strings. After what felt like ages of silence, she looked back at you, her face unreadable. “You wear a kyber crystal around your neck. Why?”

You reached up to touch the small, color changing crystal that was hidden beneath your dress. Rex had brought it back for you from one of his missions. He said that it reminded him of the way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight. You had no idea that it was the kind of crystal that the Jedi used to forge their glowing swords.

“How did you—”

“I’ll help you if you give it to me.”

“Why do you want it,” Wolffe snarled out. “Those things are magical. Why would you need it?”

Ventress glared at him and walked up to his ridged form. His hands were curled so tightly around his weapons that his arms started to shake. He growled at her as she got up into his face and pulled off the cloth covering his eye, revealing his scarred face. Her taunts making him vibrate with rage as he tried to restrain himself. “You Fett’s are all so close. Willing to die for one another.” She pointed into his chest and his face contorted in pure anger at her touch. “Well my sisters did die for me. That crystal will let me resurrect one of them. Pull the living force back into her body.”

Wolffe scowled down at her. “There are one too many witches in the world if you ask me.”

Ventress scowled and reached her hand out for her sword again. You put your hands on the hilts and put all of your weight on them, keeping them anchored to the table. “You can take it!” Ventress turned to look at you. “Just tell me how to save Rex.”

She put her hand down and walked over to the other side of the table. She sat down and held her hand out for the crystal.

You opened your coat, grabbed the crystal, and yanked it off of your neck, breaking the string that held it there. “I will not place this in your hand until you tell me.” You stared at Ventress defiantly as she sneered at you.

She waved her hand and two items appeared on the table in a green mist. A bundle of silver tipped arrows with some rope and a small vine covered in thorns.

“There are three ways to make a werewolf turn back into a human. The first is to kill the wolf that infected them. I’m assuming that you are not yet privy to that information?” You shook your head. “I thought as much.” She pointed toward the arrows in front of her. “The second way is to shoot them directly in the heart with a silver arrow. This will make whoever is afflicted turn back into their human form instantly.”

“We want to keep him alive! We are trying to save him, not kill him,” Cody shouted from behind you, his calm demeanor beginning to crack.

“Quiet, half-breed!”

You turned to Cody and held up your hand, keeping him from stepping forward. “And the third,” you asked as you turned back to Ventress.

“The third, is to draw their blood using the thorn of the Wolfsbane flower. Once you have done this, he will turn back into a human at sunrise and the infection will have left his body.”

You look down at the items on the table. “Will that keep him alive,” you ask hesitantly.

“Yes. Although I suggest that you take both of these things with you.” She smiled unnervingly. “You never know who, or what, you’ll encounter in these woods. You may find that there is more than one enemy that awaits you in the darkness.”

You looked at her cautiously and picked up the vine. You looked back at Cody, silently asking if you should take the arrows. He nodded warily and you hesitantly reached out to grab them. As you closed your hand around them, Ventress’s hand forcefully pinned yours to the table.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she crooned. “My payment first,” she said holding her other hand out.

You slowly placed the crystal in her outstretched hand, and she released you.

“Thank you,” she said standing up. “Now,” she said with a dark scowl, “Get out.”

You turned and walked toward the door, Wolffe and Cody following behind you. You placed you hand on the knob and looked at them. Cody took the arrows from your hand and split them with Wolffe. They both looked at each other and hesitantly back down at the arrows. They slowly put them into their quivers and looked back up at you, each giving you a reassuring nod.

“Ready?”

They both nodded, determined looks on their faces. Both of them grabbed the torches that hung on the wall next to the door.

“Let’s go find Rex.” You turned the knob and opened the door, marching out into the cold, dark night.

#were!rex x reader #were!rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex x female!reader #captain rex #Commander Cody #commander wolffe #asajj ventress #the dark side of the full moon #my writing

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Sirius x Reader - More To You (2/2)

tag list: @spacegirlhere @treestarrrrrrrr @slytherpuffgal @scaredofvscogirls @jenniseiblack

Previously:

It wasn’t often he felt guilt for what he did but right now he couldn’t have felt worse. He really didn’t know you. He hadn’t even tried. Because he was angry at his family and the world he had taken it out on you without a second thought. “I’m sorry,” He said lamely as you headed off to the library. He was positive you heard him but you just sighed and shook your head. He knew that wouldn’t be enough.

Sirius realized he should stop burning bridges before he had the chance to cross them. There was much more to you than he realized and now he was sure you would never forgive him.

If someone had told Sirius Black even five years ago that he would be stood before Barty Crouch Senior and convicted of thirteen counts of murder as well as giving away the hidden location of his best friend, his brother, he would have laughed in your face. Now, he was just numbly staring around as he let the members of the Wizengamot talk over him.

He wasn’t present, not really. He still couldn’t believe James and Lily were gone. And Harry, oh poor Harry. Sirius should be with his godson right now. He should be raising and loving that boy like James would have wanted. A tear escaped out of his dull eyes as the men and women clamored over evidence and motive and all this terribly bullshit that made no sense. James was his family, Lily was the light of the world that was better with her and James in it.

Now his family was torn apart. He hadn’t heard from Peter in ages and Remus didn’t believe his innocence. It hurt, the people he had grown up loving the most, and still loving unconditionally, couldn’t see he would never hurt them. It was the grief, he hoped. Maybe before Sirius rotted in Azkaban Remus could forgive him for not doing a better job to protect them.

He was snapped out of his nightmarish reverie by a voice floating above the rest. “I don’t think we are considering all the possibilities here! It doesn’t make sense as to what Sirius Black would gain from giving up the Potters,”

Eyes traveled to you and you took a steady breath as he stared at you with wide eyes. He hadn’t even realized you were part of the Wizengamot. He hadn’t seen you since school when you had declared that you wouldnt, couldnt, forgive him for his cruel behaviors against you. Why were you defending him?

“It figures that the Slytherin sticks her neck out for this monster,” Muttered a council member. You looked at them with a cool fury in your eyes what was drawing Sirius in like a moth to a flame.

“My house is not relevant in this court room. It is a foolish way to judge students without knowing all of their circumstances and beliefs. Please do not presume to know me because of my house,” You were boiling beneath the surface but still had a dangerous calm about you. “And I think we are also presuming too many things about Black. We hear his family name and think he must have done it, we don’t know that for certain,” You argued.

Barty Crouch Senior’s cheeks turned red in fury as he gaped at you. “You are new but that does not excuse your complete dismissal of the signs that point straight to this man being the culprit! I ask for silence from you,”

“But it’s too perfect! Every single sign points to him and that is the problem!” You tried, knowing your time was coming to an end.

“I will not hear another word from you!” You were silenced.

You stewed angrily in your seat but relented. You couldn’t forfeit your entire career on Sirius Black but you wished that you could convince the rest to see that they could possibly be convicting an innocent man. They weren’t even giving him a real trial!

“We declare Sirius Orion Black guilty of all charges and hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban,”

Every prisoner in Azkaban was there for life. It was just a matter of how long they held on.

You looked at Sirius as he accepted his fate. The fire was gone and he took punishment for the death of his friends and several others. Guilt swam in his eyes, drowning him. You recognized the look in him. It was close to the guilt he had shown when he had apologized to you years ago. You let your eyes linger on him.

You had to remember this man before Azkaban hollowed him out and ultimately killed him. “I’m sorry,” You mouthed to him as he returned your gaze, possibly wanting to see a friendly face for the last time in his soon to be miserable existence.

All he could manage was a tired smile. He was disconnected from reality but you understood. It was better to let life happen around you than face the hell you were in.

Sirius stood outside your door. The moon was high in the sky and every noise had him looking around nervously. He barked, pawing at the door. He knew it was a long shot but he was praying you would open up. They would be looking for him and he was safe in his animagus form but he couldn’t sleep another night on the cold ground. He had to get to someone who would believe he wasn’t a danger.

“Merlin’s beard,” He heard you mutter as you stomped down the stairs, flinging the door open. “Come on then,” You opened the door wider as you stared blearily at him. It seemed in your tired state that it took you an extra few seconds to realize who you were opening the door to. It was no secret to you that Sirius and his pals were unregistered animagi. A black dog could only chase you around the grounds so many times before you got suspicious.

You looked closer, fumbling for the glasses you had hung on the collar of your shirt. “Oh gods,” You paled.Sirius wagged his tail and trotted in. You closed and locked the door, drawing the blinds closed and falling heavy into the nearest seat. “How?” You croaked.

In but a blink of an eye Sirius was standing in front of you, hair tangled and matted. An unseemly scruff had found it’s way on to his face as he grinned a sinister grin. He was so far from the handsome boy he’d been in school. How long had it been? Twelve years. You realized, stomach churning. You had stopped trying a handful of years ago and it had always been your biggest regret and source of guilt.

“Slipped through the bars when those ghoulish bastards brought me that shit they call food,” He snarled. His prison uniform hung off his skeletal frame. You hardly knew what to do but realized Sirius was in need of well, everything. Food water, clothes. He was a miserable sight.

You sprang up, dashing into the kitchen. “How do you take your tea?” You asked and Sirius let himself smile even if it was tight. They had taken so much from him over the past twelve years he didn’t know how to function so soon after.

“I’ll take anything,” He said honestly as you set a mug in front of him as well as some toast.

“Y-you can have more if you finish,” You said, awkwardly. “I just figured you don’t want an upset stomach,” How strange it was to see you like this, hair messy from sleep and in a simple sleeping gown that he wouldn’t have thought a person like you would wear. He had been wrong years ago so he wasn’t surprised to find you were far different than he expected.

“Thank you,” He said after he had devoured everything in front of him. You had tried not to stare as he had wolfed it down, as if he was scared it would be taken from him. Sirius wiped the crumbs from his mouth and looked at you.

You were prettier than he remembered. “Thank you for the food,” He clarified, “but also for what you tried to do all those years ago. You were the only one on my side and it seems you still are,”

“Please dont thank me,” You winced as a heavy weight fell on your shoulders. “I gave up on you far too soon, after three years it seemed every mention of you was gone and then after five I started to wonder if you were still alive. My budget was tight and I couldn’t afford to continue trying to free you,” You buried your face in your hands.

Sirius hadn’t been expecting that. His lithe fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging at it until you looked at him. He intertwined his fingers with you. Oh how good it felt to be near someone. “I will still thank you, I’ve given you every reason to doubt me and when it truly mattered the most you were the only one who had faith in me,”

You let out a sad chuckle. “You’re an idiot, Black, not a monster,” You teased.

Sirius meant to laugh, he meant to jest back. Instead he found himself giving into deep sobs that wracked his entire body and made his chest feel tight. He fell forward, head falling against your chest as you rested a shaky hand in his hair, another hand patting his back as you let him cry. After being dehumanized Sirius needed to feel again and know what it was to be free to do so.

When his tears subsided you picked up a rather scary looking knot of hair. “I think you need a shower,”

Sirius snorted and nuzzled his face against your chest as he wiped at his eyes. Moving but not distancing himself he rested his forehead against yours in a show of appreciation. You were the rock he never expected to have in this time. It was strange and foreign but you were both leaning on each other in a way that had seemed impossible once.

Looking at Sirius Black you felt your heart ache with something akin to warmth. He was a shell of the man he used to be but in a way he was a better man, worn down by the world but still kind, maybe even kinder than he was before tragedy shredded his life.

“I’m sorry but it had to be you I came to see,” He spoke as you washed his dish absentmindedly, thinking of how you’d get the guest bedroom ready for him as he took a shower. You didn’t want to be mean but the man smelled like death.

“I’m glad you came,” You spoke and realized the words were completely honest. “Stay as long as you need, you are safe here,”

When Sirius nodded and walked by you, following your directions to your bathroom, he pressed a kiss against your cheek and your draw nearly dropped. Who would have thought you’d see the day where Sirius Black wanted to be near you for a reason other than tormenting you.

He didn’t look back as he walked to your bathroom but he felt his heart begin to beat again. The world was a different place now but just as dangerous as it had been twelve years ago. Despite that fact he let himself relax as he stood underneath the scalding water.

Sirius Black washed himself clean from all the grime and misery of the past and let himself become a man with a soul again. In your home he could free himself of the past. You were the start of a future where he could be free, or at least he was hoping.

Besides all the time he had spent figuring out who could have framed him he had allowed himself to reflect on all the missed chances he’d had. You were his biggest regret. You had deserved a respect he had never once shown you and now he would make up for it.

In his time away, it was easy to say you had been a happy memory he had clung to. You didn’t have specific memories together but the memory of you standing strong to defend him had resonated with him and had his mind stuck on what memories the two of you could have possibly made if he had learned not to hate as a child. There had always been more to you.

If he played his cards right and got the revenge he craved, the justice for his best friend, maybe he could hope to learn all the things that made you tick.

Without even knowing it you had given Sirius a reason to come back from the depths of hell and have a purpose after he caught Peter and made him pay.

#sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #angst #fluff #older!sirius #slytherin!reader #sirius x slytherin!reader #sirius black x slytherin!reader #its fanon #but #completely plausible his middle name is orion #so yeah

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fanficshiddles · 4 years

Text

Predator to Prey, Chapter 5

Akelia was much happier since Loki gave her a name, he noticed she seemed back to normal. Or what he assumed was her normal.

He acted like he wasn’t overly pleased at all with the black hair on his sofa, but he could easily clean it with a flick of his wrist. So deep down he wasn’t too fussed really.

He did get a bed for her in his room, a single mattress, in the corner near the fireplace. Since he knew she liked to be warm. But she was yet to actually venture into his bedroom, even though he had told her countless times it was ok. She stayed in the living room/kitchen area.

One morning he got up and ventured through to the kitchen for some coffee. It had been an unusually warm night so Akelia was lying flat out on the kitchen floor because it was cooler. He simply stepped over her to get about. She just opened one eye to take a peek at what he was doing, in hopes he was going to drop some food perhaps.

‘You’re going to need to start eating some vegetables and fruit, too. I’m going to be completely out of meat at this rate.’ He muttered as he looked in his freezer.

Akelia got up and stretched with a groan. She walked over to the counter and jumped up with her two front paws, looking at the fruit basket. She easily grabbed an apple and started munching on it. Loki just watched in amusement as she then hopped down from the counter and turned to look at him with a smug look.

‘Ok… I wish I’d known you like fruit and veg ages ago.’ He said, exasperated as he threw his hands up in the air and shut the freezer door.

If wolves could snigger, Akelia would definitely be sniggering.

That night, Akelia actually followed Loki into his bedroom, taking him up on his invitation.

‘I put that mattress there for you. Here, I know you like your comforts. But if it’s too hot just chuck them off.’ Loki said as he tossed some pillows and a blanket down onto the single mattress.

Akelia wagged her tail to show him she was appreciative, then jumped onto her new bed and lay down on the pillows with a big content sigh. She certainly looked comfy, making Loki feel happy inside.

He didn’t know what it was about the wolf, but there was just something about her that was drawing him in. She was a magnificent beast, that was for sure. But it was her intelligence too, almost human-like, in many ways.

As he lay down on his own bed, he thought back to when he was a child and had been desperate for a pet wolf. But Odin had forbidden it. So being the mischievous kid he was, he had often run off to the forest to try and make friends with the wild wolves, but it never really worked.

The course of the following week was a pleasant one. Loki and Akelia went hunting together most days. They worked together getting as much meat as possible, since they both had good appetites.

Loki was sent a sacrifice on the Thursday night. He took great pleasure in using the girl’s body for his own selfish needs while Akelia had decided to sleep in the living room that night. Scaring the girl when she was leaving.

Loki also decided to splurge on a pizza one night that he’d managed to convince the sacrifice to send back to him. He may be a God, but Gods could still pig out on takeaway food from time to time.

He sat down with his pizza after feeding Akelia some pheasant and veg. But she wolfed her food down and then moved to sit at Loki’s side. She licked her lips and stared intently at the slice of pizza Loki picked up and was about to bite into, watching his every move like a hawk.

'You're a wolf, you can't eat processed food like this.' He said as he continued eating.

Akelia grumbled and lay down with a big huff. Loki just chuckled as he picked up another slice. But suddenly she sat up, ears pricked as she stared over towards the window at the other side of Loki.

'What is it?' His head whipped around to look.

With him distracted, she snatched the slice of pizza right out from his hand and gobbled it up quickly. Leaving Loki looking flabbergasted. When she eyed up the rest of his pizza, he quickly turned away with his arm across it.

‘Mine!’ He grumbled.

But in the end, he couldn’t resist her pleading puppy eyes, so begrudgingly gave her half of it. He was also rather proud that she had managed to trick the trickster.

One day Loki and Akelia were wandering through the woods, Loki was collecting sticks for the fire. Akelia was just on lookout, listening for any animals she could kill to take back.

Loki noticed her pause and her ears were twitching when she heard something. But it wasn’t her usual reaction when she heard an animal. He crouched down to hide amongst the bushes as she crouched down, too.

But then she started to stalk whatever it was she could hear, keeping herself low to the ground. Loki followed behind, listening too. But even his hearing was nowhere near as good as Akelia’s.

They came near the path that led to the cottage and Akelia got into position, ready to pounce. Heavy footsteps were coming down the path, and when they were within reach, she pounced.

‘AHHHHHHH!’

Loki stood up from the bushes and groaned. He knew that voice anywhere. When he moved into the clearing of the path, he was faced with the scene of Akelia hanging off Thor’s forearm as he swung around trying to get her off. But she was a strong wolf.

Loki just folded his arms over his chest and chuckled.

When Thor raised Mjolnir with his other hand, to use against the wolf, Loki called out. ‘Don’t you dare hurt her, Thor.’ He snarled and shot a blast of ice to freeze his hand.

‘GET IT OFF ME!’ Thor shouted desperately at Loki.

While his skin was tougher than humans, her teeth was still managing to pierce him and cause a decent amount of pain.

Loki sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Akelia, as much as I would love to allow you to tear him to pieces, you best let him go. Or we will both be in trouble.’

Akelia snarled and dug her teeth in as hard as she could before releasing. She could sense tension between them and it was obvious Loki wasn’t pleased that this person was here.

Even when she let go, she kept snarling and prowling around Thor, not taking her eyes off him.

‘Bloody hel, Loki. Since when did you get a guard dog?’ Thor grumbled, holding his sore arm once the ice melted from his hand.

Akelia snapped towards him, but Loki called her off again.

‘She doesn’t like being called a dog, Thor.’ Loki glared at him, then spun around on his heels and walked off down the path. ‘Come on, Akelia. He’s not worth anymore of our time.’

Akelia snarled once more at Thor, then reluctantly turned her back on him and followed Loki.

Thor looked at the wolf and frowned. Since when did Midgard have wolves that size and of that intelligence?

‘Wait, brother. I’ve come to speak to you!’ Thor called and ran after him.

Loki and Akelia reached the clearing of the cottage before Thor caught up with them. He reached out to grab Loki, but Akelia snapped at Thor, getting him away from Loki, she then put herself in the middle. Ready to attack Thor if he took another step.

Thor had never seen Loki look so smug before. And that was saying something.

‘Loki. Please, call her off. I just wish to talk.’ Thor said, looking at Loki. He tried to ignore the savage looking beast between them.

‘She’s not going anywhere. So talk.’ Loki snapped.

Thor sighed. Keeping a close eye on the wolf, he tried to just speak to Loki. ‘Mother wants you to return home. So do I.’

‘So?’ Loki shrugged.

‘We are trying to convince father that you’ve changed, that it’s a good idea for you to come home. I think in time he will come around to the idea and allow it.’

‘Well why don’t you let me know when he does, then I might consider it. Purely so I can burn the place to the ground.’ Loki growled, his eyes darkening slightly.

Thor’s jaw clenched. ‘Loki.’ He warned, knowing that Heimdall would be watching and reporting back to Odin. This would not be working in Loki’s favour.

‘What? Do you expect me to want to come skipping home and pretend to play happy families again like nothing ever happened?’ Loki started pacing back and fore.

When Thor tried to move towards him, just to get nearer, Akelia stepped on front of him, growling. Thor put his hands up in defence and took a step backwards.

‘I know things won’t be how they used to, but we can try and start again, Loki. I just want my brother back.’ Thor pleaded.

‘You lost him a long time ago.’ Loki hissed. He looked at his wolf. ‘Escort him away from here, please Akelia.’

Akelia started snapping and snarling again towards Thor, backing him right up to the treeline. Thor gave up and swung Mjolnir, using it to fly off through the trees. Akelia ran after him for a short while, making sure he was gone.

When she returned to the cottage and went inside, she found Loki sitting on his chair, leaning forward on his knees. He was so angry, but she could also see sadness on his face, too.

Loki took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. Akelia walked over to him and sat down right by his feet. To his surprise, she nudged at his hand and lay her chin on his thigh.

He was stunned, but felt warmed. He took a chance and gently stroked her head, instantly feeling a million times better, especially when she didn’t pull away or growl at him.

‘Thank you, Akelia.’ He smiled.

#Loki #Tom Hiddleston #fan fiction #predator to prey

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Blue Eyes Part 12

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 12: Ella turns her back to Birmingham and stays with Alfie. But there’s still trouble they cannot shake

It still surprised Alfie to wake up with Ella in bed with him. Even though it had been nearly nine weeks of the routine. He’d been counting, yes. Because every Saturday morning, when he allowed himself to stay in bed a little longer than usual, he remarked at the sight. The next day would be the ninth Saturday.

It gave him time to notice certain things about Ella in a setting he hadn’t seen her in before.

Without fail, she always slept on her side. So there was a fifty percent chance she would be facing him when he woke up. It was one of those mornings. Her hand wedged between her cheek and the pillow, her lips parted slightly as she slept soundly. Her dark hair had grown longer than she usually kept it. It only made sense, she said Ada or Polly usually cut her hair. They always had.

She’d rotate between wearing her slips to bed and swiping one of Alfie’s freshly laundered shirts. He didn’t complain. He liked the way it overwhelmed her smaller frame, grazing mid-thigh, and the sleeves over her hands if she didn’t roll them up.

Alfie didn’t complain about a lot of things those nine weeks. It was comforting to have Ella with him. It had blossomed into a strangely domestic scenario. She never left after the night they reunited. She’d simply gone to work the next day and arrived that night with most of her things.

He didn’t even bat an eye. Because it felt right. More than anything, it was what he craved. The woman he loved always there. Becoming accustomed to her rose and honey perfume and lavender soap, the feminine scents taking a hold of his flat. She arrived home from work far earlier than he did. Sometimes he’d find her in the parlor listening to the radio or already in bed, depending on the time of night.

Alfie would’ve loved to bury his head in the sand and accept that it was heaven. But he couldn’t. The outside world was still threatening to spill into the quiet home they kept.

The Shelbys were still in prison and Alfie could see Ella’s hope waning with each passing day. He saw the uneasiness in her eyes. The distrust of everything around her. Her blue eyes always glancing at the quiet telephone or out the window.

It made Alfie agitated because he couldn’t fulfill her wishes. To make sure her family was spared. The only man who had that power was being an unbearable prick and Alfie was sure he would cause bodily harm the next time their path’s crossed.

Of course, he wouldn’t. He’d bide his time. Wait for Tommy to make a move. Because there was something the Blinder knew that Alfie didn’t. Something brewing on the horizon and only Tommy was at a high enough point to see what it was. And if it involved Tommy, it involved the entire family whether they liked it or not. That meant Ella so inevitably; Alfie would have to gear up for whatever battle. He wouldn’t let Tommy’s past fuck-ups affect her anymore.

All he could do was try to win her trust back, even just the little bit he would allow her. Ella had doubled down on her decisions, cozying up in Camden with Alfie. But she listened. Watched. Waited for that sign that something was amiss. Anticipated the next time he would lie or betray her. Maybe he’d lead the police right back to her. Maybe he’d send her back to her brother. She loved him, enough to believe he wouldn’t do such a thing. But there was once a time she thought her own brother would never let his family go to prison.

As the weeks passed, however, it became increasingly difficult to keep up her guard around him. Not when he was so gentle and cautious around her. With every passing day, she was reminded of why she found him so endearing.

She’d truly laughed for the first time in what felt like ages because of him. When he scolded Cyril in Russian for snatching half a loaf of bread off the kitchen counter. But only a moment later he was sneaking the mastiff table scraps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They made love for the first time a few days after the seventh Saturday together.

Alfie had returned late from work. It wasn’t strange, but Ella was anxious to see him after a long day of work. She stayed up in bed for a bit before she realized she hadn’t left out anything for Alfie to eat.

Ella wasn’t much of a cook. Not that Alfie seemed to mind much. He often made himself breakfast as he left for work much earlier than she did. And if he did come home early enough for supper, he was more than content with whatever Ella came up with. She learned her way around a kitchen from Polly and Ada. Neither were symbols of a perfect housewife. She certainly could feed a clan of Travelers. Skinning a rabbit seemed much easier than producing grand meals from scratch. It was especially intimidating to consider cooking traditionally Jewish dishes. She thought Alfie might like the gesture, but was terrified to disappoint. How embarrassing would it be to only point out the obvious? That she would never be the Jewish wife his family expected him to have.

She was ruminating on this occurring fear as she cut up a loaf of bread in the kitchen. Cyril stood by her side, his tail wagging expectantly.

When the front door opened, he turned and rushed over to greet Alfie. Ella heard the man quietly greet the dog, his heavy boots joined by Cyril’s paws padding on the hallway floor.

“El?” Alfie looked puzzled to see her still awake.

“I didn’t really make anything for dinner I…” She turned and gasped.

He was sporting a black eye that certainly hadn’t been there that morning. He winced, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to hide it from her even if he tried. “Don’t worry, dealt with the fucker who did it.” It was mildly pleasing to know that the man had a bag of bricks tied to his ankle and dropped into the river. Clean cut. No blood. Wasn’t exactly eye for an eye but Alfie didn’t play that way.

Ella grabbed a cold cloth to give to him. “Put that on it.” She instructed firmly. She had nearly a lifetime’s experience with tending to black eyes both her own and her brothers’.

“What’re you still doing up, love?” He asked, gently pressing the cloth to his bruised eye.

“Well, I’d gone out to dinner earlier with Amelia. I completely forgot to make you anything. If you’d like, I could put something together…”

“Ain’t your job to feed me,” He chuckled and sat down to take off his boots. “Who’da ever thought you’d become such a little domestic mouse after a couple of months?” He teased.

Ella couldn’t help but smile and walked over to unbutton his waistcoat and kiss his forehead. “Well is Cyril going to take care of you?” She murmured back tauntingly. “Because you’ve got a black eye, love.”

“In me own fucking house.” He shook his head and playfully grabbed the skirt of her nightgown. “Toying with me in me own house.”

She giggled and batted his hands away. While leaving the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder. “Eat something. I’ll draw you a bath. Or would you rather I go to bed?”

“Cheeky girl.” He grunted and stood up. “Go on, I’ll be up in a minute.”

She smiled and headed upstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a long soak to ease the ache in his body, Alfie dried off and walked into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Ella’s blue eyes followed him across the room as he went to rummage through the dresser.

Maybe it was just timing, but she’d never seen him so vulnerable. Stripped of all the trappings he used to boost his stature. Never seen the tattoos that crawled over the blade of his shoulder, around the cuff, and onto his chest. Symbols, words, letters she didn’t recognize. Scars etched into several places on his body. A new one shown with every movement of his muscles. Some mildly faded nicks. Others angry and deep-set.

It was hard to get over how beautiful he was.

Ella stood from the bed and crossed the floor between them. Alfie heard her shy footsteps on the creaking floor and turned, a shirt in hand. He didn’t speak for a moment and neither did she. Her eyes scanned his torso as if she were cataloging every inch of it.

Alfie’s breath hitched when she reached up and touched his chest. Her eyes found his again.

“You’re not meant to have sex ‘fore marriage in your religion.” She clarified without much context.

He swallowed and shook his head subtly. “No, not really.”

Her fingertips were light against his skin. “How many women have you slept with?”

“I uh…” He wasn’t sure what sort of answer she was looking for. But he decided sticking to the truth was ideal. Probably wouldn’t believe him if he testified he was untouched. “Didn’t keep count.”

Her expression of curiosity didn’t falter. “I’m the last one then.”

Alfie’s pupils blew wide. The unexpected bout of possessiveness from her was indescribable. It was like a hand reaching right into his chest and clutching at his heart. Without a second to spare, he scooped her up in his arms, hands firm on her thighs. “Ain’t ever made love before. Fucked, sure, but never made love.” He walked her to the bed, her arms and legs wrapping around him tightly. Eyes fixed on him. “So you’d be the first and last woman to claim that prize.” A smirk crossed his lips.

“Gladly.” She murmured and kissed him without abandon.

It was like sticking a hand into a fire without getting burned. Ella couldn’t have Alfie close enough. She needed to feel every inch of him against her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades, clinging to him with every movement.

With every flex of muscle, they stoked the fire fostered between them. At the peak, Ella cried out and buried her face into his shoulder. She was trembling so badly, Alfie was terrified he’d hurt her.

When he regained his voice, he drew back and cupped her cheek. “You alright? Did I hurt you?”

Ella laughed breathlessly and released her grip on him. Her fingers carded through his hair. “The complete opposite.” She captured his lips again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

She was beautiful. Alfie couldn’t look at her without thinking that. It made his heartache when he woke up to her beside him. As each Saturday passed, he became more and more comfortable with the idea of forever. Forever having her, forever being hers. Used to be he didn’t know what forever was. That was until he found himself in her eyes.

It was terrifying for a man like him. Someone who didn’t think he deserved forever with someone like her. But she’d firmly rooted herself in his home and his life. And he would never turn her away, not when he knew how devastatingly painful it was.

So every morning, he kissed her forehead and whispered three words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Around the twelfth Saturday, Alfie noticed Ella was confining herself. For good reason, she hadn’t been back to Birmingham. But she didn’t roam in London. She’d been keeping herself to Camden much to his surprise. It was nice, she told him about the women she’d met including Ollie’s wife.

He wasn’t sure if it was a tactic to try and forget her family. It didn’t seem like a healthy strategy but he wasn’t sure how to bring up the matter. Besides, she appeared happy enough. There were always the subtle hints she unwittingly gave up about her worry. But she would brush him off if he ever inquired if she was okay.

One night, Alfie came home to the house smelling like an actual bakery. Warmth radiated from the kitchen and Ella had the radio loud enough so she could hear it from the parlor.

He greeted Cyril while hanging his coat up. “What’s she up to then?” He asked the mastiff and followed him into the kitchen.

Ella was humming along to the music, subtly dancing around the kitchen. She spun back and forth between the counter and the table. Her curls pinned up to accommodate for the longer length they were. She’d fashioned a small scarf into a headband to hold back any stray pieces of hair. She had what appeared to be a new apron tied around her waist and was wearing one of Alfie’s button-down shirts, the sleeves bunched up around her elbows, and a pair of loose-fitting trousers.

Alfie smiled and snuck up behind her. She shrieked when he tickled her sides. “Alfred Solomons!” She smacked his arm. “Don’t fucking do that when I’ve got a knife in me hand!”

He laughed and surveyed the scene in front of him. “You baking, love?” There was flour everywhere, even in Ella’s dark hair and across her cheek. The scent of bread also wafted from the oven.

She pulled a sour face when she sensed the hint of amusement in his voice. “So what if I am?” Her hands went to her hips.

Alfie wrapped his arms around her waist. “Didn’t think you liked baking, s’all.”

Ella frowned and slung her arms around his neck. “Not much good at it.” She admitted. “Minnie tried teaching me. Says she’ll teach me how to make Challah.”

“That’s nice.” He nodded and recognized the name of one of his neighbors down the street. She was one of the women Ella had befriended. “Made a fucking mess but smells good.” He brushed the flour off her cheek and tried to comb it out of her hair.

She shrugged. “We’ll see how it turns out. Trying to be proper, I s’pose.”

Alfie’s brow furrowed. “That what this is ‘bout?” He tilted her chin up so she couldn’t avoid eye contact. “Love, you don’t need to do all this. You’re not…” He waved a hand around to find the words. “Don’t need you to be like them.”

“Like Minnie?”

“Right. I know that’s not you. Don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not, right, if ya just trying to please me. Love you the way you are.”

Ella stuck out her lower lip, her eyes flicked sheepishly away from his face. “Just thought you’d…I dunno.”

Alfie reached around her waist to untie the apron, slipping it off and tossing it onto the flour-covered counter. He took her hand and coaxed her into the parlor where the music was loudest.

She pouted but accepted the gesture and followed him down the hall. Her arms slipped back around him as he pulled her into a slow dance. Her cheek pressed into his shoulder.

“Me mum, yeah, wanted me to marry a good Jewish woman. Someone to take care of the house, cook Kosher, pop out Jewish babies. If I wanted that, I would’ve tried to find someone like that long time ago, right? But I didn’t because I were looking for you, weren’t I?”

Ella smiled slightly. “Looking for trouble? ‘Cause that’s all I am.”

“Trouble or not, you’re fucking worth it, ain’t ya?” He grazed his lips over her temple.

“Alfie, I’m afraid.” She admitted in a voice just loud enough to hear over the music.

“Afraid of what, love?”

She chewed on her lip and listened to his heartbeat for a moment before she answered. “I’m afraid of what’s to come and how it’s gonna affect us. Something’s coming, I know it is.”

After speaking to Tommy weeks earlier, Alfie agreed with her. There certainly was something in the air. “We’ll be okay.” He murmured. “Won’t let anything happen to you, yeah?”

“Just want to stay like this.” Uncertainty made her voice waver. “Please let it stay like this, Alfie.”

He tightened his arms around her to comfort her. “Sh, sh, s’alright. It’ll be alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every Wednesday afternoon, Ella would travel down the street to Minnie’s flat. There, she would hold tea for the friend group. The location never varied. Minnie was one of the few women in the group who didn’t have children. So the rest of the group took the afternoon as a welcomed break from the kids. Either they were in school, or they would drop them off at a relative’s house for a few hours. Sometimes, they’d bring the kids along, letting them play with toys in Minnie’s parlor while they talked in the adjoining kitchen.

Ella adored all of the children the women had. Ollie and Elsie had four kids ranging from even to eight months. Ruth had a two-year-old daughter who was her entire world. Annie was pregnant with her first, having only just gotten married. Nora was also pregnant but with her third child, already having two young boys. And finally, Lydia, the oldest of the group, took home the prize of most children with six little ones.

Every opportunity, Ella took to babysit. She missed her nieces and nephews, wishing she could see them again. It wasn’t their fault the family had been torn apart. She’d made note of Charlie’s birthday and had cried when she realized how long it had been since she’d seen him.

Still, she kept her sanity despite the seemingly irredeemable loss of her family. The relationships with the Camden women and women from work helped. Along with Alfie, they reminded her that she had a choice of who her family was. Last names didn’t matter one bit.

On Wednesdays, Ella left work early, freshened up at home and headed over to Minnie’s. Sometimes she brought along baked goods she had tried to make. It was usually just to ask Minnie what she’d done wrong because they didn’t quite taste as good as they did when they’d made the same thing together.

She adored the small, tight-knit group of women and was grateful they had been so welcoming to her. It did help that most of them were wives of men who worked for Alfie. Some women in Camden would hardly look at Ella not because of her lack of religion, but because of her affiliation with the gangster boss.

They were quite different from the women she’d been raised with. They were modern women in an orthodox community. Their hair was covered because of their marital status, never wore trousers, they attended temple without fail, and were devoted to their husbands. They were the kind of Jewish women that Alfie’s mother probably wanted him to marry. But times were changing and they’d secured some freedoms. Among friends, they were chatty and loved to have a good laugh. They tittered about topics that most men would deem inappropriate for women. Some even had a good deal to say about the current climate. But it was all good fun.

They especially liked having Ella around. The Shelby girl was extremely interesting to them both because of her different upbringing and her unorthodox relationship with Alfie. The women were careful not to discuss the Shelby family. Ella had been clear that she no longer associated with them and would rather not go into too much detail about the situation. Minnie, the one closest to Ella, knew a bit more than the rest of the group. Ella had confided in her about the actions Tommy took to get her arrested. Also how her family was still facing the death sentence.

But they did hawk her about Alfie. Most of them had known him for a very long time but only knew him as the gruff, intimidating man who had violent tendencies towards his enemies and questionable morals. None of them ever expected him to find someone to love.

~~~~~~~~~~~`

“My mother would always steer me away from him.” Ruth wrapped her hands around the warm teacup. “You should’ve seen him before the war, El, just a troublemaker.”

Ella smiled and tried to imagine her Alfie as a young man. Clean-shaven, thin, always scuffed up from a fight or arrest. “Why am I not even surprised?” It was sound. Men like Alfie always got their start on the streets. All of the Shelby children did. The Italians did as well. The rejected bits of society. The bottom of the pyramid, the people the elite snubbed and continued kicking to the dirt. Most took their fate with stride. Others refused to accept it. A poor Jewish boy, a poor Irish Traveler, poor Italian immigrants. They simply kept getting up, dusting themselves off, and raising more and more hell. Louder and louder until they were impossible to ignore.

“Such a little hellraiser.” Nora agreed. “The police all knew him by first and last name. They knew his mother’s name too.”

“Do you remember when he came back from France?” Minnie set down a plate stacked with treats.

“Sure, he came back the same day David did,” Nora answered. “Saw him at the train station. Something different about him, but they all changed when they were over there.” She shrugged.

Ella nodded, her eyes glancing down at the tea in front of her. She hadn’t noticed how she was absent-mindedly stirring the tea for much longer than needed. “He never even dated anyone?” She wondered. Alfie hadn’t gone into detail about his past relationships. Neither of them had decided it was important enough to discuss. They didn’t realize that neither of them had ever held a serious relationship.

The women chuckled in response. “There isn’t much dating here,” Elsie explained. “Usually your parents make the arrangement.”

“Oh…” Ella tilted her head to the side. “That’s usually how gypsy clans do it too.” She admitted and thought about what Alfie had said a while back. About how her brother was ready to offer her up to another family. Maybe one of the Lees or the Youngs.

“He’s had his good share of fine women from France.” Annie hid her smile into her teacup.

The women laughed and Ella looked amused. The comment didn’t faze her. “Oh, I’m sure. We’ve had the discussion about our purity. Or lack thereof.”

They all shared a sly look. “And I’m sure he’s given you the spiel that sex before marriage is never explicitly forbidden in the Torah.” Annie giggled and nudged Ella’s arm.

Her face turned red. “Well, no he didn’t mention that specifically. Just said it wasn’t really proper.” She shrugged meekly.

“Alfie does what he likes.” Minnie sighed and shook her head. “He always has, but you’d have to be blind to miss the way he looks at you. Didn’t think he had that sort of affection for anyone.”

It warmed Ella’s heart to think about the subtle smile he tried to hide whenever he looked her way. Minnie was right; it was damn near impossible to miss the softening of his features, the way his muscles slightly relaxed, and the fondness written in his eyes. “He is much more than his reputation. We’ve had our ups and downs…but he is a good man.” She smiled sheepishly. “I ought to think he likes me if he’s stuck around this long.”

Ruth chuckled. “Are you mad? He’s crazy for you. Surprised he hasn’t swept you off to get married.”

Ella tapped her heel against the leg of her chair and clicked her tongue. “Well, since I’m not Jewish…I dunno.” It was so easy to forget the clear lines of division between her and the rest of the Camden community. When they welcomed her with open arms, she could disregard their differences. But something would always pop back up to remind her. “We haven’t spoken about it since I’ve moved here.” She purposefully left out the part when Tommy tried to barter her hand for loyalty.

Minnie rolled her eyes. “Again, the man does what he likes, love. He’s not exactly what I would call a traditional man.”

“He’ll probably bribe Rabbi Halberg.” Lydia joked.

They shared a laugh but Ella shook her head. “No, no, I wouldn’t want to disrespect anyone. We’ll just have to make do I suppose.”

“His brother married a catholic girl,” Annie recalled. “Before he and Alfie went to fight in France. Actually…no, did Joseph fight in France?”

Ruth frowned as she searched her memory. “He enlisted far sooner than Alfie did, even before the war started. He was older. I believe he was shipped further East.”

“Perhaps. Well anyway,” Annie waved off the minor detail. “He met a nurse and married her just months after they met. Don’t believe they had much of a ceremony, just went to the court to have the marriage licensed.”

“Oh, but what’s the fun in that?” Nora frowned. “I want to dress her up!”

Ella laughed but cringed a little. It was a nice fantasy, dressed in white, walking down the aisle with flowers and the whole shebang. But it just didn’t seem plausible. Maybe she lost the desire when they argued about it after Tommy’s proposition. Their relationship wasn’t standard so they wouldn’t follow standard procedures. “I don’t think Alfie would want a large ceremony anyway. Besides, I never saw myself as marriage material. Minnie knows, I’m shit at cooking and I’m messier than Alfie and Cyril combined.”

“He doesn’t want a housewife. Just a wild Shelby girl to call his own.” Nora assured her. “He’ll just want to put a massive rock on your finger and brag about you. He loves you and men in love are very foolish. They’ll act like circus clowns, flipping over backward for your affection. And when they’ve got it, they’ll do everything they can to keep you happy. Not to mention he’ll want to show off a beauty like yourself.”

The women agreed and teased Ella over her face turning bright pink. “Like Ollie. Elsie, tell her the story.” Ruth prompted.

Elsie grinned and shook her head. “Talk about a fool. When we met for the first time he was so nervous. I thought he was going to faint!”

“And your father was afraid he’d made the wrong choice!”

The women continued on, telling Ella about the first time they'd met their husbands. She smiled and laughed along with them but in the back of her mind, she wondered about what the future held for her and Alfie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday evening, Ella was walking home from work. Alfie wasn’t fond of the arrangement. He offered to have a car pick her up to and from work, but she brushed off his concern. She had to remind him that she’d been walking city streets on her own for a very long time, both Birmingham and London. Safe to say, she won that battle and enjoyed the walk to and from work.

It was nearing dusk and it was a mild night out. She was getting close to Camden Town, only a few blocks away from the flat she now called home. It was quiet out, only a few other people making the commute home as well.

“Miss Shelby!” An unfamiliar voice from behind called her name.

Ella paused and turned.

A man in a nondescript, heavy black coat and derby hat approached her. She didn’t recognize him from anywhere. Not as one of Alfie’s men or a Blinder. If Tommy were having her followed, then they wouldn’t outright address her.

“Pardon, do I know you?” She kept her guard up, her hand subtly tucking into her coat where her small handgun was kept.

“We haven’t met before.” He pulled out a badge to show her. “Inspector Ian Blackwell of Scotland Yard.” He introduced himself.

“Uh-huh.” It didn’t matter whether he was actually from the Yard or pretending to be. Either way, she was wary. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m sure you can.” His smile was unnerving. Strangely arrogant and yet secretive. “You’re the younger sister of Arthur, Thomas, and John Shelby? The niece of Mrs. Polly Gray?” He asked.

“I’ve no ties with my family anymore.” She replied frigidly and kept her distance from him. “I haven’t spoken to any of them in months.”

“I’m sure you haven’t. All of them were in jail, save for Thomas.” Inspector Blackwell tucked his badge away.

The corner of Ella’s mouth twitched as she tried to keep her surprise under wraps. “So they’ve been released?”

“You didn’t know?”

She wasn’t fooled. That was a tried and true Shelby response to an interrogation. Answer questions with more questions. “If they’re not in prison anymore, Inspector, then why are you so curious about them?”

He chuckled and stepped towards her. “What about a Mr. Alfie Solomons? What do you know about him?”

Ella leaned away from him, trying to keep her distance without stepping back. She didn’t want him to know she was uneasy in his presence. “That name is unfamiliar to me.”

“Really?” An amused glint passed over his face. “Shouldn’t you know the name of the man you’ve been living with for months?”

“This conversation is over, Mr. Blackwell.” She hissed and went to turn away from him.

Before she could reach for her pistol, the much bigger man snatched her by the arm. He wrenched her towards him and tilted his head down to whisper in her ear. “I don’t like people like you, Miss Shelby. Think you’re above the law because you’re fucking a gangster. If you make this difficult for me, rest assured I’ll make you pay. Or, you can comply and I’ll spare you.”

“Or I can shoot you square between the eyes.” She replied in a cold voice. Her blue eyes glared back at him, refusing to show him any fear. “Do you know what’ll happen after that?”

His jaw clenched but he didn’t respond.

“I’ll let you know.” Her eyes narrowed. “I shoot you, spray your brains all over the street, leave you to bleed out like the pig you are. No one calls the police. Instead, four men arrive after I’ve gone. Jewish men. Very honorable men. They pick you up and bring you to a bakery down the street. They cut you into pieces, remove your teeth, burn off your fingertips, and pack you up into sacks. Around midnight, they take those sacks to the cut. Weigh them down with bricks. Come morning, there isn’t a trace of you. One could argue you never even existed. Your little friends can come here and ask what happened, but no one will know. You were never here. They’ve never heard of you. Then like that you’ve disappeared.”

“You bitch…”

“Thing is, Mr. Blackwell, it doesn’t matter who I’m fucking. Doesn’t matter who my family is. At the end of the day, I’m just as dangerous as they are.”

“You and your dirty gypsy kin will hang.” The inspector snarled and tightened his grip on her arm.

“We control the ropes, inspector. We decide who hangs.”

“Miss Shelby?” One of the young men who worked for Alfie, Ben, was walking down the street. He paused when he saw the woman being accosted by the much taller man. “What’s going on?”

The inspector loosened his grip and Ella took the opportunity to rip away from him. “This is Scotland Yard business, none of your concern.” He snapped.

“You’re in Camden, anything ‘round here is Alfie Solomons’s business.” Ben reached a hand towards the gun tucked in his belt. “So I suggest you move along and leave Miss Shelby alone.”

Blackwell narrowed his eyes but took a step back to show he was surrendering, even for just a moment. “Was only asking her a few questions, I'm well within my rights.”

Ella moved to stand closer to Ben. “Will you walk me home?” She asked him quietly. Her eyes didn’t move from the detective, making sure he didn’t make any sudden movements.

“Of course.” Ben nodded and gave the inspector one last glance.

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, Miss Shelby,” Blackwell said with a hint of malicious glee in his voice. Despite her threats, he gave her a smug smirk before turning to walk away.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the bakery.” Ben touched her arm to guide her in the opposite direction. “Alfie’ll want to hear what happened right away.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfie was very interested in what the inspector had to say. But he flew into quite a fit before Ella had the chance to give him specifics. Once he heard that Ella had been stopped by someone from Scotland Yard, he dished out orders. Several men were set out to see if they could track down the inspector and others swept out to see if there were any other cops that were unfamiliar to the area.

“If you find that fucker, you bring him back here so I can deal with him properly,” Alfie demanded before slamming the office door behind him.

Ella was curled up in his leather chair, concern etched into her face. “Alfie, I didn’t mean to cause all this stir.” She said quietly. "I'm afraid I might've riled him up a little. He wasn't the only one tossing 'round threats." She admitted.

“No, no.” He shook his head and rounded the desk. “’Nough of that, love. None of this is your fault.” He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “Did he hurt you at all?”

She shook her head. “No. He grabbed me but it’s nothing.” Her hand subconsciously rubbed the bruised area on her arm. “He knew about us…knew about my family. Alfie, they’ve been released from prison.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Must’ve been recent, haven’t heard anything ‘bout that.”

“Things won’t be able to go back to normal.” Her eyes gazed off, blankly staring at the filing cabinets. “I’m glad they’re safe but…what did Tommy do to get them out of prison? Why did he arrange it all to begin with?”

“S’pose that’s what that inspector is trying to figure out,” Alfie suggested with a slight shrug. His thumb grazed back and forth over the top of her hand, trying to calm them both down.

“If the Yard’s questioning me then they’re questioning everyone. I bet they can’t even get to Tommy though.” She muttered. Her brother always had a tendency to avoid consequences.

It was reasonable to assume Scotland Yard wanted to figure out what went wrong. Wanted to know how the members of the Shelby family just simply walked. But Alfie was not willing to let Tommy involve Ella in his mess again. Even if that meant keeping the Yard away from her. “I’ll handle it, love,” Alfie promised her.

“This isn’t about you. This is Tommy’s doing, he should have to handle it. I’m sick of feeling the aftershocks of his decisions.”

He clasped her hands in his. “This Blackwell, he mentioned me too, didn’t he?”

Ella nodded hesitantly.

“So then it’s ‘bout me. I’ll handle it.” He insisted firmly, holding her gaze. “El, I know that you’ve lost the trust of everyone including me. ‘N maybe I’ll never win it back. The only thing I can do is show that I’ll take care of you. ‘Cause I will. No matter what I’ll take care of you.”

She leaned forward to hug him. “I wish I could be different for you.” Her voice broke. The fearlessness she’d shown in front of the inspector was beginning to fade. Those days, there was only one person she showed her vulnerability to. And he was holding her close.

“Love, I don’t want you to be any different than you are right now.” He murmured.

Ella buried her face in the crook of his neck, refusing to let go. “If I were different, your life would be so much easier.” She argued glumly.

“If you were different, yeah, then we wouldn’t have fallen in love. Then me life would be fucking miserable, wouldn’t it?” He stroked her hair back and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Love you just the way you are and that ain’t ever going to change.”

She whimpered a disagreement but was too tired to fight. Instead, she leaned into his arms, letting him take some of the weight from her shoulders. Her eyes closed and she honed in on his breathing.

“Don’t worry about this, okay? I’ll take care of everything.”

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye @octaviareina @mylovelykelsifer

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#alfie solomons #alfie solomonsxoc #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #ofc #oc #shelby #shelbyoc #shelby ofc #shelby sister #fanfiction #cyril solomons

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

Text

Courtesy Extended to Unexpected Guests

The sun set. It crowned the horizon like a dying fire while heavy clouds encroached, and darkness crept up on the world of Charlie Walker.

The sands of time had started eating away at the old house he lived in. Just like his fence, which storms and sun had weathered over the years. He took pride in maintaining the place that his father and his father’s father had occupied for generations. But living all alone in a big place like this was bound to chip away at its once sterling white coating of paint.

Despite the dying light, Charlie continued to strip and sand down the peeling coat of paint from just one of those fences just outside the big old farmhouse, a building too big for a man of his advanced age to live alone in now. The last of their three kids had moved away, Genevieve passed away a few years ago, and his only company left was the Miniature Schnauzer Ol’ Willie, a sturdy dog who had seen enough years to be getting close to death’s door. A mirror of Charlie’s self.

Winter came early this year. A single stalk of stubborn grain growing on the fields lazily swayed in the breeze. The toil of shipping grain still filled Charlie’s days, and the straggler there reminded him of the work that awaited him tomorrow.

Ol’ Willie sat on the porch and watched Charlie work on the fence. The farmer squinted at the spot on the fence he persistently rubbed away at with sandpaper wrapped around a handy block of wood. The farmer wanted to get as much done for the day as he could before it rained again.

The dog raised his head and his ears perked up, followed by a frightened whine. Charlie paused from scrubbing down the old wood with his sandpaper block. He focused.

He had heard it too.

Something on the wind.

A sound he had never heard before.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

Waiting happened to be something Charlie was rather good at. Over a warm meal at a table, he would tell you he was an impatient man. And although he used to be quite active and rebellious in his younger days, having marched in peaceful protest to demand the end of a war, time and family and military service had taught him wisdom and disciplined him in patience.

So, he listened, standing still. That stalk of grain continued to sway. More violently this time, in a strong gust of wind.

The sound returned, punctuated by Ol’ Willie’s ears twitching in response.

It sounded like the hum of electricity, blending with a sweet musical tone. All so subtle that you had to pay attention.

And it came from the roof of his own house. Charlie squinted again to see if he could spot anything unusual up there, but nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Charlie set his jaw and approached Willie on the porch.

“There’s a saying in England,” he started saying to the dog in his best attempt at a Sean Connery impression. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

He smiled at the dog and idly chucked the sandpaper block onto the veranda table where it landed amidst other small tools.

Willie looked around—and more importantly—looked tense. Charlie clapped his hands together and wiped them against each other, causing the wood and paint to explode away in a tiny cloud of dust.

“S'all good, Willie. I’ll go check,” Charlie said.

He hunched over and groaned from the movement and patted and scratched his dog behind the ears.

Willie did not calm down but had gotten old enough that he remained seated on the porch like a watchdog keeping his place as loyal lookout.

The floorboards thumped with a jilted rhythm as Charlie limped his way through his home, hauling himself up the stairs and gripping the railing tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

That strange sound hummed in the air. Stronger than before.

Closer.

On the second story, he approached one of the windows and opened it up.

The humming stopped.

Charlie blinked and poked his head outside to see the other side of his roof.

Something sat on the edge there. Or someone. The clouds had fully overtaken the sky, the sun vanished beyond the horizon. Charlie squinted again, trying to determine more than vague shapes and a silhouette.

Looked like a small woman, or a little girl. Legs dangling off the side of the roof.

Clearing his throat in an abrasive and phlegmy fashion did not draw her attention.

“Excuse me? Ma'am? Could you please not sit on my roof? I'mma willin’ to overlook your trespassin’ if you just come on in inside and get down from there. You might get yourself hurt if you take a fall and I wouldn’t wanna have to deal with that,” Charlie said.

No response. The dangling legs barely moved. What looked like a long, disheveled mop of hair framed a head so densely that Charlie could see no face from this angle. She did not extend him courtesy of showing him her face, just staring out into the distance and ignoring him and igniting a deep-rooted anger that Charlie had learned to control over the years.

He groaned and looked in front of him, seeing if he had enough foothold to securely get onto his roof without taking a potentially lethal tumble himself.

A few seconds, a sharp intake of breath, and a surprisingly adroit motion later; he had hoisted himself onto the rooftop and clutched the edge of the roofing above the window he had climbed out of. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself falling, but refused to believe that.

“Ma'am,” he said, not asking anymore but automatically falling into the tone he would use to address his kids when they did something bad, or to reprimand subordinates—or to show a woman her place.

But she was gone. Some small and unrecognizable object sat on the edge of the rooftop where she had been sitting mere seconds before.

Charlie’s face contorted in confusion and he looked left. Then he looked right. He risked a glance off the rooftop’s edge and towards the ground.

Nobody.

“What in tarnation?” he muttered.

Whatever she had left on the rooftop, he could not just leave it lying out there. Worst case, it was something that might draw lightning or cause a fire. He would be having none of that. Not after all these years of keeping this place up and running.

Charlie carefully balanced along the roof, making his way to where the mystery woman used to be. Ol’ Willie emitted a short whine from the porch, but Charlie had neither the time nor the nerves to look down, owed to his dizzying fear of heights.

Once he reached the spot, he squinted so hard that his entire face transformed into a roadmap of wrinkles.

“What in tarnation?” he muttered again, this time more labored and forced than before, as it escaped his lips while he carefully hunched down to pick up the object—whatever it was.

Strange sensations tickled his touch before his eyes could catch up. Cold to the touch, abrasive and bristly, sopping wet and spongy. When he pinched it between thumb and index finger to lift it, water dripped down from the clump. First in a thin stream that reminded him of someone urinating, then in desolate little drops.

He was holding what looked like a tangle of copper wire, long black human hair—like hers, not like Genevieve's—and coarse clothing fabric. It vaguely reminded Charlie of hairballs that the old farm cats used to vomit out, but far too big and heavy. Also, mostly because this indecipherable mass was disgusting.

Worse, though, it reminded him of the first war he had served in, the one in which he had turned from a choir boy into a cold-blooded killer. He lacked an explanation as to why it reminded him of that, but it caused a lot of memories and festering trauma to well back up in his gut.

He chucked the clump off the side of the roof, sending it to plummet down to the ground outside the house. A squelching sound indicated its landing. The sound reminded him of something, but he could not figure out what, exactly.

Charlie turned and took care to balance his way back to the window he had emerged from. He kept his eyes on the roofing underneath his shaky shoes, careful not to gaze over the edge of the shingles and behold the drop down.

Only by the time he was climbing back inside through the window did he register how fast and hard his heart had been pounding. Over the last couple of years, his sons had helped clean and maintenance the roof, leaving him to wonder if his sense of vertigo had gotten worse.

On the way down through his home, he flicked the nearest light switch. The corresponding light bulb did not respond. He flicked the switch up and down a few more times but no light went on.

Frustration over yet another thing to do mounted in his chest and exploded out of Charlie in a string of profanities that would have made the young and naive Reverend Huxley blush.

The world inside his house consisted only of vague dark shapes and silhouettes, but Charlie was familiar enough with it to navigate it in pitch-black darkness—he had lived here for most of his life.

The rhythm of his heart began to race again when his sense of touch betrayed that walls and doorways did not line up entirely the way they should. His old man and he had restructured and renovated some parts of the upper floor, subtly changing the layout of the place, but Charlie’s splayed fingers now touched a wall where there should be none and a doorway that had not been there before.

Chalking it up to his fear of heights still making his head spin, locked-up thoughts trying to escape that dark prison in the back of his mind, and not having navigated his own home in the dark for a long time, he pressed on.

Eventually found the stairs.

“Willie?” he called out.

Charlie took one step down at a time, his trembling hand finding purchase on the bannister and gripping it tightly as he descended.

Some part of him could hear Willie’s paws clicking and tapping against the floorboards and the heavy breathing of the old dog, but that was all only memory and imagination.

Empty silence permeated the home, orchestrated by Charlie’s heavy breathing.

At the bottom of the stairs, his fingers caressed another light switch, and he tried that one as well, only to find it was not working, either. He swallowed another outburst of cuss words and made his way to where dim light was emanating—the open front door, for even with the clouds, the darkness outside remained brighter than the tomb-like, lightless indoors of the house.

“Willie,” he repeated, not asking anymore. Demanding. “Where in tarnation are ya?”

Pausing on the porch outside, met by a cool breeze that carried the smell of rain, Charlie squinted again, looking around for Willie.

Instead, he found a pile of—

A puddle of—

It reeked of—

Charlie almost choked.

Where he had last seen Willie sitting on guard, only an indescribable mass remained. Something revolting, like a glob of stew piled up in chunks and viscous, oozing matter. Like his loyal friend had been liquefied. The first smell to hit his nose was musty, then he registered how the pile stank of vomit and feces.

The stench made Charlie recoil, stumbling back a few steps and hitting the back of his head on the doorframe hard enough to see an explosion of stars behind his eyes for a split second, but not hard enough for him to check for bleeding.

In a flash, lights went on inside the house. Every light switch he had flipped only responded now with absurd delay. It shed light upon the horrid mass where Willie used to be.

Charlie refused to believe that was his beloved dog, but the sheer amount of whatever it was resembled the size and dimensions of Willie. A reddish-brown steam rose from the remains.

Covering his mouth and nose, Charlie felt something he had not felt in a long, long time.

His eyes burned and his vision blurred as tears welled up in them, doing nothing to quench that fire and leaving everything to remind him of the hurt. That mass was not just Willie. It was everybody. Everybody he had lost, or forsaken, or betrayed, all in one.

Charlie fled. Not running, but stumbling, bracing himself against walls, fighting the need of his old aching knees to buckle and give out under his own weight. Escaping both from the putrid pile of molten Willie, and away from the memories that threatened to return.

This escape came to an abrupt stop in the brightly lit kitchen, where a figure stood. A woman dressed in one of Genevieve’s dresses that Charlie never had the courage to get rid of. But with long, black hair framing the back of her head, drenched and wet, and reminding her of the tiny woman he slept with in that green hell.

Every fiber of responsibility and curiosity inside of Charlie screamed at him and he imagined grabbing this woman by the shoulder to yank at her and spin her around and look at her face.

But he felt sick to the stomach and his cowardice took overhand. This was worse than being shot at. A growing warm spot in his crotch reminded him of the many times he wet his pants in response to getting shot at. He could practically hear the gunfire deceptively thundering through the air like series of firecrackers, the whizz of deadly projectiles passing him by and ripping other grown men to pieces.

And that figure just stood there, shivering ever so slightly like someone who was freezing from being drenched, awaiting his warm touch.

Even more violently than he recoiled from seeing liquefied Willie and suddenly thinking that he needed to bury him but had no time because he needed to get back to the chopper, Charlie slammed backwards into the cold hard surface of his refrigerator.

Instead of stopping, he stumbled right back out of the kitchen and fled.

Small feet squelched in waterlogged little shoes that slapped against the floorboards as the haunting figure in Genevieve’s dress gave chase. He knew better than to look back, but the front door slammed shut in front of him, long before he could reach it, as if a violent gust of wind did not want him to escape.

Just as abruptly as he stopped, the person behind him followed suit. Without turning, he felt her presence behind him. Both burning with malice and as cold as a fresh grave turning muddy in the rain.

Charlie turned and his stomach churned. He saw not a face, but many faces. The skin sagged and roiled and melted and reshaped itself over and over again, like looking into a thick creamy soup getting stirred. He saw Genevieve, but also the girl he had cheated on her with, and many other faces of death.

The front of her dress was drenched in blood in all the wrong places, adding to his nausea.

The faces said nothing, the mouths opened and closed and flowed into each other, but only gurgling and raspy sounds ever came from them.

Charlie could take this sight no more. He ran to the front door and made it rattle as he desperately twisted and shook it and then pounded his fist against it in futile desperation, knowing fully well that this hell would not let him go anymore, that nobody was here to help him, and that he now had to face all his demons.

Little feet squelched in the shoes behind him again. Slap, squish. Slap, squish. Slap, squish.

Knowing he could only flee upstairs but dreading the thought of jumping out a window or—God forbid—from the roof, he slowly turned, knowing he had a date with destiny.

Only now did he smell sugar; in the same way he did whenever Genevieve made tea and it hit his nostrils when he hovered over a cup of the steaming brown liquid.

He tasted salt, like those velvety soft lips of the black-haired girl with her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes.

And those two noses gave the face definition, becoming one, atop a mouth agape, flopping open and shut, like a fish out of water, or like a person trying to say something but failing continuously.

The eyes were the worst. Eyes of all the dead and even those whom he believed he might outlive. Every last bit of guilt got to him.

He backed up against the door and softly bumped into it and the figure followed, getting close enough that wet, cold hands could reach out and start exploring the shirt on his chest. Start unbuttoning it from the top, paralyzing him with fear.

Charlie had no fight or flight left in him. He felt like this was the end. Like this was a courtesy to his visitor that he was supposed to extend.

A small hand with fine fingers gently grazed his bared chest, never fully pressing down until nails gingerly scraped above where his heart thumped and pounded away, homing in on the powerful pulse.

They entered, painlessly, but cold. Like a cold that spread from there, like Charlie had plunged himself into ice cold water, like he had to hide from napalm fire and a hail of bullets and certain death that could have taken him like it took so many of his compatriots.

Then she pushed. They pushed. All faces in one, all staring at him with accusations flying from those eyes like knives, piercing his flesh and stinging and sinking in slowly and twisting.

The door behind him gave away, just opened, accompanied by no sound. The world spun around him and Charlie could have tried to grab hold of the door frame, but his old weary fingers just let it happen.

A ledge nearby invited itself to be grabbed but grabbing reminded him of so many of his mistakes and misdeeds. Grabbing hands, grabbing hair, skin, grabbing a weapon. He forgot who he was and remembered everything he had done.

And the world flew past him, slowly, but surely.

He fell from that rooftop as the clouds turned the sky dark and bathed the world around him in twilight. Ol’ Willie whined somewhere, close enough for him to hear it but a million miles away. Charlie fell and fell and fell.

He died soon after he landed on the ground outside his house.

Killed by the weight of his memories, slain by the sins he perceived in his decisions, but mostly dead due to falling two stories and landing in a very unfortunate way. The banality of it all now washed over him.

It surprised him how little else he felt as the life escaped him and he coughed up something warm and thick and runny, trickling from the corners of his mouth. Willie neared with the panting sounds you would expect from such an old dog, but not as quickly as the world faded away around Charlie.

The sounds of little feet squelching in waterlogged shoes arrived first.

Charlie stared into the many faces of death as she stood by his side, looming over him like an inescapable tower.

She extended a slender arm and hand, as if in greeting, or as if expecting him to give her something.

His body could not comply, so his soul pulled loose from his arm, meeting her hand there and taking it.

Why now?

He asked, but not with his mouth. Not with his flesh.

A chorus of voices replied, “I am always unexpected, even when you know your time has come.”

She grabbed his hand and yanked.

Took him away, pulling him into a world of mist and darkness. It all happened so quickly.

Death dragged him through the door where the Cruel Ones awaited.

—Submitted by Wratts

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Face Off || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece go digging for buried witchy treasure. Cece faces more than she bargained for.

CONTAINS: gun (salt rounds, not fired), shenanigans

Blanche had told Morgan that having an object, especially one belonging to the spirit in life, might help the seance go better. Morgan knew from the summoning that bones would probably be the most ideal if there was such a thing, but the idea of planning a trip to Texas ahead of the one she had already scheduled between the anniversaries of her parents’ deaths was more than she could bear. The next best thing? Finding Agnes Bachman’s trove of witchcraft. “So, fun fact, I actually tried to dig this up before, but I got attacked by some wild vampires and had to hole up in that shack until dawn,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Cece. “But that’s why we’re coming back here in broad daylight! Besides, I think this is still sort of on my property line?” She gestured to the pile of rubble around across the street and the brown, barren field between it and where they stood in the Bend, shovels in hand, beneath a suspiciously robust tree. Morgan tried to run the distance measurements in her head. “Maybe not, but that’s gonna be our story if anyone comes asking. But, you know, probably not.” She stuck the shovel into the ground with her foot, pleasantly surprised when it broke the ground with ease. Zombie strength had its advantages sometimes. “So, how’ve you been?”

Drinking and researching a stolen box with Morgan? A-okay. Breaking into a woman’s home to steals some books? Great time. But Cece might have to draw the line at the physical labor. It wasn’t the trespassing on property or potential danger. It wasn’t even the casual mention of vampires attacking Morgan the last time she was here. It was mostly just the digging that Cece wasn’t up for. “We tend to break the law whenever we hang out now,” Cece mentioned, digging her own shovel into the ground and leaning against it, “Not complaining. Just a fun observation. Girls really do just want to have fun apparently.” While digging holes wasn’t one of those things that Cece considered to be much fun, the promise of some sort of buried treasure had certainly piqued her interest. “Aside from the whole being blown up in a Morgue thing, worse than that is dealing with Regan’s replacement.” Cece made fake vomiting noises for far longer than necessary and then forced herself to recompose, “Otherwise I am freaking phenomenal. Clearly you’re living your best life. Loving the Holes vibes that we have going on. So what exactly are we here for today?”

“I heard about that,” Morgan said, wincing. “Regan’s just having a time and a half right now. Hopefully it’ll just, you know, be temporary. Haven’t heard any stories about the new boss, though. Is he, what? Evil? Creepy? Mean? What’s the likelihood of your being able to hex him without him noticing? I put a monkey’s paw on Eye of Newt for a little while, and that was pretty fun.” She reached into her bag and passed Cece a thermos of mulled cider. She could see how, well, not well her share of the digging was going, and aside from the magic ability and know how to work on identifying their finds, Morgan had mostly asked her along for the company. “Here. Have some of this and sit back, I think it only takes one gal to dig a hole. When she’s dead anyway.” Morgan stuck her shovel in deeper, flinging dirt behind her. “And we’re after great great grandma Agnes’ trove of magic. She left home with one bag after the curse started taking her family, which means everything in her trove got left behind in good ol’ White Crest.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Mostly, I want something special of hers for a seance, but it’s gonna be pretty neat to see what kind of stuff she used for her magic back in olden times, right?”

“No, god, even worse.” Cece rolled her eyes. Rickers was the last thing she needed to talk about. “I can handle evil or creepy. He’s way too personable. Keeps telling me about his grandkids. It’s insufferable.” Usually, Cece welcomed casual conversation of any kind. She was a social creature after all, she liked the company of others. But something about that man made her want to jump into a river. “I could hex him so easily. He’s so gullible. Moron.” She wasn’t about to let Rickers ruin the fun though, and instead focused on Morgan’s time with Eye of Newt, “Amazing. I love being friends. Do I mention that enough?” Cece questioned, taking the thermos that Morgan passed over and taking a long sip of the alcoholic beverage. “So you’re saying you just want me to sit back, drink and chat? You get me, Morgan.” Cece happily obliged, leaning back against the grass and watching Morgan use that superhuman strength to dig holes deeper into the ground with a certain fascination. She had always wondered what having super strength must be like. Sounded dope. “Good ol Gram? Let’s hope she left behind something fun. Can’t say that I’d be thrilled about finding some magically glued dentures or alchemical ointment for her joint pain.”

“I love being friends with you too,” Morgan said, smiling bright. There was a certain specific ease with Cece that was hard to articulate to others. Their magic philosophy was different, but neither of them took themselves so seriously that it was a problem. And sharing a lack of compunctions about the law and uses of violence to get out of tight spaces was more important between friends who wanted to stay honest with each other. Morgan wasn’t even sure if Cece had a judgemental bone in her body, except for, you know, reckless cruelty like any halfway decent not-fae. But Morgan’s harm ritual wasn’t reckless. She was full of very specific intent, and every care was being taken. And giving Agnes closure with the news she was deviating the woman who’d condemned her to a painful death? Made for some very thoughtful icing on the cake. “Oh, it gets better than that,” Morgan said, grinning as she shoveled back more dirt. “She was just in her twenties when she left home. So this should hopefully have all the fun shit. Well, whatever fun amounted to in the 1890’s. Maybe it’ll be magic ointment for that poofy old-timey hair. Or old beauty charms? I’d love to see what baby witches got up to back then, like what was magic education even like then?”

Cece liked thinking about witches throughout the years. There was something fascinating about studying how witches evolved with the rest of the times, as well as how spells did. If spellcasters were ever a legitimate field of study, Cece might actually consider going back to school. For now, she’d have to settle through learning about magic through any witches she knew with a long line of witches in her family. “Great question. Can’t say that my witchy upbringing was exactly conventional. If my parents were spellcasters, being adopted didn’t exactly help me learn about it as a kid.” Cece had of course wondered what life might have been like had she actually grown up learning about magic from a young age. “My first exposure was from a coven. A very non-traditional one.”

“Your coven wasn’t with your parents?” Morgan asked curiously. She’d heard them mentioned in passing enough times that she’d just assumed it was at least partially a family thing. Morgan started digging, stopped, and looked at Cece quizzically again. “Wait, so you are this good without having to study your whole life?” She shovelled a few more times. “Jeez, are you some kind of magic prodigy?” She had a decent sized hole going. A few more feet deeper and she’s start spreading outward and--clang! Morgan grinned. “I guess this means you get to pick a prize from grandma’s treasure box. At least something in here should go to someone who can actually use it. But holy shit, Cece. I know I say this a lot when you’re doing me favors, but you’re seriously amazing.” She started working double time until the trunk, just as impressive as you would expect from your average 19th century well-to-do family. Morgan pulled it free just with brute zombie strength and dragged it up from the hole. It was heavy, “Now, before I literally jinx myself, do you think you can run something on this baby to dispel any magic seals and protection? As my ancestor, I’m fairly confident she wouldn’t throw this in the ground without protections.”

Cece shook her head, “Nope. My adopted parents had no clue about my witchy background. I didn’t figure out until like sixteen.” Cece shrugged. She had never considered herself to be uncommonly talented when it came to magic. She was aware that she was able to take care of herself under stressful circumstances but the thought never went much further than that. “Very funny,” Cece let out a sarcastic laugh, “I’m hardly a prodigy. The nice thing about moving around with a travelling coven is that I got to learn from all kinds of witches that specialized in different things. Plus being around nothing but other witches all the time gave me lots of chances to practice.” Morgan finally found the box she had been digging for and pulled it easily from the ground. It landed on the grass with a loud thud and Cece whistled, “Damn girl, those muscles though.” Cece sat up and eyed the box. It was larger than Cece thought it was going to be. Honestly, she was pretty curious about what was inside. “Let me take a peak and see what I can sniff out” Cece rubbed her hands together and crawled over to the box, rubbing her palm across it and feeling the magical energy emanating from it. “There’s definitely something going on here. Give me a few minutes to try to get rid of it.”

Morgan was familiar with the number of ways you could talk small magic into showing itself. In another life, her old life, she would’ve offered some ground thistle and raw energy to do it herself. But Cece had a home brew with the stuff she needed. A little Latin later, the potion absorbed into the wood, and the lock, apparently just an illusion, disappeared from sight. “I know you’re not a coven gal anymore, Cece, but I’d do you a solid anytime if you asked.” Out of habit, fae promise, rose to her lips, casual and earnest, but somewhere on its way up her throat, Morgan remembered Chloe in Lydia’s basement and swallowed her words back down, feeling sick.

A layer of dry flowers and fragrant herbs coated the items. Morgan had to sweep them all away to get to the rest. There were some things she expected, such as a handwritten grimoire, and some she didn’t, like an old party dress and petticoats. Morgan didn’t know anything about enchanting textiles, but she set them carefully aside just in case. They must have mattered to Agnes in order to be included in her trove. Beneath this were more papers, some torn from other books, ink and fountain pens, a few alchemical circles painted crudely on tanned hides, and a lot of jewelry and talismans. “So, she’s my great great grandma, so I get the pretty dress and the books, but you, my wonderful partner in crime, can pick something you like from the rest. I still haven’t thanked you for helping me go against that murder alchemist, so don’t be shy.”

As Morgan looked through the chest, Cece eyed the contents from far away. The chest’s magic had been strong, so it made sense to think that whatever was inside had been valuable to her grandmother. As far as Cece was concerned, that all belonged to Morgan. But aside from a few off limits items, Morgan seemed to think otherwise. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you could find some use for them. Somewhere.” But even as she said the words she slid closer to get a better peak at the contents. She pulled out a few things, including a vial of liquid that glowed a bright red color, “Hm. This is peculiar” Cece questioned, holding it up against the sun. She felt a prickling against her fingertips from holding the bottle. She eventually decided to uncap the thing, sniffing at its contents and jolting from the sudden sensation. “Hm. That shit is strong. Wonder what this stuff does?”

Morgan was flipping through the books, unable to resist the urge to find something interesting. She had to remind herself that it was all useless to her, pure sentimental and academic value, but even the method of preserving alchemical circles was fascinating. What did they use the hides for? Practice? Regular exercise? Were there research experiments in here like what Ruth had done? There were notes and letters in here too, some written in a kind of code, others in Latin. Looking at all of this, Morgan realized she didn’t actually know Agnes Bachman at all. She was the family scapegoat, but she was also just a girl when she left all this stuff behind, too terrified of being the cause of her family’s suffering to stay another year. Poor thing, she didn’t realize that Constance had covered them all. She hadn’t needed to make herself alone on top of everything else. “What did you find? Anything good?” She looked over her shoulder and— “What the fuck, who the hell are you!” She fell back with shock and fumbled for her salt pistol, aiming it at the stranger. Morgan hadn’t even heard her approach. It had to look enough like a normal one to keep the stranger stalking them on her toes, right? “Where’s my friend? What is—Cece! Cece!”

Bored with whatever the liquid was, Cece discarded it back into the pile of unclaimed goodies and moved on to see what else Agnes had to offer. Cece realized that aside from the fact that they had been spellcasters and the curse, she didn’t know all that much about Morgan’s family. Learning a bit about her family through these belongings was more interesting than Cece would be willing to admit without a few drinks. Way too sentimental. She heard Morgan from over her shoulder and didn’t even look back as she began answering, “I don’t know what a lot of it is actually. I’ll need to do some-” she was cut off by her friend’s scream. Morgan was freaking out, tumbling backwards and pulling a fucking gun on her? “What the fuck Morgan? What do you mean who am I? Why do you have a gun pointed at me!” Cece waved her hands wildly, half up in the air in surrender and half accusingly towards Morgan. “Your friend is right here, wondering if she’s about to get capped by a dead girl! You suddenly lose vision or something?”

Morgan scrambled to her feet, still holding out the salt pistol with trembling hands. The woman was middle aged, wild eyed, and a heck of a lot taller than Cece had ever been. She wasn’t sure where she got off trying to pretend they were one and the same. Her angular features had none of Cece’s stubborn charm. They gave the woman a look that was off-kilter even unnerving as she waved her arms around and cried out in her raspy voice. “I am not kidding, whatever magic bullshit you did, some summoning trick, o-or—I don’t know! But you aren’t keeping her!” Morgan shouted I am not losing one more friend to my personal bullshit, you got it? You—” It came on her slowly: the woman’s clothes looked a little like Cece’s but also...not. And she had Cece’s keychain, and there was a bottle at her feet, not quite close right, dripping slowly into the ground. Morgan slowly lowered her pistol, not quite ready to give up the pretense. “If you’re really Cece, then how do we know each other?” She asked.

Something was wrong. Whether that something was with Morgan or with Cece herself was still unclear. Cece stood up, Morgan backing away again but not moving the pistol from it’s target. “Can you point the gun away from me? This isn’t the Wild West.” Though something was clearly off, Cece hadn’t pieced it together yet. For whatever reason, Morgan seemed to think Cece wasn’t who she claimed to be. Was there some illusion? Cece stared at her hands, vaguely aware that something seemed different but realizing that she didn’t look at her hands enough to realize what the difference might be anyways. “How do we know each other? I didn’t know I was signing up for a pop quiz tonight.” Cece laughed, but clearly Morgan wasn’t joking, “Former roomies, forever besties, current hostage.” Cece quipped, “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Morgan lowered the salt pistol, her face melting, touched. “Aw, you consider us besties?” Her face twisted into an expression of cringe. On Cece, that was endearing. On a crazed woman who looked like she was nearing fifty, it was a little...odd. Maybe sad. Morgan tried to find the words to explain to her friend how bewildering this looked from her perspective. Whose face was this? How did Cece change her face and not...know. “Okay, okay…” she started, tucking her pistol away. “Uh, fun fact, the pistol is salt rounds only. I just, you know, couldn’t be too careful. Also: what happened to your face! I said you could take something home, not give yourself a weird makeover!” She fumbled for her phone, still keeping her distance in case this was all a trick and she was just being stupid and gullible. “You did something!” She put the selfie camera on and held it out for Maybe-Cece to see. “A very, very weird something! Are you...mind or body swapped? Are you glamoured into one of my dead relatives? You aren’t really...I mean, look! What would you think if you were me!”

“Of course I do. There’s not many others I’ve broken into a house and been held at gunpoint at!” Despite the awkwardness of currently being held at gunpoint, Cece couldn’t stop the lilt in her voice as she confirmed that the two were basically besties. They had been through quite a bit considering they hadn’t known each other at the beginning of the year. “Well I actually do feel marginally better knowing I would have only gotten blasted with salt. Thank god I’m not a ghost.” Cece laughed, taking steps closer to Morgan following the whole debacle. “I didn’t do anything! Just rooted around in your grandma’s chest and-” Cece stopped talking when Morgan offered her phone camera towards her and Cece got a look at who was showing up on the screen. Except this was very clearly not Cece. “What the fuck?” Cece jumped back, visibly shaken for the first in what felt like a truly long time. “Who the fuck am I? Why the fuck do I look like this?” Cece began rubbing her hands against her arms, chanting a dispelling glamour effect to herself and then looked back at the camera. Nothing. “Why isn’t it going away!?”

Morgan’s face quirked into a smile. She wasn’t as vulnerable or demonstrative with Cece as she knew she could’ve tried to be. Cece was just so breathtakingly together and at ease with whatever chaos came her way, like it was no more than a fly she could spike out of her sphere with a swipe of her hand. However much she accepted the mess Morgan dragged them into, Morgan worried the limit of ‘too much’ was just around the corner. But here they were, standing over a hole in the middle of the woods with a salt pistol and dug up treasures and a haywire spell between them—and still friends. “Ghost, creepy middle aged lady, whatever comes next, I’m still glad we’re friends,” Morgan said.

But, obviously, Cece being her friend as Cece was probably best. “Idea one: this is some weird subconscious thing and you’ve got some stuff about your age or your size to deal with. Idea two: you are wearing the face of one of my dead relatives, or their neighbors, or...something. But either way, there’s a solution! We just don’t know it yet. But we will and you will look...w-well, you don’t look bad, really, when you, uh, think about it, but just more...you.” She winced and came around the side of the hole to offer Cece a hug.

Morgan offered a list of options to Cece, who hated all of them. “Definitely not subconscious. I accepted my height many years ago.” Cece waved the first away but backtracked, “That being said. I get that objectively I’m not that tall still but I do feel like a tall glass or water.” The second option seemed likely. Perhaps it was a type of hex that was put on something she had touched by Morgan’s grandma. If that was the case it was some bullshit hex. “Well either it’s a strong ass hex or some new type of magic I haven’t worked with before.” That frustrated Cece more than the hex itself. She could handle looking like this Milf. What she didn’t like was not knowing how to fix it immediately. Morgan came around for a hug and as their arms wrapped around each other Cece smiled, “You know we’re kind of like the same height now.”

“You do have the energy of a tall woman, I guess it’s just a little closer to being official now,” Morgan said with a smirk. “You’ve got, what, a whole inch on me now?” She raised her hand to touch the top of Cece’s head, fluffing some of the brown hair falling in front of her face. “Stars, if you are wearing one of my ancestors’ faces, does this make you like a temporary cousin? Temporary grandma?” She smirked at the idea. “Sorry. Let’s take everything and hit the books at your place, huh? Do some old fashioned trial and error experimenting. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.”

Though her head was still spinning at the prospect of looking twice her actual age, Cece tried to compose herself. This had been the most flustered she had allowed herself to be for many, many years. She had no interest in completely losing her cool. Morgan was right, they would fix this. Eventually. Maybe it had a time limit, and Cece would simply wake up in a day or two back to her old, blonde self. In the meantime, how was she supposed to explain this to her roommates? “That’s a good start. Whatever’s going on, I clearly don’t have nearly enough alcohol in my system to deal with it.” Right about now Cece was sure that she had far too much blood in her alcohol system. Depending on how long this lasted, it might be time for a never ending party. “I like to think I just became your cool aunt. I think the moniker suits me.”

#wr cece #wr chatzy #wr cece chatzy #face off #gun tw #wickedswriting

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carlotta-the-nerd-winters · 4 years

Text

Rough Diamond - Chapter Three: Into The Unknown Team

A Week Later…

Postwick…

Something she had discovered about Blaze after spending their first night together—he was a snuggle monster. He made a beeline for her bed and buried himself under her quilt and blankets. The fire-type seemed content to sleep by her side and Gloria had to admit, it was nice having a warm plushie-like figure to sleep with at night.

Second thing she discovered about her newest partner—he was insanely fast. Even without the use of Quick Attack, Blaze had some fast feet. Something she was more than happy to have in battle. But chasing after him had been another thing entirely. He’d zip away when she’d tried to get him back into his ball. Eventually, she just gave up after her father told her that out of the three he gave to Leon, Blaze despised his pokeball.

But she had spent the week training and getting to know Blaze a little better. Most of the time, she had been out in the Wild Area and would return home in the afternoon. Charlie and Sonia had uploaded the Pokedex app onto hers and Hop’s phones. Both of their families had gifted them camping supplies and one of those never-ending space bags that were popular in Kanto. All that was left for them was to grab their Dynamax bands from Professor Magnolia.

“Gloria! You’ll be late for the train if you don’t head off now,” she heard her mother shout from downstairs.

“I’m coming!” she shouted back, fixing her black ripped jeans. Glancing one last time in the mirror, she combed her hair back and tied it up into a small ponytail. Maybe I should let it grow out more…

“Gloria Elizabeth Aegis!”

The brunette groaned, grabbing her brown backpack and left her room. Running downstairs, she found Hop waiting in the foyer with her mother and Victor who had Blaze snuggled in his arms.

“Honestly, what could be taking you so long to get dressed? You’re participating in the Gym Challenge. Not Love Islands,” Kathleen clucked her tongue as Blaze jumped out of Victor’s arms and onto her shoulder. “I’ve phoned ahead to the professor to let her know you’re on your way.”

“Thanks Kathy,” Hop smiled, hands in his pockets.

“Call us when you’ve arrived at Motostoke. Be safe you two,” Kathleen told them, looking between the two teens. Victor hugged his little sister before messing with her hair.

“Piss off,” she swiped at him, fixing her hair immediately as he laughed.

“Just have fun you guys. And know I’m betting on you two to take down Lee,” Victor said as Hop beamed. Checking the time on her watch, Kathleen ushered them out of the house.

“We better get going. I can’t wait to get my band,” Hop told her as they walked down the front steps of Gloria’s place. A few Wooloo cried in the distance as the morning sun shone down.

Out of habit, Gloria glanced at the fence that blocked off the Slumbering Weald and found it thrown open. “Hop,” she tugged at his sleeve, pointing it out.

His eyes widened. “Crap. There was a Wooloo there earlier tackling it. I didn’t think it’d actually bust through,” he said and she stared at him.

“You didn’t think a Pokémon using a physical attack move could break down an old wooden fence?” she asked sarcastically, shaking her head at him and headed in.

“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing her wrist.

“Going to get the Wooloo out of there.”

“But it’s off-limits. Nobody’s supposed to go in there,” he reminded her. “Remember when the professor’s granddaughter went in once, and she came back in a real state.”

Gloria frowned. “Yeah but I went in there too and came back fine,” she pointed out, shaking off his grip and taking her wrist back. “Look, I’m going in there with or without you,” she said, marching on.

Hop groaned and ran after her, glaring at her smile. “This doesn’t mean you’re right. This is just the kind of scene where you simply have to do what’s needed!”

“Whatever you say, Hop,” she responded, letting Rookie out of his ball when the fog began rolling in. “Remember this place buddy?”

“Corvi,” Rookie chirped, looking around.

“There’s a Wooloo that’s gone missing. Take to the skies and see if you can find him from above,” she instructed as he nodded, taking off. He flew through the trees disappearing from their sight. “Stick close. It’s only fog from here on out.”

“Right,” he murmured, standing closer to Gloria as they began walking through. Blaze was staring at the forest in awe. “That Wooloo…where do you think it got off to?”

“Not sure,” she admitted, taking in the surrounding area. The sounds of many different Pokémon cries, singing their tunes. Barely any sunlight managed to break through the thick leaves on the dozens of trees. The air was cool, a slight breeze running through and stirring up the leaves on the ground. The forest hadn’t changed since she was a child.

I wonder if that large Pokémon is still here, she wondered, coming across the small pond. “Careful to not slip,” she told Hop as she jumped on the small stone and got across.

“You seem at home in here,” Hop noted as they continued on, walking across the old, stone bridge. Covered in vines, leaves and moss…it had been here for a long time.

“Yeah,” she agreed, smiling a little. “It’s…it’s hard to explain but there’s just something that calls to me in here. And don’t you think it’s fascinating that time just stands still in here?”

He stared at her as she stood still, gazing softly at the dark forest. “Like there’s someone waiting for you in here,” he said, and she whirled around, beaming at him.

“Exactly. I knew you’d get it,” she said and Hop chuckled, lightly elbowing her in the side.

“I still think you’re barmy,” he winked and grabbed her wrist. “We better keep going or else that Wooloo might be in real trouble.”

She followed as they jogged further in. Just as she remembered from her childhood, the deeper they went in, the denser the fog became. Hope kept a hold on her wrist and eventually moved to her hand in order for them to not lose each other.

“This is mad!” Hope swore, squinting his eyes as they slowed to a walk. “I can’t even see my own hand in front of my face.”

“It gets worse the further we go in.”

“I think I get now why this place is off-limits,” he muttered as a large figure appeared in the fog. Hop flinched at the sight of the large, scarred dog-like Pokémon while Gloria beamed.

“It’s you again,” she smiled as its yellow eyes focused on her again. “Thank you for helping Rookie and I out that time.”

It growled low as she held a hand outwards. It stared at the hand for a moment before sniffing it. It’s ears, which had been previously close to its head were standing up straight.

“We need your help again. A Wooloo has gone missing around here,” Ria continued as it pulled back. It howled, the loud sound forcing the teens to cover their ears and more fog was released, covering the area.

“Ria!” Hop called out. “I can’t see anything. You okay?”

“I’m…I’m fine.” She answered, feeling a little weak in the knees and exhaustion washed over her. Her eyelids felt heavy and she struggled to keep them open any longer. It was if the fog itself was sucking all of the energy out of her body. “Hop…”

He called her name again as she collapsed onto the ground, darkness taking her.

We have waited for you, children of Alastair and Sander.

When she came to, Hop’s golden gaze was staring at her and his brows were furrowed. Behind him were the large, dark trees of the Slumbering Weald. Something warm was on her chest and she looked down, finding Blaze on her with his little paws gripping her grey cardigan.

“Ria, thank Arceus you’re awake,” Hop sighed, holding her tighter in his arms. She soon wiggled out of his arms and rose to her feet, holding the shaking Blaze in her arms. He must’ve been frightened by what happened.

“What happened?” she asked as she put her fingers to her lips, whistling for Rookie to return to her.

“I’m not sure, mate.” Hop admitted. “I was clonked out like you and woke up here. Heard Blaze here crying and saw you unconscious,” he shook his head, staring at her. “Gave me a real fright. Did this happen last time?”

Ria shook her head as she heard Rookie’s cry ring out across the forest. She whistled once more, hearing him draw closer—along with Leon.

“Wha—? Lee?” Hop exclaimed as his older brother broke through some thick bushes along with Rookie. Ria’s Pokémon landed in front of her as Leon checked on the pair. “How’d you manage to find your way here? You’re pants with directions. You always get lost.”

Leon shot him a glare. “Oh, that’s nice to hear from the little brother who had me worried sick,” he snapped at him before pointing his head at Rookie. “I’d been waiting for ages for you two and when you never showed up, I went to Ria’s place. Rookie found me and brought me to you guys.”

Ria crouched down, stroking her partner’s head. “Thanks for getting help,” she said as he nudged her hand.

“Where’s the Wooloo? We were trying to rescue that Wooloo.”

“The little chap’s fine by the entrance. Charizard is with him,” Leon answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you two know this place is off-bounds. However, it took courage to come in here all the same. And I can understand well enough why you did it.”

Hop rubbed the back of his neck, smiling. “At least that Wooloo’s all right.”

“Come on you two, let’s get out of this place. You’ll be all right now that I’m here with you,” Leon said, walking ahead. The two soon followed and Ria noticed Hop sticking close to her side.

“You okay?’ she asked him quietly and he nodded.

“Yeah. Just shaking off the shock,” he reassured her with a smile. “Even if we did get an earful from Lee, what an experience. This’ll make a pretty fine first page in the tale of my legend.”

oOo

A Few Hours Later…

After a flock of Wooloo halted their train ride to Motostoke, the teens were walking through the smaller Wild Area outside the great city. Eventually Hop parted ways to have one last training session before the opening ceremony tomorrow. They promised to meet up at the stadium so they could sign up together—something the darker teen made her swear by.

As she was walking along the Axel Lake, Rommie flew out of her pocket with Teddy’s ringtone playing. “Teddy’s requesting a video call.”

“Put him through,” she instructed, coming to a stop. Blaze jumped out of her arms, choosing to run around the area. “Stick close by where I can see you.”

“Bun!” Blaze answered back, disappearing into the bushes.

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full already,” Teddy chuckled as his image flicked onto the small phone screen. He was the spitting image of their father—the same black hair and the Sycamore grey eyes—but he had a large scar across his left eye from a Pyroar a few years ago. Teddy jokes that it’s the only way people could tell him and their father apart. “I wanted to wish you luck on your journey. Sorry I couldn’t be there to see you off.”

Ria shrugged her shoulders. “It’s fine. People in Almia just don’t get how big the Gym Challenge is. They don’t even have a league there.”

“Aye but all the same, I’ve missed out on a family reunion. Have you got a game plan?”

“I picked up a Scorbunny. Both my fire and flying types will be at an advantage against Milo. I just need to get my hands on either an electric or a grass-type for Nessa’s gym. I’ll be able to find a water-type in Hulbury somewhere for Kabu’s gym.”

“Good. Make sure to follow through on your plan. I’ve got my TV set up to record all of yours and Hop’s matches. Tell him good luck for me next time you see him.”

“I will,” she promised as Blaze’s cried out. Frowning, she, and Rookie rushed over to where her smaller Pokémon just as a small explosion erupted. Dirt and dust flew into the air and Ria coughed a few times, swiping it away. “Blaze? Are you okay?”

“Bun, bun,” the small Pokémon confirmed as she discovered a small, lighter coloured Budew shivering behind him. Blaze was protecting it from his stance, and she glanced to where he was glaring. A couple of Nickit were on the ground, clearly injured and growling at Blaze.

They were attacking this Budew. Or at the very least antagonising it, she realised, running over, and picking up the Budew in her arms. “Rookie, use Air Slash to clear them away,” she ordered as he sprung into action. Using his large wings, he sent gusts of razor-sharp air pockets to whip them away. Only one hung onto the ground and sprinted towards Blaze once the air died down. “Blaze, use Quick Attack.”

Blaze disappeared for a split second before reappearing and knocking into the last Nickit. The collision sent the dark-type flying through the air and landing on the ground, completely knocked out. Seeing the enemy defeated, the fire-type spun around to flash them a wide grin.

“Good job bud,” Gloria complimented and knelt down to gently place the Budew onto the ground. A flash of light caught everyone’s attention and it turned out the source was none other than Blaze himself. Having seen an evolution in progress plenty of times at her father’s day care, the brunette watched in fascination. His body began to grow in height and width, his ears getting longer and flopping down. When the light disappeared, Blaze had finished his evolution and was staring at his paws in fascination.

“You got him to evolve already?” Teddy’s voice interrupted her stare, alerting her to the fact that he was still on the phone. “That was too quick. What kind of training regime have you been doing with him?”

“The same one as Rookie’s,” she answered, eyes flicking over to the floating Rotom phone. “Rommie, scan Blaze and bring up his Pokedex entry.”

“Okie dokie,” she chirped, quickly scanning Blaze’s form and brought the information up on the screen.

Raboot, the Rabbit Pokémon and the evolved form of Scorbunny. It’s thick and fluffy fur protects it from the cold and enables it to use hotter fire moves. It kicks berries right off the branches of trees and then juggles them with its feet, practicing its footwork.

“Congrats on evolving, Blaze,” she smiled as he checked on the Budew. Seeing how he checked for injuries had Gloria smiling widely. She also couldn’t help but stare at the different coloured Budew. It’s outer layer was a brighter green and the little bits of petal on its front was purple instead of the usual darker green. It took her a moment to realise that the Budew in front of her was an infamous ‘shiny’ Pokémon. Gloria had planned on obtaining a Pokémon for Nessa’s gym and the Budew line tended to have higher special attack stats. “Hey Budew,” Gloria caught its attention and smiled. “How would you like to come with us?”

Budew glanced at Blaze who gave her a nod. Encouraged, Budew walked closer to the teen and lightly tapped its head against the outstretched Pokeball. After disappearing and a few tense seconds later, Gloria had added a Budew to her team.

A quick scan on her Pokedex showed that this Budew was a female and had the ability of natural cure. An ability that would no doubt come in handy during the Gym Challenge.

Gloria released the Budew and pondered over a name. Not wanting for Victor to make fun of her again, she moved away from the obvious choice of Rose. Finally, after musing over a few choices, she smiled at her new Pokémon. “How does the name Pollen sound?”

“Budew,” she chimed happily as Rommie registered the name.

“Welcome to the team, Pollen.”

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Songs: Into The Unknown by Panic! At The Disco and Team by Tova. Both songs have been added to the Spotify playlist for this fic. Each time I'm writing up a chapter, I add the songs I'm listening to when writing said chapter so think of it as a preview. If you wanna check it out, it's called the Rough Diamond Playlist.

Thanks to everyone who's kudos and a special shout out to a_human_called_aoife for your lovely comment! Honestly had me smiling while reading it and I hope you continue to enjoy this fic. More comments are appreciated! Seriously, they make writers post work quicker.

Also, this chapter took a while as I've just moved into my new house and getting a new job.

#pokemon #sword #shield #hop #gloria #hop x reader #hop x gloria #postwickshipping #pokemon sword and shield

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