#reminds me of the system in where winter crows go
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I know that it's a bit stupid but I don't like the taste of meat since I was a child, so playing a game where someone actually cared if I liked such a common food or not made me feel oddly delighted. Tysm 😊
Aww this is honestly so sweet! I do try to keep dietary differences in mind when coming up with the food options for the game but I'm aware it's not perfect haha. But nevertheless I'm glad to know that!
#mushroom oasis vn#cheea chatter#reminds me of the system in where winter crows go#where you can choose if ur a vegetarian/vegan or none#and the dishes prepared is already based off your first choice#very neat!!!
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Aiden sighed as he settled back in the grass, basking in the midday sun whilst his horse grazed nearby. After almost a week of camping, he was pretty sure he only had a day, two at most before the Dyn Marv Caravan passed close enough for him to join the clowder for the winter. It was a trick all Cat’s picked up after a couple of years on the path and missed opportunities to go home because you were restless. Pick a stretch of road and hunker down until you hear the calls. They still liked to remind Schrödinger of the year he missed them because he got distracted by a pretty shepherdess and was helping her ‘tend her flock’, as it were.
He smiled to himself as he closed his eyes and started idly listing off the various birds he could hear. Something he’d always found calming. Wood pigeon; obviously. A blue jay, a couple of crows making a din about something further into the trees, a linnet.
He tensed when his sensitive ears picked up a distinctly human call. Somebody somewhere in the woods was singing. Aiden relaxed when it didn’t sound like they were getting any closer (further away if anything) before frowning. He couldn’t make out the words but from tone of voice alone it was apparent his mystery serenader was pissed. He winced in sympathy for whoever or whatever had earned such ire. His musings were interrupted by the sharp crack of wood breaking, followed by the singing rapidly turning into a shriek. He whistled 'stay' at his horse, hoping the flick of an ear was acknowledgment and not a fly before leaping to his feet and grabbing his swords before sprinting in the direction the noise had come from.
The groans of pain and multiple (very creative) curses were both a blessing and a curse. It was providing him with pretty clear directions but who knew what else they’d attract. It wasn’t long before he found their source though. A pit trap, the branches and bracken laid over the top destroyed. He made sure to make his footfalls louder as he approached.
“Hello, is somebody there? Oh Gods, if there is, please be an actual person and not some sort of liche or something.” The voice only sounded slightly shaky, which could just as easily be down to the scent of pain as well as that of fear.
“No Liche around these woods. None I’ve seen anyway.” Aiden said as he peered over the edge. It was deep, and the earthen sides were totally smooth, with not even a decent sized tree root visible, whoever had dug this wasn’t taking any chances.
A young man sat on the pit floor, blinking up at him with wide, blue eyes. A light pack on his back and a lute laying next to him, his hands grasping his left ankle. His gaze fixed on Aiden’s swords from where they peeked over his shoulder, “Wait. Armour, two swords…Witcher?”
Aiden nodded, mentally preparing himself for having to convince him to accept help from him.
“Oh, thank fuck.” The man’s shoulders sagged as he gave a relieved sounding laugh, “For a minute there I thought I was in trouble. Jaskier the Bard.” He inclined his head and Aiden got the impression it would be a full bow if he were standing, “Be a dear and help me out?” Aiden blinked down at him. Shit, he was definitely concussed.
After Jaskier had assured him that no, he hadn’t hit his head, but he had buggered up his ankle somewhat, they came up with a system. Jaskier passed his lute and pack up to Aiden, the Witcher feeling guilt spring up at the flash of pure hurt in the human’s eyes when he half-jokingly asked “’How do you know I won’t just leave you there?” He held his tongue as he hung as far over the edge as he dared and offered Jaskier his hand so he could haul himself out with Aiden’s help. He looked anywhere but at Aiden as he sat and tried to wipe the dust and mud off his bright red doublet. He immediately reminded the Witcher of a cardinal bird.
Aiden cleared his throat awkwardly, “Your ankle, think you can walk on it? I can help you back to your camp or horse if not.”
Jaskier shook his head, “Don’t have either I’m afraid. I’ve been travelling incredibly light as of late, I don’t know if you’ve tried it, but it’s been surprisingly freeing not being weighed down by useless stuff, you know.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call a bedroll useless.”
Jaskier waved a hand, “Debatable. I-fuck!” Aiden caught him by the arm as his ankle immediately buckled underneath him when he tried to stand, “No, walking’s not happening. Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologise for. Lean on me.”
“Where are you taking me?”
Good fucking question, actually.
Aiden really didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t leave a defenceless human hobbling around on an injured leg, but he couldn’t exactly risk an outsider encountering the Caravan either. There was a reason they stayed off the main roads after all. He tried to sketch a basic map in his head: This should be just about manageable.
“My camp. We’ll use my horse to get you to the nearest town and you can make your own way from there yeah? Unless you know of anywhere else nearby, where were you heading?” The nearest town was about a days ride away, if he rode through the night after dropping Jaskier off he should hopefully be back in time to catch the Caravan.
“I…no,” and there was that hurt again, “I have nowhere to be and nowhere to go. Such is the life of travelling Bard.”
“Easy, Sparrow.” Aiden cooed as he helped Jaskier up on the saddle, the Bard holding his lute in his lap and muttering something about how it must be some unspoken Witcher tradition to name your horse after another animal.
“Know many Witchers then?” Aiden asked
“Just the one, we travelled together on and off for a time, he’s a Wolf.” Aiden felt ice go down his spine. Fuck. A certain, tolerable raven head being the exception, if he was going to end up with some possessive fleabag accusing him of kidnapping, Aiden was cutting ties now.
“Where are they now?” Aiden tried to keep his tone light. If Lambert had lost another brother, he wouldn't know until he made it back to his own home for the winter and the thought that Aiden would know before the poor sods family momentarily settled heavily in his chest.
“I don’t actually know. We had a bit of a disagreement a while back. Which school are you by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Aiden fished the snarling cat head from out of his tunic, which was met with raised eyebrows and an “…Ah.”
“Still happy with our plan?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier sounded genuinely confused.
“I can guess what your Wolf told you about my lot. If you’d rather take your chances, I can leave you with some basic supplies.”
“Dear, if I paid attention to every single thing I got told about Witchers, my life would have taken a very different direction. You’ve given me no reason not to trust you so far. So, hop up and let’s go.”
“Self-preservation isn’t a phrase you know very well, is it?”
“We’ve a passing acquaintance at best. Speaking of, may I know the name of my rescuer and escort? Unless you don’t mind me calling you Dear for the entire trip.”
“I’m Aiden.”
Read the rest on my A03!
#the witcher#the witcher fanfiction#aiden centric#witcher aiden#aiden/jaskier friendship#witcher jaskier#jaskier#jaskier whump#dyn marv#cat witchers
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Pleasure and Uneasiness About Being in New Orleans
Not sure if that's grammatically correct.
I am a little uneasy living in a city that is probably the gun murder capital of the world. (As it is apparently the murder capital of America).
I really enjoy the quiet here in New Orleans, but I'm constantly wondering if I'm going to get shot, because I see it so much in the news. The quiet was surprising to me, as everyone said this city is loud. It reminds me of France in this way, with the riverfront park full of families partying and playing music on a humid, sunny Saturday.
I haven’t been to a city in America yet where I've liked the parks. I checked out the parks of New York City — BLESSED BE BUSHWICK, look up Maria Hernandez Park and you’ll see why — Philadelphia — the Wissahickon seems beautiful and I only explored the TIP of it in the winter when all the trees were sleeping — Hawai’i’s Big Island — you don’t picnic easily on lava rock/spiky grass and with mosquitos that eat you alive, to which I believe I am allergic — and Los Angeles — spectacular super bloom this year but don’t let the aesthetics of the Instagram posts fool you. It is fucking loud over there. So many cars. So much agitated, on-the-go energy. BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ.
I love the pace of New Orleans, which seems too good to be true. Slow driving, small roads. An open-air street trolley, warm wind caressing my face. Colorful buildings, majestic old trees covered in vines. Trees everywhere. A beautiful French quarter, once you get to the quieter streets and can actually observe calmly. I can hear cicadas in the park, and an occasional crow cackling into the humid hot air, which feels like being constantly wrapped in a blanket, or being back in the womb.
I do wonder about the safety of the buildings here. I am currently Couchsurfing and the apartment’s floor slopes downward until you get to my room, which has three beautiful large windows. Cars barely pass by on the street. It’s pretty quiet, though I can hear a rush of cars in the distance. My hearing and body in general are very sensitive, so I’m trying to find a nice place to live where I don’t feel stressed out. I feel the building wobble sometimes when I or my host walks around. In my last post I talked about how the institutional HARD ROCK HOTEL crumbled and killed people. I wonder if I am living in a city that doesn’t protect its people. Europe felt so safe to me, so safe. We had a social system, and Daddy Government did a better job at honoring the social contract (between taxpayers and tax collectors and managers — aka the government).
I keep reading about people, mothers, getting murdered here, and I’m wondering what’s the whole story. A few days ago I read that the tenth woman has been shot dead this year.
Why are mothers getting murdered? Do people have no respect? What values do people live by here? In Hawai’i, it was “Aloha Spirit” which kept people from killing one another. I think about and notice these things, the values and myths which keep people from descending into flesh-eating “anarchy” in every place I’ve lived. (Though I am interested in anarchy as a form of collective living.) I’m also interested in the norms on social media and how trust can be formed with others over the internet, when you are one of the unfortunate digital nomads who keeps up a sense of community through the Internet. And yet here I am, writing for your eyeballs, instead of creating connections with the people who surround me…. Ta Ta for Now…
#new orleans#louisiana#deep south#daddygovernment#anarchy#systems#sociology#anthropology#murder capital#joy of living
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My Trip to Fiji | Stories From a Film and Journalist Student
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On June 25 – July 2, I was one of the 6 students who were chosen to go to Fiji to write stories based of the aftermath of the Cyclone Winston. When I was first told about this trip, I immediately was interested, not only because I’d get to visit another country, but it would be good for my portfolio and I thought ‘why not give it a shot’. Just saying, the idea of me doing this was scary and minimal at best at the time. Why would someone like me, a fangirl, a wannabe YouTuber, get selected to go to Fiji to do such serious task? I signed up for it and hoped for the best.
Remember when I said that the university accepted my portfolio because of my old blog? Well, I was accepted for this trip because I know my way around the use of a camera + YouTube. Yeah… it was my hobby that got me into this gig (as well as my decent grades of course). I was worried because I’m not like the ‘hardcore journalists’ that my peers are, I’m just a kid at best. But my friends told me that I could do this so that gave me the confidence boost I needed.
Plus there was that promise I made and I need to prove myself that I could call myself a journalist.
June 25 | Sunday | Departure
We all arrived at Sydney International Airport at 8 am and the traffic was annoying, but we managed to make it on time. I was freaking out and getting really nervous. All of my Phandom friends were asleep but luckily, someone was online and I was able to talk to them.
And that person was GetLazy’s Chris Crow (thank you time zones).
He managed to calm me down since I was getting stressed and really nervous. There is this joke we share when it comes to travelling where ‘during arriving in another country or just being confronted by boarder security/customs, the officers would ‘probe’ us‘.
It’s a reference to a Daniel Howell YouTube video. He told me that and it made me smile and that did the trick… until he asked me the government system of Fiji. That’s when I panicked again.
Funny that should be said since Sydney’s boarder security literally had its eyes on me. I was sent to the manual security test, I had the brand new electronic metal search (and thought my sock was carrying something illegal) and Fiji Boarder Security because they asked me a bunch of questions and I had to fight my introvertism to answer them correctly.
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When we arrived in Fiji, the airport had views of the mountains and it had that ‘rural aesthetic’ surrounding it. We were greeted with some Fijian music and the temperature was as cold as Sydney’s autumn/early winter.
This will be and exciting 7 days.
June 26 | Monday | First Day of Work
Day 1 and it’s a full on road trip from Nadi to Rakiraki. Long drives in the cars + capturing stories for 2-3 students, it was hectic. We all pitched in to help each other and the landscape is just majestic. It’s very rural (as expected) and it just reminds me of my family road trips back in the Philippines. The food was also good, like I enjoyed eating the hotel food and my peers were really interesting as all have different personalities and stories. It was a slow bonding moment and I got to know them more.
This was also the night when I was able to video chat an online friend for the first time. It was really cool to see their face on video and despite it being short (due to time zones), I cherished that moment. My roommates however had to hear me laugh and my explanation on how much of a weeb (anime/Japanese fan) I am.
June 27 | Tuesday | My Story
Day 2 and I got the reputation as the one who crashes during the car ride. You see, I have mild motion sickness so I will tend to fall asleep in the car. Reason for this is based on my bus rides when I was in primary school back in the Philippines (not a good story). We went to the Rakiraki Markets to work on my story on the farmers and the seeds that the Australian aid provided. It was flourishing with various produce and we spoke with 3 farmers.
We then visited a school and it was the most fun experience as the students were just so happy to be in front of the camera. I was even able to get some inspiration for my story as well. Visiting the school was an eye opener since these kids appreciate everything they’re given and they’re being taught topics that none of us would learn until we reach high school.
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We then arrived in Suva, the country’s capital city. And I FINALLY GET A HOTEL ROOM ALL TO MYSELF!!! Not that I don’t enjoy having roommates but there are things that I rather not them knowing… like submitting my vocals for the ‘LazyTown Forever’ project. I was also glad that I got a queen bed all to myself, so I was able to sleep like a starfish.
Later that night, we went to a karaoke bar and 3 of my peers and I sang our hearts out. I was surprised that they have OPM/Tagalog music in Fiji, I was able to warm up my vocals with Narda. We sang a bunch of other songs and one of my friends started to laugh on the floor during one of the performances. I did sang a song and dedicated it to someone who is really close to me (but the full version will never be released because I was looking back at the footage… nope).
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My throat ended up being a bit rusty the next morning, thank goodness for throat lozenges.
June 28 | Wednesday | Embassy Day
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Day 3… Embassy Day.
This day was serious business, so serious that we are required to wear the school shirts that were given to us before the trip. My friends know how much I was dreading for this day since despite me being mature enough to go, I’m still a goofball.
We visited the University of the South Pacific, the university that students from various islands attend to (eg: PNG, Fiji and etc). Their facilities are really interesting and the have their own radio station! Love it! We also visited Australian Aid to interview the people who helped during the storm and made our way to the Australian High Commission.
Not much happened on this day since once again, it’s all ‘serious business’.
June 29 | Thursday | Sunset Day
We also visited a few luxurious hotels and I was able to do some horseback riding, an activity that I enjoyed doing when I visit Baguio back in the past. There were 3 types of packages – half beach, full beach or a cave tour. The cave tour is basically we visit a cave on a horse and we have a tour guide with us. The story behind the cave (from what I was told) is that there was a war between 2 villages and all the women and children hid in the cave for protection.
I wanted to do the Cave tour but due to time constraints, I can only do the half beach… which was still cool. I was sharing photos to my friend of mine and they thought that the idea of horseback riding is scary due to the angle on how I was taking the selfies.
You see, I have this friend, who I like, and he likes me back, and only a handful of very close people know who this person is. And asides of my plans to take beautiful pictures of this moment, I wanted to video call him so he could see it with me. To me, sunsets are when time slows down and I think it’s very romantic thing to watch it with someone who’s very close to you. The thing was, there was a time zone issue so he was unable to see it. Its ok since he likes the photos and I didn’t ‘fully ask’ him to watch it with me, I gave hints, but I still wished he was able to see it with me.
Just one cheesy romantic moment… is that hard to ask?!
June 30 | Friday | Cloud 9 + Clubbing
Day 5 was our ‘reward day’ for all our hard work and efforts. So to celebrate, we all went to Cloud 9 and clubbing after. So the day started when we travelled to Denarau to go to the ports. There, we signed a lot of paper work before our boat ride to location. The travel time was around 45 minutes and we got wet.
You see, Cloud 9 is a floating bar in the middle of the ocean and the water is really clear and really warm. I slightly regret not bringing my swimming gear but I don’t care, I rather take pictures. I wasn’t a fan of swimming. I mean, I used to be but my family has been forcing me to do the activity too much that it pretty much lost it’s appeal.
Then I got seasick. I got really dizzy thanks to my motion sickness and I was unmotivated to eat or drink. Luckily, one of my classmates has Neurofen on her and I took a nap which did help me recover.
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During my resting period, my journalism teacher decided that it was a good idea for me to make some new friends. So we befriended 2 university students from Scotland. One is a law student and the other studies economics. The guy who studies economics, he’s also a small-tuber and we both chatted about making videos and what not. He noticed my camera that’s laying on the ground and asked me about the brand and how often I take photos. I showed him the photos I took the day before on the sunset and he like them.
My classmates then tell me that he was actually flirting with me.I freaked out, reason being… because I like someone else. I didn’t want to believe that but there was lowkey shipping and my journalism teacher thinks that it’s a good idea for me to be more open with him and flirt with other people. None of these people know how uncomfortable this makes me (and none of them knows that I’m demiromantic). My classmates invited them and some British students to come to dinner and clubbing with us.
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I didn’t want to believe that someone was actually flirting with me but a part of me enjoyed the attention (a bit). I wore a dress because I knew I was going out and who knows, someone might be brave enough to talk to me. Everyone saw me and they were like “Oh… Erielle is out to impress someone… perhaps it’s Mr Scotland”.
Maybe I was planning to do some flirting. Maybe I dressed up because I want someone to flirt with me. Maybe I wanted to break the laws of being ‘demiromantic’ and be brave to like someone for other reasons than their personality. I thought my first experience clubbing, I would get drunk and get really hyper that people might enjoy that ‘hidden version’ side of me. Maybe drunk call my friend and say stupid sh*t.
But none of that happened.
Instead, I was sitting awkwardly with 2 orange vodkas and the guy who I met in Cloud 9, no interest on me whatsoever. He didn’t talk or say anything. No one went close to me (thank god cuz it was like a jungle out there) and I just felt… out of place. This made me realise that clubbing isn’t for me and what everyone told me about ‘looking attractive’ is total bullshit. You don’t need to look attractive or ‘dress up’ to let people like you.
The person who I was currently crushing on at the time thought I was worth a shot and was willing to know more about me (despite him finding me in the most millennial way possible… online [sorry mum and dad]).
July 1 | Saturday | The Final Night
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Day 6 and my Seed Story started to take shape. My journalism teacher liked it and I just have to put on the final touches when I arrive home. We first visited the Sleeping Giant and went on a nature walk. Not much could be said except it was a nice relaxing walk but since I had a DSLR on me, I was struggling to catch up. Next up was the Sabeto mud pools which was near the Sleeping Giant (a mountain range). While most of my peers went to do a mud bath, my journalism teacher and I decided to have a Fijian massage. It was really relaxing and afterwards, I got to know more about the venue that I will write a story next week or so.
None of us wanted that night to end.
July 2 | Sunday | Arrival
Day 7 and it was time to leave Fiji.
We arrived at Sydney, 4 of us planned to find a way to be in the same Digital Journalism class together next year, we said our goodbyes, and returned home.I arrived at my bedroom… and fell asleep.
My trip to Fiji was one of the most fun experiences I had this year as it was my first time traveling alone to another country. My first impressions when going to this trip was an idea of going to different villages but I was mistaken. Fiji has so much to offer and it was quite a shame that it ended so quickly.
What I learned during this trip is to be prepared. I realised that I should have brought out my own mic when recording my stories as it would save me the trouble from having terrible sound and fixing it in post editing. I also learned that studying in university isn’t enough. You need to be exposed/immersed on what you’re learning. When working on my story, as well as helping others with their stories using my camera, I was exposed to various situations like I was on the job and everything was mostly hands-on work.
What I found challenging in the trip is my social skills. I’m an introvert and I hardly socialise with others. This trip requires mass socialisation with both the locals, the other tourist, and the staff and students that came with us. Most of the time, I needed to get out of my shell and I had to interact with these people rather than just starring on my phone all day.
Yes, I will admit that I was on my phone during some parts of the trip and I did isolate myself from others during a few days but I also did try to push myself to talk to others.
What I enjoyed the most in this trip the bond me and my fellow peers and staff had during the 7 day trip. We were all different in multiple ways that no one was similar with each other, meaning we all had our own different story and different ways on helping each other out.
Basically, the whole trip was very enjoyable that it’s quite hard to find a favourite.
This whole trip was a very transformational experience for me. I was exposed before of the developing lifestyle when I travelled to the Philippines but being hands-on and interacting with the locals just puts everything in a whole new perspective. When we visited the school in Rakiraki, I saw that these kids are being taught about ‘anti-rape’ and ‘drugs’ in such a young age and they appreciate everything they currently have. I also realised how much hard work everyone in Fiji has done in order to get back on their feet and how they appreciate the little things they have, own, and received. I learned that I should be more appreciative with what I have and know that there are people who are really grateful to what very little they have.
Overall, this trip was very moving and I had a blast. I’m considering doing it again when I reach third year. Asha and Margot were both amazing as lecturers. I made some new friends and we plan to be in the same Digital Journalism class in third year.
I’m very grateful to be part of this experience and hope to do it again sometime in the future.
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Career - Part Two
The year was 1986. The place was San Bernardino, California. The operating system was VAX/VMS. The temperature was 120 degrees (but it was a dry heat). The air was thick with smog and anticipation. I had become an employee of TRW, the Thompson, Ramo, Woolridge corporation. It was famous for auto parts, apparently, but I was working in its Ballistic Missile Division (Oh yeah, global thermonuclear warfare. Cool.). Even before I started working, I felt infinitely more comfortable in California. It’s a place where you don’t have to be born there to fit in. You don’t even have to fit in – you can just be yourself. My semi-Hispanic appearance didn’t matter at all here. It’s a cultural melting pot. We have Hispanic and Asian people that have been here for generations, or that just arrived and are here to find a better life, and to work hard for it. Black people here, never having had to deal with Jim Crow laws (just systemic judicial discrimination, redlining, and police brutality), are integrated into society, for the most part. Every year, the Rose Parade is broadcast to millions of freezing Americans on New Years’ Day, and they see the warm weather and move out here before the winter is over. Aspiring actors and actresses move out here from the Midwest every day and fulfill the needs of our food service industry. With all these disparate cultures entwined together in a vast tangle of clogged freeways, we don’t expect everyone to look, dress, speak, or act like everyone else. It frees the soul. It also makes traffic a nightmare.
I hired into a group of about 10 programmers. It was on Norton Air Force Base in a huge warehouse-like building, in a large office that had several smaller offices inside it. Most of the programmers were young. There were some other programming groups in our hallway, and we had an informal metagroup called the Young Engineers Club. Too many of the young engineers came from the University of Florida, the alma mater of Howard Grossman, who was our Division manager – our boss’s boss. I liked Howard. He would meet with the new hires every summer and tell them how to save money. Pick n’ Save was his go to suggestion. The Florida alumnae tended to clump together and do things like watch Gator football games together on Saturdays. (Author’s note: I hate the University of Florida more than a reasonable person should. It’s my issue to deal with, but I’ve chosen not to do anything about it, except let it simmer and fester.) The rest of us would rarely, but occasionally go out and do something as a group, and the Gator folks would occasionally grace us with their presence. One such occasion was soon after I arrived.
I was still staying at the Hilton as I searched for an apartment. We went out to a bar that was just across the street from the Hilton. Reminder: I still didn’t drink, but I was hanging out. It looked like there was another work group that was also there hanging out. There were some ladies in that group – one in particular caught my eye. We spotted each other from across the dance floor. I had barely seen a beautiful Latina in person since I moved from Texas. We walked toward each other and met on the dance floor. If you’ve seen the movie Saturday Night Fever, you have some idea of our dance moves on the floor that night. The idea was worthy, but the real dancing was just some rhythmic shuffling, waiting for a slow dance. We hung out and talked as best as we could over the music, and I met some of her colleagues. They all worked for a copy machine company as sales reps. I didn’t need to worry about sticking with my own colleagues much because I was just walking back across the street. When the copier ladies went home, though, the other ladies gave my Latina beauty and me a quiet moment to say a proper goodnight. She gave me her business card and said to call her at work, and we could get together some more. (Still no cell phones, remember?) OK, so, did she tell me to call her at work because she gave me her business card? I mean, women always have a pen in their purse, right? She could have written her home phone on the back. (You see, kids, phone numbers used to be associated with houses and apartments, instead of people. Every house and apartment would have one or more telephones in it, and people would call the house and ask whoever answered if they could speak with someone who lived in that domicile.) Well, I suspect you’re a bit ahead of. the me from back then. I guess I wanted to believe it could happen with the two of us, but we all know that she was living with a dude. But all of that is beside the point. I’m only telling you this to set up the first of three “What are the chances?” scenarios.
Back at work, I was given some time to learn the operating system and programming environment. We did our projects in Fortran, but we used interactive terminals instead of punch cards and green striped printer paper. How modern. I made up some scientific programming scenarios for myself and banged them out with both speed and quality. My boss was impressed and had me help on a couple of existing projects. I was off to a good start and loving the work.
Back to my personal life, I found an apartment complex near the University of California at Riverside (UCR) that would let me sign a lease there. They needed to pull a few strings because my previous salary did not qualify me, even though my current salary was sufficient. You see, my current salary was just my future salary until I got my first paycheck. I got in and it was a nice apartment that was within my new budget. It was a bit of a drive from Riverside to San Bernardino, but I was young and didn’t hate driving yet. Since I didn’t know anybody in the entire state of California, I wanted to start off living near a college campus. I figured it would be just generally more vibrant around there. I looked at the map around Cal State San Bernardino, which was closer to work, but it looked very isolated out on the very edge of the city. I was also starting to get the message that the city of San Bernardino was not at all a safe place to live (other than a very wealthy area up by the country club). Being in a truly multicultural region meant that I was back to having a viable dating life, and my apartment complex had several candidates right there.
Of particular interest was a lovely young lady named Peggy. She was a nursing student at Loma Linda University, she enjoyed sports and played a little tennis, golf, and rode horses, and we did all those things together. We enjoyed similar popular music, and we just generally enjoyed each other’s company. The only thing that concerned me was that she was a Seventh Day Adventist. I had just come from Utah and had to deal with Mormons, and I didn’t know what kind of Adventist things I’d have to deal with. It turned out that Adventists were vegetarians and didn’t drink, and back then I was also a vegetarian, and I’ve never drunk alcohol. But I was wary. Then one day, Peggy knocked on my door, and I saw her beautiful, smiling face, beaming with excitement. Then she showed me two tickets and told me, breathlessly, that she had bought us tickets to go see the musical ‘Cats!’ in Los Angeles. I lost my mind for a moment, but I really hated the music from that show, and I never wanted to see it, so I told her no thank you. Ouch. That was the beginning of the end of our relationship. Andrew Lloyd Webber is what allowed me to ultimately meet my wife and sire my children. Thank you, Sir Andrew! (Sorry Peggy, but it had to be done.)
There were a couple of attractive single women at work, but I never felt like it was appropriate to be hitting on women at work. Having said that, our office had hired a recent graduate of the University of North Carolina named Susan Mills. She was scheduled to arrive a couple of months after I started, and I was looking forward to seeing what she was like. Well, she showed up and she was fairly attractive – I mean, you can never be too skinny, right? She also had a sweet little southern drawl, which got me again. We started dating. Remember when I said I never wanted to date someone who would dump someone else for me? Well, she dumped her North Carolina boyfriend for me, then dumped me for Brian from work, and then dumped Brian for Brendan from work. She did wind up marrying Brendan, though. But all of that is beside the point. I’m only telling you this to set up the second of three “What are the chances?” scenarios.
As far as tennis was concerned, being in southern California was the best. Courts were everywhere, you could play outside year-round, there were lots of players, and lots of good players. I did join an affordable tennis club in Colton when I first moved to Riverside, but I also found a couple of guys I could hit with at UCR. I moved to Redlands after my lease was up in Riverside, and I discovered that the locals played at the University of Redlands through an organization called the Redlands Racquet Club. You could only play on the University courts if you were a student, faculty, or a member of the RRC. There were quite a few good players there, and I spent much of my outdoor time there. With a full-time job and taking some extra programming classes, I wasn’t in the best shape in my life, but I was playing my best tennis. I signed up for local United States Tennis Association (USTA) sanctioned tournaments on the weekends, mostly in San Bernardino or Riverside, and did well. My first full year, I wound up being ranked #6 in the Inland Empire. (A metropolitan area and region inland of and adjacent to coastal Southern California, centering around the cities of San Bernardino and Riverside, and bordering Los Angeles County to the west.) I also won several tournaments at the Redlands Racquet Club, but there were a couple of guys there that had my number. At RRC, I met some younger guys that I became friends with, but I also rubbed elbows with a lot of the movers and shakers in Redlands. I never wanted to be one of them, but it was nice to say I knew Judge Whatshisname or Dr. Thatdude, or Mrs. Bigdeal. One guy I played with at RRC would play on his lunch hour sometimes with Ed Rae, the VP of the whole Ballistic Missile Division of TRW. Ed was incredibly nice and justifiably revered. One time I was a little late getting back to the office, and I told my boss I was sorry, but I was playing tennis with Ed Rea, and we ran a little long, and she reacted like I was playing with President Reagan.
Back in the office, I got my security clearance, so I was able to work on a broader range of projects. Unfortunately, if I told you about them, I’d have to kill you. I can say that I got to learn about discrete event simulation software, and I started processing geographic locations. I also got to learn the Ada programming language, since it was becoming mandatory to write certain types of government software using Ada. It was very interesting work. I was encouraged by my boss to take advantage of the company’s generous training subsidies, and I started taking computer classes through the UCR extension program. I took some important courses that are critical to professional software development – particularly Data Structures and Algorithms.
Work was going well for me. I found myself working on more diverse projects to support both internal and external projects. We got some PCs in the office, and I got to work on some projects using Turbo Pascal, an innovative new development environment that used a new concept called Object Oriented Programming (OOP).
Object-oriented programming is a programming paradigm based on the concept of "objects", which can contain data and code: data in the form of attributes, and code, in the form of methods. Objects sometimes correspond to things found in the real world. For example, a graphics program may have objects such as "circle", "square", "menu". An online shopping system might have objects such as "shopping cart", "customer", and "product". Sometimes objects represent more abstract entities, like an object that represents an open file, or an object that provides the service of translating measurements from U.S. customary to metric. Encapsulation is design principle that encourages programmers to put all the code that is concerned with a certain set of data in the same class, which organizes it for easy comprehension by other programmers. Objects can contain other objects in their instance variables; this is known as object composition. For example, an object in the Employee class might contain an object in the Address class, in addition to its own instance variables like "FirstName" and "Position". Object composition is used to represent "has-a" relationships: every employee has an address, so every Employee object has access to a place to store an Address object. Inheritance allows classes to be arranged in a hierarchy that represents "is-a-type-of" relationships. For example, class Employee might inherit from class Person. All the data and methods available to the parent class also appear in the child class with the same names.
Another pivotal project for me was at an off-site secret-clearance building. I was working on a project on yet another operating system: Sun Microsystems UNIX workstation. This project exposed me to another operating system (UNIX), a new programming language (C), and a new graphics application programming interface (OpenGL). I can’t tell you what I did (or, you know, I’d have to kill you), but I had to draw a map of the world, overlay graphics on top of the map, and in separate windows, draw various types of charts. This was a lot to learn, but I was really digging all of it, and I soaked it up quickly and built some powerful tools. I also worked on a system for the department’s library. I was really enjoying this stuff, and, as a defense contractor, I was only allowed to work 8 hours a day*. So, I had plenty of time and energy to work on projects on my home PC. I used Turbo Pascal because I liked it, but I also built some libraries and sample programs in Turbo C just to learn it. You could build bigger and more memory-intensive programs in C than in Turbo Pascal, because you have more control over memory allocation/deallocation. I built a modeling and simulation library, a charting library, and, years before the Windows Operating System came out, I built a mouse-based graphical user interface (GUI) library. You see, kids, back in olden times, PCs ran an operating system called the Disk Operating System (DOS). When you turned on your computer, you got a prompt to type in a command. For real. That was it. Then you had to know what to type into the command prompt.
*When I worked in the off-site secret location, I had to be in a rotation of people that would stay at the sight overnight, because one of our employees had to be there 24/7. Cha ching, though.
I built a GUI library that allowed you to build an application that would take over the screen and show a menu that you could manipulate with either the keyboard or the mouse. The menus were designed to bring up dialogs, also included in the library, or you could draw graphics in the screen area. Why did I mention these details? Stay tuned.
All the cool development I was able to work on, however, was set against the backdrop of global thermonuclear war. I had one project, in particular, that haunted my dreams. I was commissioned to build a system that would tally up body counts (in millions of lives lost) in various nuclear attack and counter-attack scenarios. I built various graphical representations of the carnage data and several modeling and simulation methods. I remember sitting on the lawn at the Redlands Bowl, looking up at the heavens, (resembling a backlit canopy with holes punched in it) and visualizing in my mind missiles slowly streaking across the sky, heading for Norton AFB. It happened to me more than once. That’s disturbing. I would describe myself as a pragmatic pacifist, meaning I think violence should only be used as a last resort. I don’t watch many war movies or documentaries. I think people should love each other – not kill each other. I wouldn’t mind working somewhere that wasn’t an arm of the military.
One day, Julie’s sister Janis gave me a want ad from the local paper about a programming job at a company in Redlands. You see kids, before the internet, we had to print the latest information about the world every day on pieces of paper and we called it a “newspaper”. People could, among other things, advertise job openings in a section of the paper called “The Want Ads”. This job opening was for a C programmer on a PC that had experience with graphics, mapping, and GUI development. Between the development I was doing on my home PC and the work I was doing in the secret lab, I had just the right experience. Was my time at TRW coming to an end? Would I leave the security of a giant defense contractor for a small local company?
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Mine — Kaz Brekker
(photo not mine)
Requests: “9 from the fluff prompts with Kaz brekker please? It could be where they're keeping it a secret and it slips out? Thanks”
“Could you possibly do a kaz brekker and reader imagine where they are both like in their mid twenties. Number 9 from the fluff prompts “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?" "No, that girl is my wife”, I could just imagine him with the smuggest grin saying it. Your a very good writer and thank you if you decide to write this.”
“Could I get a kaz brekker x reader secret relationship with fluff prompts 5, 7, 12, and 14 please?”
Fluff prompts:
5. ”Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.”
7. “I feel like i cant breathe when i’m around you.”
9. “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?!" "No, that girl is my wife!”
12. “I’m not jealous! Its just...you’re mine!”
14. “I don’t like to pretend we’re not together.”
Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader
Warnings: swearing, mention of fights, mention of post-traumatic stress, fluff too.
Word count: 2k.
A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like. I changed some details a little, hope you don't mind
Normal Rules. Smut Rules.
English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.
Requests are open. Love you❤️
— — — —
Fissure. That's what mercenaries, thieves, assassins and his enemies were looking for. A fissure to drive Kaz Brekker to ruin. Burn his empire, wood for wood, until there is nothing left but funeral ashes swept away by the winter wind. Even the most infinitesimal fissure would ensure that his enemies infiltrate, like hungry parasites, into the heart of the dungeon of his deepest secrets. Swallowing, absorbing, any hint of what could do the infamous the Bastard of the Barrel down to his own knees.
And Kaz Brekker feared that if they looked into the most secluded corner of his dungeons, where it was reserved to hide the greatest truths of his soul, they would find the one only thing to beg on his knees for would be something he would do without hesitation.
You.
You were like the last summer solstice in a world ruled by darkness, cold and empty. Which he kept in a chest locked with seven chains.
If he had to describe you with the five senses, Brekker would remind that, when he was in the bitter cold of the ocean, clutching the stiffness of dead and putrefying flesh like a lifeboat, a ray of sunshine, warm as the summer, it opened up through the thunderclouds and came down to his face, warming that spot of skin like a kiss from the sun.
And it would be with that memory that he would describe you.
Kaz Brekker shouldn't have fallen in love with you. He was the person who most understood the disastrous consequences if he let himself get carried away by the way his heart sped up whenever he saw you. If he allowed herself to taste the way all of your heat radiated into his body and made him feel alive. But he fell in love.
Everything was all too much. The feeling of life every time you said his name, like a devotion, something religious, lyrical. The sweetness in your eyes, the warm voice. Everything had been too much.
And what should he do? Tell you he missed you every time you went on a mission? Saying that he were jealous and envy of Jesper because the man managed to make you laugh with a silly joke and hug you tight, something Kaz still hadn't been able to do? Tell you it was almost religious the way he venerated your smile? Of course not. Because all these things would have been sensible, and Kaz couldn't do anything sensible around you.
Because when he saw life offering him, with such joy, the one thing that had been denied him all his life, and that he swore never to crave, his first impulse was anger. Stupid, irrational anger.
So, for the first few moments, his entire reaction to you had been cold, distant, almost avoidant. Because the way his whole body shook in hot spasms when, in that summery tone, you called his name, it was too much for Kaz to handle.
“Kaz!” You call, one night.
He heard your voice from across the crow club, and had to close his eyes tightly at the way his heart leapt in his chest.
"Hey, hey." You appeared beside him, your cheeks chased away by coral red, the happy smile and the sparkle in your eyes as someone who have the path to true happiness. "Jessy said you were wanting to find a new way to invade that bank."
Oh perfect. In the same way his body exalted when he heard the sound of your name and your lips, hearing you call Jesper by that infernal nickname had a much more destabilizing effect. And fierce.
Kaz raised an eyebrow at you, in a nonchalant gesture but inviting you to keep talking.
“I happen to know of an underground path.” For an instant, the pride in your smile made Kaz want to smile too. “You and I can put together a map today and we'll be right tomorrow to go.”
That was one of the times Kaz should have made some dry, disinterested, trivial comment, something that made you not want to spend time with him, something that made you turn around and walk away. He should have turned around and left. He had done this over a thousand times with other people and knew it to be one of the best outings.
Still, the acid comment didn't come and he couldn't turn his back on you.
So, like the idiot he became whenever it came to you, Kaz couldn't help but spend an hour in your company. Even if it resulted in him lying in bed at the end of the day, alone and feeling the guilt gnawing at him more and more.
So, before he even knew it, Kaz was already in his office with you, listening to you chatter about things he knew he should have been paying attention to. But the way the crackling of the fire flames in the fireplace flashed across your face was a distraction of unimaginable proportions.
“Jessy and I…”
“You want to stop.” He found himself saying before he even realized it. “That nickname is already exasperating me.”
“Why? Jealousy?” You joked, oblivious to the truth.
Kaz looked at you like your comment was the most pathetic thing he'd ever heard. He wanted to screaming: ‘I’m not jealous! Its just...you’re mine!.’ But he didn't. Instead, the words that came out were:
“No. It's childish and immature, and it doesn't fit with...”
"What if I call you ‘Darling’?” You rested your chin on both palms of your hand, your elbows resting on his desk in his office.
Kaz's heart skipped a beat.
“That way you won't be jealous of Jessy's nickname and…”
“It's not jealousy!” He countered, and too late realized that he didn't disagree in the first instance about the nickname, but about the green color that emanated from his body.
And you didn't let that go either.
Your eyes took on a caustic gleam that you quickly hid, turning to the map on the table and going back to drawing the paths. “Okay, Darling.”
After that night, Kaz's self-control began to crumble.
He gave you death glares whenever you called him that nickname, but he never dared contradict or scold you. Much less deny it. The truth was, the core of his soul wanted this. He wanted every part of your caress warm as summer. He wanted to appreciate how perfect you looked when you called him that way. As if that nickname was born just to be used between you.
Something unique.
Over time, his body's physical reactions began to be stronger, coercive and overwhelming. Kaz felt dry, burning, and you soothed and inflamed him at the same time. You were the breath of peace, and also a glass of hot brandy.
And everything that he once felt dead, frozen or putrefying, slowly began to blossom, reborn and shine.
"Darling." You said, going behind the chair Kaz was sitting in, submerged in the Krisha security system sheets in front of he. “You've been there for hours.”
He ignored you, though his body was all too aware of yours behind him, the way your breath hit the top of his ear, how your heat hit his back like a high summer breeze. Kaz swallowed hard, ordering his eyes to stay on the pages.
“What are you reading?”
Your voice rang out from the top of his head, and Kaz felt his heart race into a cardiac arrhythmia the second your hands went to the back of the chair and your face tilted, chin hovering millimeters from his shoulder, your nose almost brushing his cheek.
Fucking Saints! You were hot! It was as if you had sun bathed, swam in the flames of fire, and been born into the summer.
Kaz lost his breath. His sanity. His soul.
“Do not do this.” His voice was no more than a whisper.
You looked at him, the furs not touching but breath hitting each other's cheeks. Kaz followed your gaze, and suddenly the world subtly turned hot. Pulsing and muffled.
“What?” You whispered, your heart so fast.
This was the time for Kaz to use the touche in a very valid argument. To make you move away as fast as you approached. To nip in the bud any path this interaction between you could take. He should have said about the touch. But he didn't remember. Kaz didn't remember his limitation, his traumas, his demons.
In that second, of insanity and magic, you couldn't do that just because…
"I feel like I cant breathe when I'm around you." He said.
After that day, Kaz realized that life no longer made sense without having you by his side to share it. Money didn't have the same value anymore if you weren't there, the robberies didn't make sense anymore if he couldn't tell you how it was at the end of the day, or have you by his side to fight.
Very quickly, Kaz Brekker realized that he had lost the battle against his own feelings. Loving you was inevitable. And having you close to him was made as essential as breathing. That's when things between the two of you developed faster, more solid, more right. The weeks turned to months, the months to years, and your relationship fortified as gloriously as the hilt of a sword.
Kaz still had very difficult moments with touching, days when a single brush of fur was unbearable and the mention of a kiss was impossible. But you stayed there. Firm and unshakable. Giving your summer smiles,your warm winks, and his nickname that had the power to soothe every nerve in Kaz's body.
However, the more Kaz understand that he was need you to he still live, the deeper he hid any trace of public affection for you. Any clue that could sparked the theory in someone that you were the reason, for Brekker, for the sun rose every morning. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Never.
Kaz Brekker became very aware that his soul was harnessed to yours. And there was nothing in the world that would take you away from he. Not while he lived, and even seven feet from land, Kaz would still find a way to fight for you.
It was a logical decision when he said you two should get married. Kaz was still trying to maintain his serene posture as his soul burned in a fire too eager and excited to make official anything that said you were his. That he had finally managed to have that ray of sunshine in the midst of the atrocious ocean. You, unlike him, exhaled your happiness in excited squeals, little jumps of joy and a passionate, quick kiss on the man in front of you.
And Kaz understood, as perfectly as the sky are blue, that he would do anything, for the rest of his life, to be worthy of that overwhelming happiness that sparkled in yours smiles.
“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.” He said, feeling himself smile because your happiness for the wedding was exorbitant.
And you, like the little tease you were who loved to make him piss off, smiled even more and hugged him. He love you. Unconditionally.
But, just like the ocean waves, Kaz and you have had your ups and downs. He wasn't a man who had a lot of patience, and you weren't the most obedient, calm woman in the world. You found him exasperating and he found you as stubborn as a door.
"I already said you can't do that!" And there he was, once again, lecturing you because you showed too much affection, in his mind, for him in a public situation.
And, as Kaz fucking Brekker liked to point out, ‘all walls have eyes and ears’.
"We've been together for six years, Kaz!" You tried to keep your blood calm, but you weren't a person to put up with sermons. “Is this going to be our life? Living as if we have the same connection as a boss and an employee?!”
“And what do you want, Y/n?!” He placed both hands on his office desk, looking at you from the other side “Want us to have a party and tell everyone?! Or do you prefer to hang a red target on your chest?!”
"I did not say that!" You were starting to get really angry. “I'm not asking for a billboard saying we're married and you know it! The only thing I'm saying is that you let me choose to sit next to you, take your hand, or tell you I love you when any of us go off on a dangerous mission!"
Kaz shook his head, impassable, his gaze flashing with anger. How did you not realize he was trying to save you?! Save everything you two built, your lives! And all this for what? Walking hand in hand on the street? It was ridiculous!
“This is indisputable!”
“Kaz…”
“I said no!” He slapped his hands on the table.
A less brave woman would have cringed. But not you.
“I don’t like to pretend we’re not together!”
“And I don't like a fucking girl who complains all the fucking time about something I do to save her! But it feels like I've been put up with it for six years, doesn't it?!”
The words hit you like a slap. Crackling, burning and electrifying. You felt yourself holding your breath and your shoulders instinctively tightening back. The room was silent. Loaded with tension, as if lightning had just hit the ground.
You looked at Kaz in amazement. And he pursed his lips when he realized what he'd said.
“Put up with? And you call me ‘fucking girl’ ?” You repeated, your voice low, serious and in a mixture of hurt and outrage. “Good to know.”
You turned your back, walking out of the office and slamming the door behind you hard, making the thud reverberate through the corridors of Kaz's soul.
"Y/n!" He called you, striding to the door "Y/n!"
But when Kaz pulled the doorknob and took a few steps down the hall, it wasn't you he bumped into. It was Nina, trying to hide, in a very terrible way, her curious and shocked expression. In female hands she carried a small stack of documents, probably something important that Kaz needed to check.
He had to check that out. But his eyes, restless and quick, wandered the great hall of the crow club below, watching your figure pass between the bodies, advancing towards the exit.
"Sooo…" Nina started, even though the attention wasn't on her. "Couple fights, right?"
But Kaz didn't think before nodding, trying to get past Nina to catch up with you. But of course the girl wasn't going to let Brekker get away with it that quickly. She was betting with Inej how long you two would pretend to have nothing. And now she was going to get the truth!
"So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?" The smile of shock and excitement was wide open on her face.
Kaz muttered a curse, gently pushing the girl aside and moving towards the stairs, aiming to catch up with you. But not before answering:
"No, that girl is my wife!"
#kaz brekker fluff#kaz brekker imagine#kaz brekker fanfic#kaz x kruge#kaz brekker x you#kaz brekker x y/n#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker#kaz x jesper#shadow and bone imagine#shadow and bone#freddy carter x you#freddy carter imagines#freddy carter fluffy#freddy carter x reader#freddy carter
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Venus & the Sun
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
A/N: I felt compelled to write this because the thought of Spence hating mornings keeps me up - which then causes me to also hate mornings because I’m tired, it truly is a tragic cycle. also! here’s my masterlist!
Word Count: 1.6k
Summary: Dragging a grumpy & sleepy Spencer out to a picnic on the water where the view was far more than he bargained for
Warnings: Early mornings A tiny bit suggestive, but predominantly just fluff galore <3
Whether Venus is named the Morning or Evening Star depends on what side of the sun it indwells. When the planet glistens and gleams from the eastern sky, it’s a telltale sign it’ll rise before the sun - namely becoming the Morning Star. If Spencer had it his way, he would not be awake before midday on a Saturday morning. If Spencer had it his way, he would continue to snore for some while longer, dreaming - visions of a maladaptive cottage in the Swiss Alps, a handful of mountain goats sprinkled about tufts of unmown alpine grass - certainly not giving a second thought towards planetary placements of a cosmos he never wished to be part of. But Spencer did not have it his way this morning.
She always called Spencer her sun, but he believed that if this were to be true, she was his Venus; arising from the left side of his bed, sparkling and lighting up the world, most mornings, before he had even opened his eyes. The way in which she looked at him made him believe that the ancient Romans had been right about a deity of Venus, a goddess of love and beauty, his proof being the woman by his side. After wheedling him out of the comfort of rumpled sheets, with saccharine kisses and promises of more, at six o’clock, on the dot, she swept him away in a direction he recognised as towards the pier. It was the last place he would go in his free time, but because he was with her, he didn’t mind. As they journeyed on foot towards the sea, missing the growl of the car radiator, it became noticeable how winter lingered in the air, chasing joggers and haunting places where the daylight was yet to reach, as if it had unfinished business even Spring couldn’t prevent it from completing.
Spencer felt no remorse towards anyone he hurt in the mornings. The time he spent existing, before half a litre of caffeine was sent down to his kidneys for filtration, angered him. She knew it, too. Always giving him space as he grumbled, with furrowed brows, at anything that moves, often resorting to giggling quietly and observing his shenanigans from a distance - usually involving a wrestle with a hot jug. As they walked, his fingers found the spaces between hers, grasping firmly to prevent the crisp air from streaming through to their bones. She chuckled at the tender action contrasting his expression. “What?” He scowled humorously. “Oh, nothing,” she suppressed a smile. The scowl turned confused. “You’re just very adorable, even when you despise me,” she teased. “I don’t despise you, I actually love you very much,” the sentence rolled off his tongue like a statistic, “I despise being awake.” At that, a grin broke across her face. “In fact, I think that being awake at this hour should be criminalised, I’ll pass the bill myself,”
“Good luck getting a representative to sponsor that bill, Doctor President,”
“I work for the government. I have connections,”
“And they say this democracy isn’t corrupt,” she grimaced, only partly joking. She saw his laughter in a huff of foggy breath at her comment. “Anyway, when was the last time you had a proper breakfast?” She asked. Spencer thought about it for a moment. Yesterday, if espresso and inhaling air particles counts, he thought. “That… is a… trick question, pretty lady.” The corners of his mouth twitched from behind where his coat collar stood upturned, sufficing in the absence of a scarf, knowing that any answer he provided wouldn’t impress her. Without response, she just held his hand impossibly tighter, walking the tiniest bit quicker.
An unwieldily wicker basket dangled from his fingers, knuckles blue from the early air while they continued on their stroll along the promenade. “You can dismantle the patriarchy another day, Y/N. Please let me carry this for you,” Spencer had asked, insisting she carried the picnic blanket instead. Prevailing winds raced to hide within the drapes of his trench-coat, hiking it outwards behind him in the dramatic way it might if he were on a runway. Over the phone line, she would tell him, “Careful, you may be tempted to leave the BAU if you get scouted by Prada,” whenever she knew he was sat in a budget-meeting hotel room in Los Angeles or New York, wrestling with chopsticks and a container of cold noodles and undoubtedly working a case after hours. Never did he believe her, always taking her flattery with a grain of salt. “Absolutely not. For Givenchy though, I definitely might consider it.” She recalled his response. He acutely remembered the way she’d laughed on the other line, yearning to be the reason she did, forever. Admiring her lover, she struggled to comprehend how everyone in the world didn’t see the same things she saw. He had a beautiful soul. That’s what shone through every crack in his skin.
Brine toothed sea mist had corroded bolts on the wharf over time, the slight stench of rusted metal taking their nostrils time to adjust to. She began laying down the thick flannel sheet over the dewy wood, careful as to not fall over the edge. “Now, I know you prefer sunsets, but trust me, after today you will change your mind,” she chirped, patting down the blanket. Spencer thought he preferred being alone, she changed his mind on that also, and so, he trusted her words unapologetically. “I’m sure of it,” he beamed at her, placing the basket down with a soft thud before cracking his, now, nearly transparent knuckles. “You look like you’re freezing!” She half whispered and half yelled, rushing to take his hands, cupping his much larger ones in hers and puffing out warm breaths of air in order to thaw his joints. After all, the jacket around her shoulders was one that belonged to him, it was the least she could do. Shaking his head at her actions, completely enamoured by the way she fiddled with his fingers to provide some friction, he turned to glance at the hills in the distance, the night falling and stars dissolving into day, like granules of sugar in hot tea. He looked back at her, catching her eyes, already gazing up at him. “I sense you’re about to tell me something I don’t know about sunrises,” she tilted her head. “Close,” he nodded, grin wider than the horizon before them, “I was going to tell you about Venus.” Pointing at the remaining speck of glitter in the sky, he wrapped an arm around her. “The ancient Greeks and Egyptians actually believed that Venus was two separate celestial bodies. A morning star, which the Greeks called Phosphoros, ‘the bringer of light’, and an evening star, Hesperos, ‘the star of the evening’. It wasn’t until a few hundred years later, that they realised that Venus was actually a single planet.” She nodded along, absorbing the new information before cupping his jaw in her palms to feel his lips between her own. “What was that for?” Spencer giggled after pulling away, not opposed to the action. “Just proving to the goddess of beauty and love that I do, very much, love a beautiful person.” The dawn breaking illuminated the rose flush on Spencer’s cheeks. “Fun fact, it’s actually the hottest planet in our solar system. Kind of…” he swallowed looking down at his shoes for a brief moment, “kind of reminds me of you,” he smirked, still an amateur to the skill they call flirting. Shaking her head at him, flustered, she sat down on the sheet motioning for him to take a seat beside her, before unpacking the basket.
A small fishing boat coursed through the water, its hull parting the ocean from Atlantic to symmetrical fountain streams, which were immediately pinned back into place, the way a cobalt fabric cut by the scissors of a seamstress would fall to her worktable. Sitting cross legged above the water, Spencer, from a large flask, poured two much needed cups of coffee, the bright pink ’S’ decorating his one making him raise a brow. She handed him a spread bagel, topped with fluorescent streaks of smoked salmon and cracks of pepper, on a small wooden chopping board, heart fluttering at how his jaw dropped slightly in excitement. “It’s Philly Cream Cheese, by the way, I know you love dairy but I made sure this didn’t have any in it anyway.” A soft smile settled on his lips. “Thank you,” he expressed his gratitude, “for all of this,” he clarified, as he finished chopping up various stone fruit into a woven basket. “Don’t mention it. I just wanted to spend more hours of the day with you,”
“That’s very sweet, but I see exactly what you’re doing. I hope you don’t expect that this’ll get me up at this hour every weekend,”
“Mhm,” a smug look made its way onto her face, “You already know I have other ways of getting you up early on Saturdays,”
“Oh? Okay, was that a-“ he had on an incredulous look, “I’m going to hold you to that,” he chewed down on his lip. She raised her eyebrows at his words.
“Cheers,” she held up her cup for a toast. “Cheers,” Spencer repeated, the soft clink of metal sounding over the crows of gulls overhead. They huddled into each other, watching the vibrance of sunlight meld together like dyes on an artists’s unwashed watercolour palette. Needless to say, she was not at all disappointed when the star of the morning finally disappeared, because a sky full of them could be found in the eyes of the man she called hers, and as he turned to face her, before his hand settled in her hair and apricot flavoured tongue reached her lips, she saw it, for a moment.
#maybe this is all i want#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds imagine#matthew gray gubler#mgg fanfiction#mgg fic#mgg#mine: writing
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Meeting the Personal Assistant
Well, well, I got sidetracked. Again. Sigh. After watching to many Karens and reading about Juneteenth, and the Code Noir, which is the French version of the Black Codes/ Jim Crow Laws, my blood boiled so much I almost burst an artery. I had to write instead and transcript my feelings.
Words: 5k...oh my god..
SUMMARY: Bucky runs an errand for Steve and has to bring a box to Tony’s office. Once arrived, he’ll meet two women, who’ll change his life. This meeting will bring more than he’d imagine. Between an impromptu boner and the recovery of his memories, Bucky is in for a ride.
TRIGGER WARNING: mention of lynchings in the past (in early 20th century), and a racist Karen using racial slurs left and right. So now, you may call me Tarantino.
Please be aware that the term “lynching” was not used lightly. In the early 20th century, it was pretty common to keep a “souvenir” aka a part of the victim of lynchings. They would send postcards, aka real photos of these poor souls hanging from trees and they would send it. Via Post…
**You are officially warned. **
Also, I invite each and single one of you to listen to Bessie Smith. She was the most well-known singer in the 20’s and was nicknamed the Impress of Blues. My fav’ songs are: Devil’s gonna get you, Baby won’t you come Home and Send me to the ‘Lectric chair.
And read more about Forsyth County, here: https://www.npr.org/2016/09/15/494063372/the-racial-cleansing-that-drove-1-100-black-residents-out-of-forsyth-county-ga?t=1592961537890
Part 2
« Do I look like a dog, Stevie? » Bucky groaned for the umpteenth time.
Steve, aka Captain America, was serving him his best puppy eyes and it was working. Who’d know that after all these years those baby blues could weaken him. Bucky rolled his eyes, enjoying his last moment of peace and held out his hand. Steve sighed in relief and smiled wholeheartedly. Bucky snatched the box from him and spun around. If he’d stay one more second, he’d break and start smiling. The corner of his lips was already lifting, without his consent. He forced himself to look grimier than usual. No one would question him nor try to talk to him. Not that they did anyway. He warily checked for any cameras and strutted out of the room, confident that his struggle wouldn’t have been recorded.
« Thanks again, Buck’, » Steve yelled behind him.
Bucky didn’t even have in him to flip him off. He shrugged and growled to no one in particular. “I’m not a dog,” he whispered, pouting.
That was it. He hated the crowd. He hated the goddam Stark Tower and he hated the tourists glued in front of it, taking pictures as if this phallic building was something incredible.
He almost barked at a poor woman who asked him to take a photo of her in front of it. He almost threw her phone on the floor. He sent her a nasty look and entered the building. Next time he’d see Steve, he’d punch him in his “innocent” face, so no one would be subject to his “candid” blue eyes. But…he’d looked so disappointed in him. Bucky sighed, dramatically, making a few people look at him with concern.
What was worse? The candid eyes or the disappointed ones?
He waved at the security guards, who let him in with no problem. They just had to look at his vibranium arm to know his identity. He strode past the line of people waiting for the elevator and stood in front of the doors. The complains from the others started immediately. He tilted his head on the side, flexing his uncovered metal arm. The sound of the vibranium plates setting in place and rearranging under the pressure, made them all take a step backward.
Good.
He couldn’t help it. Making people nervous was a residual from his time in Hydra. He had tried to overcome this need to instill fear. Steve had been disappointed. Again. And Bucky had buried deep enough his tendencies. But in a crowd full of stuck-up people, it was too easy to make them squirm a little. It was nothing but a life check.
And he was after all a vet, and a POW, he deserved some respect. They should have parted when they saw him. He may look younger and stronger, but he was older than all of them. So yeah, just because he was now enhanced, through torture, doesn’t mean he couldn’t benefit from his unused privilege. Everyone loved to cuddle Steve and pity him, but not Bucky. No. Nothing was ever funny for Bucky.
He bared his teeth at one particularly stubborn woman. She raised an eyebrow, flipped her hair, but didn’t move. He narrowed slightly his eyes and stood tall. Back off, or I’ll bite, he snarked internally. Wait! No. I’m not a dog, I won’t bark. He shook his head losing his stiff position.
Unaware that the doors of the elevator were already open the woman went in. Bucky followed suit, mumbling about the new generation and the lack of manner.
Really, it was not a good day.
The ride to the top of the Tower went smoothly, except for the nasty glances the other lady and he exchanged. He hoped with such a fervor that she’d leave soon, but no. They got off the elevator on the same floor. Tony’s. Bucky bowed with a sarcastic smile, arm stretched toward the opened doors. She huffed and left, bumping his metal hand.
If all those years being a soldier and a POW had taught him something, it was attack first and deadly. He unconsciously reached for his knife, almost dropping the box he held.
“It’s him, there. I want him out.” The lady barked in front of another young woman. “What kind of institution is that?”
Bucky strolled toward them. He toyed with his small knife, before putting it back into his pocket. He should have made her trip before getting out the elevator. Just a little fall never hurt nobody.
The scene played in his mind, leaving him deeply amused and satisfied.
“Madam, with all due respect, you have to calm down. I will do as much as I can.” The young black woman said in a soothing voice. “But, Mister Barnes, here, is what you may call a V.I.P.”
The other lady’s face grew red, her cheeks burning with either shame or rage. Bucky was almost afraid she’d burst a vein.
“I…I…” She took a deep breath. “This is inadmissible! I want to see Tony, Right Now!” She shrieked.
The young lady tilted her head, unfazed. She glanced at Bucky, then his box. An imperceptible smile appeared briefly on her face. His fidgeted under her whiskey eyes, feeling underdressed in front of this gorgeous woman. She pointed a comfy chair next to what was her desk. He nodded. The smile he gave in return felt more like a grimace, but she didn’t seem faze by it. If contrary, she chuckled, then cough in her hands to hide it.
Bucky shook his head and walked past them. The other annoying woman spluttered, before being interrupted:
“Madam, I’m sorry. But Mister Stark is not here. Do you have a meeting planned?”
The other woman backed away, shocked.
“Did you hear what I said, or are you deaf? I. Want. To. see. Mister. Stark.”
The young woman walked away and sat at her desk, still keeping a professional façade. Bucky was impressed and compassionate. At least as the Winter Soldier and a soldier in general, he never had to respect people who disrespected him.
“And I want a few millions and a rich husband.” She replied, the sarcasm laying on the thick in her deep voice. She bent under her desk to retrieve some files. Before then, she took the opportunity to take the box from Bucky’s hands and placed it in her drawer.
Bucky’s eyes didn’t miss the way her cleavage was clearly showing her bra, red (such a gorgeous color on her dark skin) and more importantly what they were supporting. Her breasts looked…mouthwatering. He only saw the top of them but could only imagine their softness, the shape of her areolas, the taste of her sweaty skin in her mouth, the way her nipples would harden after a particular bite. Bucky felt an unfamiliar tension in his lower region. He dazedly gazed down barely believing what he was experiencing.
He was hard!
He had an erection!
He stopped himself from patting his bulge and enjoyed the discomfort, the pressure on his sensitive member. It was…different. A different kind of pain than he was used to. The one, if his memories were correct that would leave him spent and boneless. He slumped back, head back, inhaling deeply. He felt lighter…good.
“I’m not broken, he whispered to himself.” A few tears trickled in his eyes and for one moment he wanted to let them fall but chose otherwise. He didn’t want to scare the personal assistant.
Unaware of his environment, he let the pleasure/pain combo flood through his system, whilst her intoxicating scent got him high. She smelt like monoi oil, maybe vanilla or cinnamon. She weirdly reminded him of “…fresh brioche out of the oven.”
“So, --" She started, before spinning around on her chair, looking quite confused.
Bucky blushed, mortified. He opened his mouth to apologize than closed it. What could he even say to explain that?
“What?” She asked, amused.
“Nothing?” He asked, unsure. Why was she so relaxed about it? He’d heard in his obligatory seminary on “women/men relationships as colleagues”, that compliments could be taken as harassment. So better not say anything. Unless you were close to the person concerned. Which he wasn’t.
“You said something about a brioche.”
“You heard that?” He asked, suddenly scared. He would not be able to survive another seminar. Not another weekend in some shithole place where they’d talk about their experience and their lack of decorum.
He would not go there.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know?”
No. He didn’t. Bucky didn’t even know her name. He looked at her warily.
“So?” She pressed him, taking her attention off the other woman for a split second.
“You look like a…” He trailed off, his cheeks warming up again.
Her eyes widen as the realization set in. There was a short moment of stillness and then a rough laugh erupted from her mouth. She tossed her head back, body trembling under her laugh. Bucky threw a nasty glance at the other woman near the table, for good measure, before drinking in the heavenly body on his right.
The thin column of her neck was vibrating as air traveled through it, revealing more skin to Bucky hungry eyes. He had to use all of his experience to repress his envy to kiss and bite the exposed skin, descending through her collarbone and the apex of her breast, nuzzling his nose inbetween the God blessed globes. The rest was left to his imagination and expertise in examining people’s body to find their weaknesses. He came to the conclusion that her body was strong.
From her muscled calves, making his gums itch for a good bite, to her strong looking legs, supported by large hips and adorned with two…God. Two round and jiggly butt cheeks. It was a chance she hadn’t led him to the desk otherwise his problem would have been more noticeable.
But there came his favorite part. A little higher, there, in full display, her little round stomach, trembling and contracting under her laugh. He imagined himself caressing it, massaging it, grabbing, kissing, licking…
God, he was so going to this harassment seminary, he groaned internally. Again. Steve would never let that go. But maybe he’d forget about it when Bucky would tell him about his, still going, erection.
The other woman slapped the table hard enough to make her jump and surprise Bucky. His hands went straight to his holster, barely remembering that she was a civilian. Having a work ethic was definitely something he’d never get used to. But he’ll bask in Steve’s compliments after he’ll tell him about his day. Yeah, that’ll be the highlight of his day and a great reward. There was, after all, nothing better than Captain America’s compliments. Best friend or not.
“I want to talk to your superior, right now,” she yelled at them.
The angel next to him stopped laughing. Her joyful smile became shark-like. She stood up straight, head held high.
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, or, where you think you are, but we are certainly not in one of your Macy or Sephora. You can’t and won’t get whatever you want by calling the manager. Now, whether you get your ass out of here.” She leaned forward, hands balled into fists pressed on the table, dominating the other one. “Or I’ll call the security.”
The evil lady, lips tight, turned around, flipping her hair while walking to the elevator.
“I’ll make sure to tell Tony about you. Letting people like you …” She spat. “…into this pristine place. Really they should have sent you to your country.”
The doors opened, before they could react. Tony and Pepper stopped talking, their steps faltered as soon as they noticed all of them. Bucky felt fury run through his veins. That was it. Fuck Steve and morality, he’ll cut her up. He was sure Tony could help him hide somewhere outside the country. On that thought, he slowly stood up.
“Is everything ok?” Tony asked slowly, staring at the woman in front of him. Bucky finally noticed how he looked at her. Warily. Maybe a hint of suspicion and anger? Did they know each other?
“Tony? We have to talk.”
“Sunset…I didn’t know we had a meeting?” He asked, peering at his personal assistant.
“You didn’t, Mister Stark,” She replied subdued, fumbling through her papers, head down.
It was a contrast Bucky didn’t like. Seeing her so down didn’t go well with him. He reached for her shoulder, hand hovering. Fuck it. If I’m going to this seminary, I’ll give them a good reason to send me. He barely touched her shoulder that she leaned his touch. Bucky released his breath and tightened his grip. I’m here. Everything is okay, he wanted to convey.
“See, Sunset. We didn’t have a meeting and you know it,” Tony said, visibly annoyed. He was twisting his watch around his wrist.
“I'm sure I had called, and your stupid assistant didn't take the message,” Sunset sneered.
Bucky’s resolve was melting like ice on a torrid night. His fingers twitched around the handle of his knife. Jail time sounded like a vacation from all this bullshit. At least no one would disturb him there, he reasoned. No one. Not even Steve and his morning, to understand asscrack of dawn, marathon.
He let go of her shoulder, straightened his back ready to commit murder…
“Oh,” the personal assistant said. She was holding a piece of paper, where was written a date and a name. Sunset Bain.
“What is it?” Pepper asked, irritated.
She raised the hand holding the paper.
“There was actually a meeting planned, Miss Potts,” she admitted defeated. Pepper raised her eyes to the sky and sent her a tight smile. Tony looked somewhat disappointed. And Bucky? Well, he hated this world. The one where rich people faked everything and thought they were intitled to respect while being assholes. No matter what happened, this Sunset had been aggressive, not cutting either of them some slack. He looked down at the personal assistant. Her posture was still rigid, and nothing filtered past her poker face.
He grasped one of her hands, freeing the piece of paper from her trembling fingers. He pressed his palm against hers and let his heartbeat calm hers.
“I told you so and she didn’t want to believe me.” Sunset pointed her finger at her. “You people should be happy to be able to work in high paid jobs. And then you will complain about racism. What a shame…”
“Sunset, that’s enough.” Tony replied coldly, his hands balled into tight fists. “You have no right to come to MY office and degrade MY assistant over some mistake. As for our meeting, consider it over!” He spat, coldly.
Sunset only chuckled, shaking her long wavy hair.
“Your dad would have had a fit if a nigger had made this type of mistakes. Truly, you are weak.”
Before Bucky could react, the personal assistant yanked off her hand from his, and ran to the stairs. Tony and Pepper tried to stop her but couldn’t. Even though she was wearing high heels, that Bucky was a trained soldier and Tony a trained tin-can, she still succeeded her quick flee. With a silent agreement Tony took off after her leaving all three of them. The silent was broken by Sunset. Her chuckle had grown into a full body laugh.
Bucky silently walked toward them, barely registering Pepper.
“You understand what I mean. After all, women like us worked hard to be there and to…”
Pepper raised her hand and slapped her on the face. Sunset stumbled and met Bucky's broad chest. He clicked his tongue.
“You have five minutes to get away, or…” He leaned forward, next to her right ear. “You are going to meet the Winter Soldier,” he drawled.
Sunset tried to push him away but only managed to lose her balance.
“Y-you! a Negroe lover!” She spat, her eyes bulging out of their sockets. Her face turned an ugly shade of purple. “Weren’t you from the 30’s? Haven’t you seen what they did to our country since we freed them?” She raged, spitting at his feet.
The words felt like a stab. Negroe lover? The term resonated in him. A sharp pain speared through his skull. The first time he heard that expression, it came out of his dad’s mouth. His friends were with him and they were discussing some news on a Black singer…Bessie Smith, his mind provided. A vague image of a curvy woman, with short slicked hair appeared in his mind. Her voice has haunted him even through the war, he now remembered. It was the last thing he remembered when he fell from the train and the first thing he heard before Zola tortured him.
Bucky clenched his fists, enough to register the pain. He needed to stay grounded. He needed to come back to the present.
He suddenly reeled back under the flow of memories rushing through his mind.
Memories he hadn’t thought of.
Memories he didn’t want to focus on right now.
_“I tol’ ya these people were disgutin’ perver’s. No betta than animals!” His dad snarled throwing the newspaper to his friends. Each of them grimaced in disgust, making sure to comment, before passing the magazine. It didn’t take long until Bucky had it in his hands. For his dad, he was old enough, to stay with the adults, but he wasn’t to speak up before being spoken to. _
He grimaced in pain as a large arm fell onto his shoulder. He didn’t have to look up to know that the alcoholic breath, the bushy arm and the sweaty armpit belonged to Carl. His dad’s favorite friend and Bucky’s godfather.
He barely had a glance at the picture on the newspaper, that Carl spoke up:
“Y’kno’ er, boy?” He slurred, pointing at Bessie Smith. Bucky was tempted to say the truth, but a quick glance to the rest of room was enough for him to lie. He shook his head.
“Hm?” Carl clenched his hand around Bucky’s biceps and tightened his grip.
“No, Sir.” He replied quickly. Carl took his hand away, arm still slung around the frail frame of Bucky.
“This nigger is a singer. One of the best, they say, better than all of our women,” He sneered, raising his other hand in the air. Hair which held a full glass of whiskey. Bucky closed his eyes as the amber liquid spilled onto him, he wiped it gingerly. Carl’s gruff laugh erupted in the room, startling him.
“C’mon Boy, are ya a gurl? It’s jus’ a little drin’” He laughed, dragging him with him as he leaned dangerously on the couch. Bucky looked up to his father and swallowed. His grey eyes were now dark and his knuckles around his glass were white. Bucky feared the glass would break under the pressure. He barely got out of the last beating. He didn’t want to get one so soon.
“And you saw the rest of the article? She’s been perverting our women also…” His dad said, eyes still on Bucky, who nodded as if he understood the reference and was disgusted by it. What did he mean by “perverting our woman”?
“What could you expect from a nigger?” Another one asked.
_“Pastor Johnson told us ‘bout their…ha-ha-habits. They are de-devious, evil creature, the lot of ‘em. They…” A sneeze. “They’ll persuade ya to…to…” He trailed off, voice turning into a murmur. “They’ll promise ya love and heaven…” The rest of the room grew silent. The other men stared dumbly at him. Bucky’s brain was running in circle, trying to find the name of the man. Was it Dunker? No. Dunkan! _
_Dunkan’s posture screamed defeat. His body was coiled on itself, shoulders down, head down. Bucky couldn’t see his face because of the fringe of hair covering it, but he noticed one curious thing. Dunkan had been massaged his ring finger, since Bucky’s dad started talking about Miss Smith. The skin of the third knuckle looked sunk compared to the rest of his fingers. Bucky narrowed his eyes, trying not to be too obvious. It looked like Dunkan had a ring. _
Oh. Bucky leaned back on the couch feeling empathy for him. Maybe he had divorce with his wife. Yeah, that’s why he looked so broken, Bucky thought, letting the wave of compassion riding his heart. Poor man…
“They’ll take everything…everything an’ then…they’ll leave you just as fast.” Dunkan sprung to his feet and made a quick retreat. He waved at the rest of the room and left the apartment.
What had just happened? What…Dunkan said…did he have a relationship with a colored person? Bucky tried to think, but his brain was stuck on Dunkan’s words. His body barely registered when Carl moved away from him.
“Fuckin’ nigger lover,” his dad finally spat.
_Then, the room broke in an uproar. Bucky sat still, eyes wide, fear paralyzing each of his limb. He tried to appear smaller, to be forgotten, but his dad’s eyes were not leaving him. _
Bucky came back to reality, in a heave. He blinked a few times and unclenched his hands. He staggered and turned around hiding his face in his hands. Deep breath in Buck’, breath in…
His lungs ached in a way it hadn’t done before. And shouldn’t. The super serum had eradicated all of the “imperfections” of the human body. And yet, here he was.
“Bucky, can you come with me in my office?”
He jerked away in surprise, his left hand clenching his chest. Tony came to a halt besides him. Despite his calm voice, his face was tensed, gone was his smile and warm eyes. Everything screamed murder.
Bucky nodded dumbly and started moving. Negroe lover? Two familiar faces appeared in front of his face.
A gorgeous black woman next to a lanky brunette man. Dunkan. They both looked joyful.
Bucky blinked. Another image came.
A black and white picture of two black people hanged from a tree.
Bucky swallowed with difficulty. Sadness drowned his heart and an unexplainable sorrow broke all of his barriers. Tears trickled in his eyes. He took a shaky breath and blinked, setting them free.
_“James? What are you doing here?” Dunkan asked, surprised. He peeked outside before closing his door. “Does your dad know that you are here?” _
Bucky stayed silent. Dunkan sighed.
“Of course, he doesn’t. Of course...” he grumbled.
_He led Bucky to his couch and went to his kitchen. Bucky looked around trying to take in all of the details. Dunkan’s house felt…he furrowed his brows, looking for the correct word…empty. The last time he came here, the atmosphere felt homey, but not now. _
As he was looking at radio, something caught his attention. There was a box, next to the door which looked out of place. The brown of the box turned red on the bottom. It looked wet. The floor underneath also seemed darker. Bucky counted to ten, like his Ma’ told him to when he wanted to do something, he would probably regret.
After the last number, he jumped to his feet and quickly made his way to the box, still aware of the noises in the kitchen. Bucky took a deep breath, steadying his feet and leaned forward. He opened the box slowly and peeked inside.
“James, do you like…?”
Bucky screeched and made a run to the door. He fumbled with the locker, trying in vain to escape the apartment. There was…there was…a bloody hand…in the box…
He screamed and kicked when Dunkan’s held him in his arms. Screaming with the full capacity of his lungs to let him go. He kicked and hit where he could reach, which was mostly air. Dunkan didn’t budge one.
It took Bucky a few minutes to admit his defeat. His body betrayed him and he literally sagged against Dunkan.
“James, breath in and out. You can do it.”
A part of him wanted to rebel and try again but his body wouldn’t. He’s going to kill me and cut me and put me in the box and…and…and…Bucky started to hyperventilate.
“Calm down, James. It’s okay. You are safe.”
He shook his head. Dunkan chuckled.
“Yes, you are. If you calm down, I’ll explain to you. I promise, it’s not what you think.”
_Bucky wanted to scream at him to let him got, that he’d never tell anyone. He just wanted his mom. Bucky closed his eyes, repressing his tears. Lost in his head, he didn’t move when Dunkan let him go. He glanced at the doorknob. His entire vision was tunneled. Just a few steps and he’d be free. _
_Dunkan sighed. “You can go if you want. I’m sorry…You’re just a kid. I should...I should…” Dunkan burst in tears. He stood up, wobbling to the box, and fell to his knees. He peered inside and howl in despair. Bucky stood still, paralyzed by the ugly sounds coming out of Dunkan. It reminded Bucky of the time he had found a baby dog outside the building they live. He had brought him back home, happy to show his mom his new friend. But his mom was already at work and it’s his dad he found instead. Bucky clenched his hands into tight fists. His sniffed a few times. The sound the poor puppy made when his dad… _
_“I’m so sorry, Ruth!” Dunkan wailed. A loud crash, Bucky spun around moving nearer to the door. Dunkan was hugging and kissing the feminine fingers. A ring shone on the fourth one. _
Everything in him wanted to run away.
Everything in him screamed to go.
Instead, he stayed.
“Who is Ruth, Mister Johnson,” Bucky asked, in a small voice. He didn’t think Dunkan heard him. Bucky wasn’t sure to be able to ask again. He was ready to go. To hell his curiosity.
“She was my wife.” Dunkan whispered, sobbing quietly. Bucky didn’t understand. His ma’ had told him that a white person and a colored one couldn’t get married so, how? “We ran away from Georgia because of lynchings.” He laughed, humorlessly. “Guess, you can never outrun your future.”
_“Your wife?” _
Dunkan’s head snapped toward his direction. Bucky grabbed the doorknob, ready to flee.
“I thought a white person and a colored person couldn’t get married, Sir.” He explained calmly. He was proud of his tone. It wasn’t wavering nor too weak. And most importantly it didn’t reveal his terror.
“A white person?” Dunkan asked, slowly, before laughing. “Me? A white person?” His laugh lasted a couple of minutes. Enough for terrorizing Bucky. He’s gone mad. Bucky twisted the doorknob.
“Do you really think I’m white?”
“You…look like it.”
Duncan nodded slowly, pensive.
“My mom was black and my dad white. My brothers and sisters looked more “colored” than me.” He looked down to the hand. The difference of colors was striking. Dunkan was so pale. How was it possible?
“My parents used to think it’d helped me. I’d fit better in this society, I’d have no problem…until I met Ruthie. She was…” He took a deep breath. “She was the best thing in my life. For a fella like me, a dame like her was…unbelievable. We got married in Forsyth County. We were already targeted because of my mom’s skin color, but my marriage set the entire city against us. My mom and dad…” Dunkan shrunk on himself. “They got murdered. Our house burned to the ground. The cross in front was still burning in the morning after. So we both, ran away…My brother and sisters went to the East, better for them, you know? Haven’t seen them for years.” He ended, softly.
Dunkan caressed the hand, gently.
“A few weeks ago, she received a missive from her mom. Something urgent about her health…All along I had this feeling in my guts that something bad would happen. I tried to make her stay, but it was her mom.” Dunkan explained detached. His eyes were now closed. “I received that and a postcard from the white side of my family. They…they…”
He broke down sobbing. “Ruth…her mom…lynched.”
“Bucky?”
“Bucky?”
“BUCKY?”
He stumbled backward, tripping over something on the floor and let himself fall. His back bounced in a loud thump. He blinked a few times trying to make sense of what he saw. It was the first time a memory came back this strong. Normally he’d have nightmares. He didn’t know which one he liked better. Either he couldn’t wake up on his own and were their prisoner.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the hard floor under body. This is real. I’m here. I’m breathing. My name is James Bucchanan Barnes and we are on the 21st of May 2018. Everything is okay.
“…happened?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Tony replied, panicked. “Sunset was there, and she said some racial slurs and it sent Bucky into shock.”
“Racial slurs?” A deeper voice asked, concerned.
Was that Steve?
“Yes, why?”
“Hm. I’ll tell you later, but if I’m right. Bucky will need our help.”
“Steve, you’re scaring me. What is…”
Bucky blinked slowly his eyes, the world turning faster beneath him. As he finally gave in and drifted away, a voice sang to him:
Judge, you wanna hear my plea
Before you open up your court
_But I don’t want no sympathy, ‘Cause I done cut my good man’s throat _
I caught him with a trifling Jane
I warned him ‘bout before
_I had my knife and went insane _
_And the rest you ought to know _
Judge, Judge, please, Mr Judge
_ Send me to the ‘lectric chair_
_Judge, Judge, good Mr Judge _
send me to the ‘lectric chair…
Part 2
#no shame#writing#5Kstory#marvel#mcu#bucky#Bucky Barnes#Bucky Barnes x reader#bucky barnes x black!reader#black original character#lynching#colorism#bessie smith#karen#racist#racial slurs#dark#angst#angst with a hopeful ending#bucky barnes angst#erectile dysfunction#ptsd recovery#tony stark#Annoying tourists#steve rogers#maybe stony
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Reylo Fic Recs: Fantasy, Fae, Magic, Fairy Tale, and Mythology
Ours Is The Fury by @shmisolo
Rey was tasked with taking Storm's End for her king. She defeated the Storm King Snoke in the Rainwood, but when she proceeded to the castle itself, preparing for a long siege, things did not go to plan.
A Man Called Winter by @reylotrashcompactor
The girl didn’t dream. Perhaps it was because she needed more to fuel nighttime sojourns than fantasies of a full belly, of escaping the desert. Perhaps she exhausted all these dreams years ago, falling to sleep in the soft embrace of hope and waking in the hard grip of reality. Or perhaps dreams simply could not permeate the armored shell she slept inside, those rusted walls resistant to blaster fire as well as the simple comfort of imagination. Maybe this was why, on a particularly stifling night, when sleeping on her gritty pallet in the too-still air finally proved unbearable, and she had rucked the mess of salvaged pilot seats and threadbare blankets into the sand outside her door, that he came to her first. She laid under the stars, straining her exhausted body for a cool breeze, and found sleep. And he found her.
Between Death and Winter by @shmisolo
“I’ll answer none of your questions, crow,” she snapped.Ben placed the butt of the spear down in the snow and leaned on it as he sheathed his sword. He was breathing more heavily than he wanted to admit as he looked down at her.You should kill her, then, he thought in a voice that sounded very much like the Lord Commander’s. If she’d rather die, then let her die.Except there was something wrong in that. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong.“Pity for you,” he said and he broke the spear over his knee. “I’ll be taking you with me back to Castle Black.”The moment the words were out of his lips, he regretted them. He was the First Ranger, he was in the middle of a ranging—he didn’t have time to keep a spearwife hostage.
all true lovers are by @abstractragedy
She might seem lonely, but Ben can sense that this forest is her faithful audience, and she is nothing but alone. The birds chirp a symphony to her, and the greenery around her bows, grateful to be blessed by her beauty. She truly is beautiful, but that’s not the entire reason he is so drawn to her. It’s her Magic.
Wintertide by @transpogrrl
It was important work, gathering fuel for the Burning of the Ren, though only an outcast like the Scavenger could do it. The ceremony marked the turning of one year into the next, and ensured the light would come again to drive back winter’s darkness.The good Queen had tried to change the ancient rite, to mark the year without the loss of one more soul from their war-torn land. But in the ten years since her decree, the disasters sweeping over them had only multiplied. Famine, flood, unearthly winds and the summer’s fires had torn at people’s goodness, and the refugees that sought the Queen’s peace had only taxed it more. When a Wizard suggested that only human sacrifice would appease the angry spirits, the people listened, and demanded a real Ren for the fire.
The Scavenger Bride by @the-reylo-void
After a fairytale summer romance, Rey of Jakku sees her beloved, Prince Ben Solo of Alderaan, off to his uncle's temple, only to learn of his death at the hands of the Dread Knight Ren, a feared warrior who never takes prisoners. But fairytales are never quite that simple, and Rey soon finds herself swept up in a game of political intrigue that threatens to tear the galaxy apart. With new lifelong friends (thieves, but who's counting), mostly-dead ex-boyfriends with too many names, a grumpy wizard who wants nothing to do with any of this, and POUS (Porgs of Unusual Size), Rey's got her work cut out for her and will need her wits, strength, and the strange force she's felt inside of her for years to find her true love.
The Hunter and the Swordsman by @dreamsdescent
It was the first part of the night, and the Hunter was rising in the sky. Four stars stretched out in each direction, with a belt of three across the middle.For many generations he had watched over her kind during these long nights in the depths of winter, and now he was her only companion.The star that made the Hunter’s right shoulder shone red, reminding her of warmth, of flowers and flesh and blood, of all the things that sustained life amidst the cold emptiness of the heavens.With the fire of earth at her back and the fire in the sky over her face, Rey calmed herself and listened. Soon she could hear it, the song of the red star, low and lonesome like the call of the mourning dove.She reached out to it as if it were to someone, and sang a quiet, but high and warbling answer, as if to say, you are not alone. Whether she was reassuring herself or the other, she did not know.The red star blinked in the sky, beating along with her heart as she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Stolen Hearts by @capaldisrighteyebrow
As the Judge of Souls, Rey weighs humans' hearts to assign their fates. When an imposing man who goes by Kylo Ren shows up without a heart, Rey seizes the chance to solve a mystery that threatens the universe. Returning to the mortal world together, Rey and Kylo rush to find his murderer and restore balance.
The Dragon Queen's Moon by @diadumene
“My handmaidens once told me a story,” Daenerys mused. “During my time in Essos, I would hear many variations of the story. Would you like to hear the one I liked best?”After a moment, Sansa nodded. “I would like that very much, Dany.” Dany gave her a look of approval and straightened her back. “Let me tell you the story of how the dragons were born and the moon and the sun fell in love with one another…”
All In Her Arms by @aionimica
Three things are to be expected when the dragon came back to the stars. The first was that one didn’t leave their home at night.The second was that one didn’t go check the noise they heard at the edge of the woods, no matter the cause.And last and final and arguably most important was that one most definitely did not get married.
in this white wave by @something-pithy
It was King Kylo’s season, and he had been born to rule it. Blood of the Tuatha de Danaan ran in his veins, yes, but in addition to the most glorious of the sidhe, the darkest of the Unseelie. He had been born to break the wheel and rebuild it anew, to rid the world of the systems and order that stifled it and bring the Unseelie back to power so that they could set the fae free once more. And he would be enjoying his victory -- the death of his twisted, decrepit master, his rightful place in the universe secured, the triumph of the Unseelie over the Seelie -- but for an impudent nocker, a tinkerer, a little no-one who had worked her way into his very soul.In which King Kylo of the Winter Court and Rey of the Summer Court struggle with the past, themselves, and their ferbidden Seelie/Unseelie luuuuuurve.
echoes (again) by @soul8
again and again, she slips from his grasp like moonlight
(reincarnation au where ben seeks her through their past lives
and maybe, just maybe this time
this time will be the last)
there may be something there that wasn't there before. by @aquawolfgirl
She’s a thief, small and lithe. Her days are spent pickpocketing and snatching from market stalls. She has the sun in her skin and the light in her smile. She is beauty. He is a prince, at war with himself. He is a mix of a man, a hybrid of containment and utter chaos. He has the night in his hair and hatred in his eyes. He is beast.cShe just stole from the wrong garden. “You are aware that doesn’t belong to you, are you not?”
Like Blood, Like Honey by @lariren-shadow
“Sweet Rey,” Kylo said as he gently grabbed her chin. “We’re all monsters in the Unseelie Court.”When Rey moves in with her grandfather the summer before college she expected a part time job at best. Instead she found herself mixed up in the world of faeries.
Waves Calling Her Home by @shelikespretties
“When will you return to me, Selkie wife?” he taunted. “Have they hidden your skin that well?”She nudged him hard in the ribs with the foot he’d been cradling, pushing him away. “I’m no one’s wife, and my skin is safe exactly where I placed it. I’m not coming back. I’m here for a reason.”
The Sands of Jakku by ASingleWhiteDoe
Rey is a street rat and a scavenger in the deserts of Jakku, but when a haggard man approaches her and Finn about a lamp located in a strange and wonderful cave, all of that changes.
between belief and the sea by @thewayofthetrashcompactor
Rey has a busy schedule: between her part time jobs, trying to get a degree, and breaking into certain people's homes to steal items she can pawn off to Unkar Plutt, she doesn't have time for anything mysterious or unusual. And she's not exactly in the habit of returning lost property. However, something gets her to make an exception. Which somehow mixes her up with Ben Solo, and that turns out to be a hard bond to break.
Song in a Thousand Pieces by @thewayofthetrashcompactor
Snoke holds up a hand. “A nightingale.”The man bows. “Yes, my lord.”“In the Jakku forests.” Snoke’s voice is emotionless.The man pauses before answering, unsure of himself. “Yes, my lord,” he finally says.Snoke settles back into his throne. “Kylo Ren," he orders, and Kylo swiftly steps forward. "Bring it to me.”
Paradise Regained by @lasthopesolo
Where all fates of the universe are decided, there lives a wandering immortal, leaving behind in her wake dried and decayed things. Rey, bringer of death and rot, worries she will never find her place of belonging. Everything changes when she comes across a wailing immortal, the scent of spring clinging vigorously to him as fresh flowers dance in the wind around him.
Wherever There is You, I Will be There Too by @optimus-pam
According to Greek mythology, Tartarus is the deep abyss used as a dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked. Rey journeys there in search of a lost soul.
it shall not be death by TolkienGirl
Rey of the Jedi Knights is sent with her sword and Holy Fire, to destroy a palace of thorns.It doesn't quite go as planned.
Fated by @shmisolo
Emperor Palpatine declared that it was the new horse in his stable that would reward Kylo of Alderaan’s saving his life, fulfilling the Law of Surprise. But the fates had other plans, and would not be denied.
My own fics in these categories:
Aníron
“Do you remember when we first met?” he asked, tracing her cheekbone. “I thought I had strayed into a dream,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes.“Long years have passed; you do not have the cares that you carry now.” He sighed, looking down and burdened for only a moment. He looked back up at her, focusing his powerful gaze once more. “Do you remember what I told you?”She could not meet his gaze. She knew the words; they were etched on her heart. Yet she still could not believe them, could not believe that he had said them in the first place, let alone held himself to them all these years later. “You said you would bind yourself to me, forsaking the immortal life of your people.”
your love is my immortal crown
A young woman makes a choice and ascends her grandfather’s throne, becoming a goddess and a queen to save her lover, the god of spring, who will stop at nothing to return to her.
The Prince and the Dragon
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, there lived a prince who met a dragon woman.
if it were only the stars we had wanted to conquer
Amid a backdrop of persecution of magic users and First Order colonization, Kylo Ren discovers a powerful fellow magic user named Rey on a mission for his master. There is more than meets the eye with Rey's magic, however, and she longs to understand her true calling. Yet her fate is inextricably bound with his own.
I am sending back the key
Rey's mysterious new husband, Ben Solo, asks her not to enter his study. But who is he really and what is the truth about his family history?
Hidden in the Desert Sands
The prince ran away from home, and found himself in the desert. A scavenger's kindness reveals more than scrap metal buried under the sands.
My other fic rec lists:
Fic Recs Under 100 Kudos | Smuggler Ben Solo | Historical AU | Modern AU | Dark Side Rey | Canonverse | Smut |
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Optimal Distance
Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Tentoo x Rose
Tags: lemons; lemons on video chat; mutual self-applied lemons; basically loads of lemons!; and the usual fluff, hurt/comfort, humour stuff
Summary: Rose has been feeling sad, lonely, and a little bit envious, left to endure the dreary London winter, while the Doctor has been posted on assignment in Rio, setting up a new Torchwood branch. But a comment the Doctor makes about a strangely bare desk in his otherwise cluttered study inspires Rose to find a way to bring them closer together, even though they are half a world apart.
Notes: This fic is one of many that had been lingering, stagnating in my collection of unfinished fics, just waiting for inspiration to strike.
Many thanks as always to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. You are absolutely brilliant, and I have no idea what I would do without you. And thanks to @aintfraidanoghosts who is always a voice of inspiration and encouragement (especially if she hears lemons on the menu!) I love you all!
I made quite a few tweaks and edits since they saw it, so as always, any mistakes are mine.I hope you like it!
Also read on AO3 and Teaspoon
OPTIMAL DISTANCE
“Done! You should be getting it any second now!” Rose crowed into her mobile with a rather disproportionate sense of triumph. All she had accomplished was to send the Doctor an email, albeit one with a very important file attached; a file she’d had to navigate his shambolic cataloguing system to find, and that only after she’d excavated his laptop from beneath heaps of books, papers, and crumpled sticky notes on the floor beside his desk.
“Got it!” he cheered. “You are brilliant, you are! A real lifesaver, Rose Tyler! See? My lucky pants, near or far. It’s a good thing you couldn’t come with me, after all. Where would I be now, eh? Without you holding down the fort?”
“Yeah, right,” Rose muttered with a sulky huff, her victorious mood evaporating as she plopped down in the desk chair. She fought against the prickle of tears. She refused to cry about it anymore. It was her own fault she was restricted to paper-pushing for another six weeks. To be specific, she was tasked with reviewing and classifying field reports, a chore that only served to rub in the fact that she wasn’t out in the field, herself, defending the Earth from both alien and earth-born threats. Instead she had to read about it second-hand.
She knew she deserved every bit of punishment she’d received, from her brutal dressing-down from Pete and her subsequent demotion, to her month-long stint inventorying the Small Parts Department (literally the “nuts and bolts” of Torchwood, and ten times as dull as it sounded.) She had been careless and impulsive on a mission, showing off for the sake of a dare, and had nearly gotten herself killed.
The worst part had been the look on the Doctor’s face as he’d rushed into the Torchwood infirmary, not knowing what her condition was, thinking he might have lost her. The guilt she’d felt over worrying him would have been enough (a kazillion times over) to curb any future reckless, thoughtless acts. After everything they had been through, with only a single, human lifetime each, pledged to be spent together, she had nearly thrown it all away in one rash moment.
As it was, she had been lucky to have come away with only deep laser burns to her left shoulder.
She and the Doctor had clung to each other all that night, desperately making love until they were too exhausted to move.
That had been weeks ago now, and Rose was chafing at her restrictions, especially since Pete seemed to be intentionally sending the Doctor to conferences in the most wonderful, exotic locations around the world, places Rose was dying to explore with him. But Pete resolutely refused to allow her to join him.
On this current trip, the Doctor was helping establish a new Torchwood base in Rio de Janeiro, addressing the fledgling team on the importance of employing diplomacy and mediation in First Contact situations. Rio, for God’s sake! And here she was, stuck in the middle of the damp, chilly London winter. She huffed again over the phone.
“Would it help if I said I wasn’t having fun?” the Doctor asked over the upbeat sounds of Samba and boisterous voices in the background. She could just picture the scantily clad, feather-adorned (female) dancers.
“Yes…” Rose picked at the worn piping on the leather arm of the desk chair.
“Oh…”
“Sure doesn’t sound like anyone’s ready to listen to your First Contact presentation. Don’t know what the rush was…”
“Weeell, lunch is almost over, and we’ll be heading right back in. Then, I’ll be cracking the whip! But, blimey, the Brazilians know how to party! As you can probably hear, they’d arranged for some entertainment over lunch: live band, dancers, the lot! Didn’t want to seem churlish.”
She’d been right about the dancers, then… “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m just feelin’ sorry for myself. I should be gettin’ to bed, yeah. Loads of field reports to review, tomorrow. You have fun.”
“Right… weeell…” Rose could picture him scrubbing the back of his head with his right hand. “Thanks again. And for the record, I do wish you were here, love. It’s just not the same without you.”
“It’s a bit lonely here too.” She looked around his study, filled with reminders of his presence: it was cluttered with books and papers; an assortment of swivel-chairs, beanbags, and exercise balls; and seemingly arbitrary writing surfaces at various heights and orientations. The traditional desk, where she was currently sat, was essentially an afterthought, a horizontal surface suitable for a computer or a place to deposit bits and bobs, books, and papers. Except it was completely clear of clutter and serving no purpose. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but she couldn’t imagine the Doctor ever using a desk like that.
“We should redecorate your study when you get home, Doctor,” she mused.
“What? Why?”
“Well, for one, this desk is taking up a lot of valuable space. We really should get rid of it. It’s nice. I bet we could sell–”
“No!” he cut her off. “I love that desk!” There was an overtone of panic in his voice.
“But you don’t use it for… well… for anything.”
“I’d rather hoped to use it someday… erm…” His voice trailed off, but quickly returned with his classic exuberance. “It’s nice and sturdy, Rose, and just the right height.”
“What the hell for? The right height for what?” Honestly, she was afraid to ask, but it was just lovely to talk to him and listen to him prattle on about nonsensical things. She missed this when he was abroad.
“Weeeell…” he stage-whispered into the phone, enthusiastic, but clearly not wanting anyone else to hear, “the height is exactly the optimal distance to take advantage of the length of your legs…”
“Wha? My legs…?”
“Blimey, Rose! This is not a good time. I’m not able to control this stupid body the way I… erm… weeell…” His tone became clipped, irritable. “I need to be focussed for this presentation.”
“Oh, never mind.” Though Rose’s curiosity had been piqued by his cryptic comments and the urgency in his voice, she knew he was on a tight schedule. “You better go give that presentation. Go on, then. Love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Love you, too.”
It was only once she was in her bed, half asleep, with her thoughts restless and drifting, that she realized exactly what the Doctor wanted that desk for… She was suddenly wide awake, the whispers of a plan forming in her mind.
--ooOoo--
Rose had spent the better part of the night ordering the things she needed to set her plan in motion. The online shop guaranteed next-day delivery and she hoped everything would be there when she arrived home from work. If she managed to slip away for the afternoon (without Pete finding out) as she’d planned, she would be able to message the Doctor just before his lunch… perfect!
She was relieved to have been able to escape the confines of her office with no one noticing, except Donna, the administrative assistant who, being every bit as brilliant as her Prime Universe counterpart, noticed everything. But she had just winked at Rose and signalled with a swipe of her thumb and pointer finger that her lips were sealed.
Rose’s excitement grew when she arrived home to find several large packages waiting for her in the hallway by the door of her flat, kindly left there by the landlady. Rose beamed, her heart pounding as she bustled into the flat, hurrying to get everything set in motion before she chickened out. She had never done anything quite as bold as this before – at least in terms of trying to seduce someone – and she rather hoped the Doctor would be… receptive. Considering he had seemingly procured the desk for a very specific (erotic) purpose, she figured he would be.
An hour later, she was turning up the heating against the chill of the wintery air. Her new outfit was not exactly intended to keep her warm. To be honest, she didn’t think she’d ever worn anything so barely-there (and glittery) before. She flushed, looking at herself in the mirror. It was a bit generous calling it an outfit at all. It was really just strategically placed jewelry.
It was a Samba ensemble, made of thin strips of pink, yellow, and clear crystals. The bra was a halter design, with clusters of gems dripping in simple floral patterns from her throat to just above her breasts. A single, large sparkling clear crystal shone between her breasts, supporting a band of smaller clear crystals that curved below them. Her nipples were (only just) covered with bright pink and yellow crystal flowers. She turned around to look at herself from the back. Her bum was essentially bare, the lower part of her outfit, a thong, impossibly skimpier than the bra and crafted of more of the glittery crystals. Matching wrist and shin cuffs adorned her limbs. Not for the first time that afternoon, she thanked the stars for her Torchwood training and active lifestyle for keeping her fit and trim.
After applying her most alluring make-up, she was ready for the final piece of the puzzle. With shaking hands, she positioned the headdress over her hair. It was heavy, heavier than she’d expected, encrusted with crystals over her forehead and in a band around her head. A pink and yellow fountain of ridiculous, great, feathery plumes erupted from the top.
Rose laughed at her image in the mirror. Ridiculous didn’t begin to cover it: it was completely daft. But the Doctor would love it… or so she hoped.
She made her way to his study where she had set up cameras to take photos of herself using a remote control. Her first pose had her facing the camera, one stilettoed foot hitched up on the desk, and her opposite hand touching her sex through the thin fabric of her bejewelled knickers. She made a point of allowing her tongue to poke out at the corner of her smile. That always drove the Doctor mental.
For her next pose she leaned over the desk, her bare bum inviting the Doctor to take her from behind, as she looked suggestively over her shoulder at the camera. She elected to forgo the third pose she had planned. She’d had to stop her headdress from toppling off several times during the second pose and was feeling rather hot and bothered… and not in a sexy way.
Regardless of the headdress mishaps, she was able to select an image she liked from both sets of photos and upload them to her mobile.
So, you like Samba, do ya? she texted the Doctor, along with the two photos. Meet me for lunch… video chat. I’ll show you my moves.
If she’d worked out the timing right, he should be receiving the messages about ten minutes before he usually stopped for lunch. She intended to make sure there would only ever be one Samba dancer in his future. Her.
She giggled nervously. She really hoped he would take the bait.
She didn’t have to wait long. Her phone vibrated on the desk. She laughed at the Doctor’s message: Blimey! Don’t move! I’ll be there in five minutes. Meeting adjourned!
He’d taken the bait all right – hook, line, and sinker!
Now for the really challenging part: video phone sex. She’d never done anything like that before. She hoped she could pull it off.
Rose scrambled to set up her mobile on the apparatus she’d purchased, just for this purpose, at the same time as she’d bought her Samba costume. She took a few quick test shots of herself, perched on the edge of the desk with her leg hitched up the way it had been for the first of the photos she had sent the Doctor a few minutes earlier. It took a few rushed and panicked adjustments, but she eventually got the angles just right to ensure the Doctor would get an eyeful!
She was just situating herself on the desk with her leg up again when her phone pinged with the Doctor’s incoming call on video chat. Her tummy was in knots with equal parts anticipation and mortification. Her fingers shaking, she depressed the button on the remote control she’d programmed to her phone and accepted his call.
The Doctor’s eager, bewildered face filled the entire screen, his eyebrows rising into his hairline at the image before him. “Fuuuuuuck…”
He was swearing, a sure sign she’d gotten his attention in the best possible way. There was only one time he ever swore (well, mostly) and that was during sex. Rose smirked as he reflexively licked his lips, boosting her confidence even more. Her voice still trembled, though. “Like what you see, Doctor?”
His hand ruffled his hair. (Rose was jealous of that hand.) “Weeell, I mean… yes! Of course, I do! Blimey! What’s not to love?” Two hands ran through his hair this time.
“B-better… better than the Samba dancers from lunchtime yesterday?” Rose pressed her lips together, and dropped her leg from it’s provocative pose, and she slid off the desk, suddenly uncertain again and feeling vulnerable, both craving and dreading his response.
The dazed shock on his face softened, full of sincerity and love. “The only person I’ll ever want to dance with, Rose Tyler, is you.”
“I feel so… stupid… doing this.”
“NO! No, no, no, no! This is perfect. Brilliant!”
“I don’t know what I’m doin’…”
For several anxious moments, they watched each other in silence. Then, suddenly, the Doctor spoke, his voice husky and low: “Oh, Rose, I wish I could touch you. I wish I could lean you over that desk, take you from behind, and fuck you senseless.”
Rose released a tense breath. He seemed to be taking the lead, putting that unstoppable gob of his to good use.
“But first, first I’d love to have you like this, facing me. I’d spread your legs and–”
“Like this?” Now that she was relaxing, Rose found herself quite eager to play her part. Holding her headdress in place, she hopped up on the edge of the desk again, leaning back on her hands, her legs splayed.
“Yes, just like that! Beautiful! You’re fucking gorgeous!”
Rose bit her lip, her breath hitching as a flood of warmth pooled low in her abdomen. Blimey, she loved when he talked dirty.
“I’d kneel down before you, goddess that you are, and pull aside those skimpy knickers and bury my face between your thighs.”
“Like this?” she repeated, drawing the soaking strip of fabric to one side, exposing her dripping core to the Doctor.
“Oh, you’re so wet, Rose. I just want to taste you.”
“Guuuuuuuhhh… yeah! Love your mouth on me.”
“Oh, yes! I’d dip my tongue inside you, savour the taste of you (you taste so good, Rose!), and lick you all the way up to your clit. Fuck, you’re perfect,” he blurted as Rose used her finger to simulate the actions he described.
She sighed at the sensation, closing her eyes, wishing it was his tongue lapping along her aching slit, twirling around her clit.
“Oh Rose, my Rose… I’d stroke that lovely clit of yours with my tongue, up and around, up and around…”
Rose groaned out her pleasure, her fingers dancing over her damp sex. “God, Doctor, I love it when you fuck me with your tongue. Please,” she begged, looking him in the eyes, “I want to see you. I want to touch you too. I want my hands on your gorgeous, thick cock.”
“Fuuuuck, Rose! Wait! Just give me a moment.” His face disappeared from the phone. “Keep going!” his voice called from the background. “I’m still here, licking you, sucking you.” There was a loud clattering noise, and the image on the screen spun around. And then Doctor appeared again, from further away wearing only an oxford. His cock, long and hard, bobbed up against the fabric, leaving a wet stain on the front of the shirt. “There. I’ve propped my mobile up. Can you see me, love?”
“Yeah. ‘S good. So good!”
“Are you still touching yourself?”
“Yeah.” Rose’s eyes rolled back as she pressed down on her clit.
“So I see,” he moaned. “Oh, love…”
“I want you inside me, Doctor. I want to feel you fill me.”
Rose watched with a hooded gaze as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “Oh, I want that too. I want to feel you so hot and tight around me. Nothing feels better than that.” His hand stroked down, then up, with a twist at the top. “You’re so soft and wet…” down again, “and so fucking…” up and twist, “tight!”
At the same time, Rose plunged two fingers inside herself, finding that oh-so sensitive sweet spot, as she continued to work her clit with her thumb. She moved her fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand, the jewels around her breasts chafing her nipples with delicious friction as she moved. She added a third finger, stretching herself wide. “Oh, you’re so thick and hard… I love how you fill me. You feel so good!”
“Fuck, Rose… so do you. You look so fucking sexy.” His hand began to stroke faster. Rose watched, mesmerized, as the dark, throbbing tip of his cock disappeared and reappeared from the circle of his fist. “Are you getting close?” His voice was tight, strained.
Rose continued to work herself, thighs trembling, slick, wet sounds accompanying her lusty groans. “So close…” she whimpered, feeling the familiar heat burning in her core, the pressure building. Her head lolled back… and suddenly she yelped as her headdress tumbled to the floor behind the desk. “Oh no! No!” Her hand stopped moving as despair welled up inside her.
“Rose! Don’t stop. Keep going.”
She wailed, “It’s no use.”
“You’re so beautiful, my precious girl. Oh, let me touch you more. Let me feel how warm and wet you are… I want to fuck you forever and never stop.”
Rose watched him on the small screen of her phone looking so wonderfully earnest, his cock in his hand, still hard, glistening with pre-come. He was bloody hot, and he was hers. The shock of losing her headdress was forgotten in a fresh rush of desire, and another flood of arousal, warm and slick, coated her fingers. “Touch me, Doctor,” she breathed, her thumb renewing its caresses over her clit.
“Oh, yes love… I want to run my fingers over your body; run my hands up your thighs and deep inside you. I love the sounds you make when I stroke you…”
“Please,” she whimpered, arching into the pressure of her thumb on her responsive skin.
“Let me fill you again…”
“Yes!” She watched, in awe, as his hand slowly resumed its motions – up, down, twist – over his long, hard member, and her fingers began their pumping motions again, curling and rubbing against her sweet spot rebuilding her sense of urgency with every stroke.
They were soon lost in their passion, both keening and groaning in a haze of lust and need. The fire within Rose burned hot again, deep in her sex, as she rolled her body over her fingers. The Doctor’s hand increased its speed once more. He was getting close, she could tell, he looked so wonderful and dishevelled, and his cock pulsed with every stroke of his hand. “Doctor!” she cried out. “I’m… I’m… gonna…”
“Hnnnngghhh…” he groaned. “Come for me. Let me see you come!”
Rose’s body vibrated with the need for release, her hand frantically pumping, her thumb pressing down, circling her clit, the heat and pressure building within her… and then, the Doctor shouted. Mesmerized, she watched as his seed spurted in ribbons from him, coating the front of his shirt, drizzling over his hand. The look of ecstasy on his face was enough to bring her over too. Her sex throbbed, grasping around her pumping fingers as she arched off the desk, the burning pressure in her core suddenly exploding outward, engulfing her.
--ooOoo--
“Well, I need to get out of this ridiculous get-up,” Rose chuckled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She had made her way back to the bedroom and lain down on the bed, while the Doctor lay on the bed in his hotel room. They had stayed that way for many wonderful minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes and talking quietly as they came down from the high of their orgasms.
The Doctor pouted. “And I suppose I need to get back to my meeting. They’ll all have finished their lunches.”
“Oh my God! You didn’t get to eat! Sorry. I guess I should have timed this better…”
“What? NO! This was perfect! A brilliant surprise. I feel perfectly satisfied.” He winked and flashed her an impudent grin. “I just can’t wait to take you over that desk in person, and peel that ‘ridiculous get-up’ off you, myself!”
“How much longer do you think you’re going to be there?” Rose bit her lip, clutching her mobile and regarding the Doctor’s image with imploring eyes. Training new teams of Torchwood personnel and operatives could be a time-consuming business and was an open-ended job. She and the Doctor could potentially be separated for several more weeks or…
“Just a few more days.”
“Really? You’re not jus’ sayin’ that?”
“Rose, (mostly) Time Lord here! If there’s one thing I know about, it’s time. Have you ever known me to misjudge…?”
Rose gave him a pointed look.
“Nah, don’t answer that. But honestly, love, we’ve only just started getting this lot familiarized with all the tech, today, but they seem to be a quick study, and a few of their key people will be returning to London with us for a tour and more in-depth, hands-on experience. Then Pete’s going to be relocating some of our more capable people to Rio for a few months to get things up and running properly. So, at most, another week.”
“A week?”
“At most… I promise. Now, as much as I would prefer to spend the day here with you, I have to act the responsible adult (complete rubbish, that!) and get back to my meeting. I’ll see you later, love.”
“Not if I see you first.” She blew him a kiss and offered him a little wave of her fingers before disconnecting their call.
--ooOoo--
Five days later, she stood, poised sexily (she hoped) in the doorway of the Doctor’s study, wearing the Samba outfit, minus the ridiculous headdress (it would just get in the way), and watching as the Doctor pushed his way through the door of their flat. Her heart thrummed at the sight of him.
“Honey, I’m home,” he called out cheekily, making her laugh out loud.
“Right here… erm… Sugarbear,” she droned, her voice as sultry as she could make it through her giggles.
“Sugarbear? Really, Rose,” the Doctor closed the door behind him, “of all the names you could…” As he turned and took a step into the flat, his gaze locked onto her, eyes darkening as they roved over her bejewelled body. “Blimey… now this, this is a proper welcome home!” He dropped his bags and coat, leaving them behind, forgotten, as he strode toward her across the room, loosening his belt along the way.
Rose shuddered at the sight. Bloody hell, he was fucking gorgeous. And he was here. Home. With her. Her Doctor.
“You. Inside. Now,” he commanded, his hands settling over the bare skin of her waist, guiding her backwards into his study with firm pressure. Rose’s core ached in anticipation, a yearning heat coursing through her. His lips crashed against hers as they staggered further into the room, the kiss equal parts demanding and desperate, and Rose was sure she had never felt so desired, so loved.
When her bum hit the desk, she gasped, and suddenly, all the emotion she had been suppressing over the last few months surged to the surface: guilt and remorse, loneliness and jealousy, all whirling together in a maelstrom of unfettered passion, love, and vulnerability brought on by the Doctor’s assertive touch. The tears she had been holding back gushed over her cheeks.
“Rose? Love?” The Doctor broke the kiss, looking down at her with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong? Is this not all right? Was I too… weeell, enthusiastic?”
“No, oh my God, no,” she wept. “It’s… it’s perfect… Better than. I jus’… I jus’… I missed you… I didn’t realize jus’ how much…”.
In one swift movement, he swept his hands behind her legs and lifted her to perch on the edge of the desk. Then, spreading her thighs, he stepped between them and tipped her chin up for another marvelous snog, still passionate, but this time it was a sweet and tender, unhurried sort of passion. Rose melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him against her body and breathing in the comfort of his scent. They eventually drew away from the kiss with gentle pecks and nibbles.
They pressed their foreheads together, and panting softly, Rose spoke into the space between them, “Sorry, I’ve gone and ruined all this,” she gestured to the desk.
“Nah, don’t be silly.” He dabbed the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Besides, I have a bit of news too. Might as well get it over with.” He sighed dramatically and pulled slightly away from her to fish in his jacket pocket. He pulled out an official-looking Torchwood envelope that he tossed down on the desk beside her.
“W’at’s this?”
“My new marching orders, I’m afraid. I leave in two days.”
“Two days,” she sobbed. “But you jus’ got home and–”.
Taking a deep steadying breath, she dragged a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “God, I sound so needy and selfish… but I just missed you.”
“And I suppose, the fact that I was in Rio,” he smirked at her, his left eyebrow arched, “had nothing to do with it?”
“Oh, that just made me miss you even more, but I admit, I was a bit… envious.” She chuckled, leaning back to look him in the eye. “But you know that stuff doesn’t really matter, yeah, all the travelling? Never did. Just that we’re together. That’s what’s important.”
“Oh, I know,” he reassured her with a kiss on the forehead. “And you know I feel the same... don’t you?”
She nodded, placing her palm over his single, human heart. “Yeah, ‘course I do.”
“And that’s why, Rose Tyler,” his deadpan expression transformed into a brilliant smile, “I’m happy to announce that your assignment is in that envelope too. This time, you’re coming with me.” He beamed at her, waggling his eyebrows and looking very pleased with himself.
She gawped. “But… wait. What?”
“That is, if you think you can be ready to go on such short notice.”
“You wanker!” She swatted his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll be ready!”
He giggled. “But, really, I mean… if it’s too much trouble, I could always just go back to Rio on my own, I suppose.”
There was a long silence as Rose processed what he had said. When she finally found her voice, the words tumbled from her mouth: “Shut up! No way! Rio? RIO?”
“Yu-p!” He grinned. “We’re the experts Pete’s going to send over for a couple of months to make sure everything’s up and running properly. He said he only wants to send the best, and weeeell… I mean look at us. The choice is obvious.”
“I don’t believe it. There must be a catch.”
“No-pe!” He popped his “p” again. “He wants to make sure the Brazilians get everything exactly right. And the best part is, we’ll be there for Carnival. It’s just a few weeks off.”
“What? Carnival? Really?”
“Yes-siree, Rose Tyler! You can even wear this outfit again, in an official capacity this time, of course, complete with headdress. And ooooh, we’ll bring the baby TARDIS along, too. She’ll love a change of scenery!”
“I still don’t believe Pete would just… Nah, you must ‘ave said somethin’ to ‘im, yeah? Not that I’m complainin’. It’s just he’s been so… lecture-y lately.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been a right misery. And now this sudden change of heart…?”
“Weeell, I admit,” he pulled on his right ear, “I was all ready to go in today, guns-a-blazing, to try to convince him that enough was enough, but believe it or not, he had already made up his mind. He gave me the news during my debriefing this afternoon. By the way, you’re to meet with him tomorrow–”
“Urrrghh, that’ll be fun…”
“–to go over… erm some… stipulations, but essentially, it’s all set. Said he thought your diplomatic skills would be hugely beneficial over there. Personally,” he flashed her a cheeky grin, “I think he was just getting sick of your constant moaning.”
“Oi, Mister!” She feigned offence. “Is that so? Watch out! I’ll give you constant moaning!” She grabbed his tie and dragged him toward her for another impassioned kiss, then reached between them to fondle him through the fabric of his trousers. As she sucked and nibbled along his jawline, tracing her fingers up and down his growing length, a strangled sound tore from his throat.
She smirked. “Now, there’s the moaning…”
“Stop!” He grabbed her hand, his eyes blazing into hers, and she quivered in response, the hot rush of renewed arousal pooling between her legs. “No more teasing. Brilliant as the video-chat sex was, I’ve had enough of foreplay and imagining over the last few days to last me a lifetime. I am going to take you right here, right now, against this desk, and fuck you so hard you see stars.” He scrabbled at his trousers and boxers, pushing them down over his slim hips. Looking utterly debauched, with his suit jacket, oxford, and tie dishevelled but still in place, he took his thick, throbbing member in hand and gave it a few hard pumps. “You ready?”
“Am I ready? Fuck! I’ve been ready for days. Could hardly think of anything else.” She licked her lips as she took in the sight of his impressive length. “My fingers are no substitute for that.”
With an impatient growl, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the desk. Then he spun her around and pressed in behind her, rutting against her bum. “This all right?”
“God, yes!” she sputtered, the ache of desire burgeoning inside her as he encouraged her to lean forward over the desk, applying a steady pressure to her back, until her breasts pressed against the surface, making the jewels of her outfit rasp over her taught nipples.
With a nudge from his foot, he prompted her to spread her legs, opening her to him. “Oh, yes,” he groaned, “the optimal distance, indeed!” Rose shuddered as his slender finger stroked over the sodden strip of fabric covering her sex and she arched into the contact with wanton abandon.
No further invitation required, he yanked the fabric aside and plunged into her welcoming depths.
She saw not only the stars he’d promised: entire constellations burst before her eyes.
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Dawning Delights 06: Snowed In
Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post
Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc
Updated every Tuesday/Friday & both holiday eve and days for Christmas and New Years.
-/
This plan might be the oldest of all those pertaining to this year's Dawning Holiday. Excluding traditions, of course. It's one they're both looking forward to. Something about the Farm speaks to them both. For Suraya, it’s a home of sorts, a place where she’d found her footing and risen into the kind of person she hopes inspires others to do what’s right. To Zavala, it’s a place that reminds him of the strength and resolve of humanity. From the weakest babe to the woman beside her, there is always hope. It’s why humanity has made it this long.
Their flight from the Tower to the Farm is uneventful right down to the winter weather. Zavala has never minded the cold and has always admired the snow. Light and fluffy, snowflakes fall from graying clouds. Beside him, Suraya eyes the sky warily.
"What's wrong?" He asks her. She does not look away from the horizon.
Her lips pull to the left, relaying her concern as she muses, “There’s a storm coming.”
“Nothing’s on radar,” Zavala’s Ghost chimes in over the radio, having integrated with the system in order to pilot the ship for them. “I checked before we left.”
“No offense,” She says, and she truly, does not mean to offend the droid, “But I lived out this way for over a decade. The skies look like this before they drop snow.”
“It’ll be fine,” The Ghost says. “A couple centimeters of snow won’t hurt anyone.”
“It won’t be just a few centimeters,” Suraya counters. “Believe me. One time I saw five meters of snow in two days. I was in this old stable and had to hop out from the loft.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Zavala says, though she can see him checking the sky as if he’d be able to glean something from it.
She doesn’t doubt he has some knowledge - after all, the guy gives most Warlocks a run for their money, but this is more practical application combined with instinct than something read in a book or archived on vanNet.
Resisting the urge to point out that this is her area of expertise, that these are her lands, her sky (well, it’s not hers, but... they’ll see), Suraya turns her gaze back to the clouds and watches the horizon fade from soft gray to a stern graphite.
-/
“I’m surprised you didn’t turn around,” Tyra says, when they land. “There’s a storm coming in.”
Suraya fixes Zavala with a knowing look - something just a smidge softer than an ‘I told you so’ - and steps forward to embrace Tyra. “You know how it is,” She says, and the old Cryptarch laughs, her voice like a bell as her arms come around the Clan Stewardess in a long overdue hug.
"Do I ever," She replies into Suraya's ear, but her smart, glowing eyes find Zavala's as she says it. To his credit, the stoic facade doesn't so much as shift. He maintains eye contact.
When she steps back from Suraya, she offers him a smile. He's not one for hugging on the job. She won't force him into one. "Everyone here has been looking forward to your visit."
"I'm sure that's an exaggeration," Suraya muses.
Tyra leads them past familiar sights, into the patched up domicile she uses as her base of operations. "Nonsense. I don't suggest you go about trying to usher any of the Hunters back to the City, but-"
"Hunters?"
Hawthorne lays a hand on his forearm. It's neither hot or cold, just a pressure over the plating of his pauldron. "Whoa there, Commander. Don't get any ideas."
Tyra's milky gaze meets his, "A lot of the Hunters use our outpost as their base of operations. With the storm coming, it'll likely be a full house tonight."
"You've been keeping tabs on them?" Zavala asks, curious. "Ikora and I have not seen many of them, only the ones with a dedicated team tend to stay around the Tower."
She nods. "We do what we can. They usually pass through here or the EDZ, so Devrim lets me know if anything seems amiss and we report it to Suraya."
Zavala's inquisitive gaze trails to his partner for this little day trip with no less than a little awe bleeding through. Tyra laughs warmly, catching it from the corner of her eye.
"Of course, we don't account for that many of the Hunters, just a lot of the ones who were stationed on Earth leading up to the Red War."
"That's still a large number of them," Zavala crows back.
"Perhaps. It's all we can do to feed and house them overnight. This weather should do a bit for us, though I'd suggest laying low. If any of them think you might drag them back to the Tower with you, they might brave the storm." She motions for them to sit on the threadbare sofa - it's covered with a vibrant mismatching of fabrics - while she sees herself to the tiny kitchen.
Suraya shrugs. "I think I can keep him from rounding up any lost souls," She jests. "He'll have his hands full making sure I don't take off the second his back is turned."
Zavala makes a dramatic show of rolling his eyes. Sedately, he drolls, "And here I thought that was the one thing I could be sure of."
An elbow meets his side. They share a glance - a loaded one - while Tyra fixes tea. Her Ghost hovers silently beside her, facing the sitting area, allowing her to see everything.
-/
"It forms over the Shard," She shouts to him as the snow turns from fluffy soft flakes that drift in a barely-there wind to heavy, sharp-seeming precipitation that dances in a tempest's gale. Her cheeks are pink, and though the wind fights her every step she moves faster to reduce her time exposed to the elements. "It's not much different than a mountain, but the latent electrical impulses seem to make it worse, almost."
Zavala hums in acknowledgement; It's lost in a particularly brutal gust that blows back Suraya's hood.
The second they're inside the barn, she exhales heavily, breathing a bit harder from exertion and cold. "Well," She says, looking at the mostly empty space. She draws her arms around herself while he slides the door closed behind them. "This brings back memories."
"It does," He agrees, stepping around her to approach the battered workbench turned war-table. "I can practically feel my ears blistering from you ranting at me."
"Hurt your feelings that badly?" She questions coolly.
He bites back a smile, keeping his back to her as he runs his hand across the wood. "Not so much. You," He shakes his head, allowing himself the slightest modicum of a laugh, "Saw right through me in a way I never thought someone could."
She shrugs, not moving from the door as he rounds the table to stand at its head. "Honestly I'm surprised Ikora didn't drop me where I stood, last time we were here."
"She disliked that you were right almost as much as she disliked that I agreed that you were right," Zavala informs her. "People take time to come around."
"But they do," Suraya supposes, shivering. "I mean, look at us."
He abandons his place at the table to wrap his arms around her, staving off the chill with a silent wink of solar energy. Cool lips find her equally cool forehead when she ducks into the embrace, savoring the warmth.
"Y'know, I always thought we'd end up getting ourselves in trouble in here," She mentions as she pulls back. He looks down at her wry grin and raises one eyebrow in an arch that should be illegal.
"I don't think so, Suraya."
"I doubt anyone's coming in here looking for us, y'know…"
"I think I can live with their assumptions," He informs her, deadpan.
That shakes her out of her playful tone immediately. "What assumptions?" Her eyes narrow. "Explain."
"You know which assumptions." He looks away, suddenly finding interest in the table. "Plenty of the Guardians here assumed we were-" He coughs.
"Go on," She goads, the smirk evident in her tone.
"Suraya…"
"I know, I know." She tilts his head back to face her, cupping his cheeks and jaw with gun-worn hands. "I know, I know. How could we have become friends, much less this," She smiles, and though she's not someone he'd call sweet, this smile definitely is. Her eyes hold his in a way that makes breathing a conscious decision, "If we were only talking war strats and fighting about morals we already shared, right?"
This time, his laugh is low and smooth, richer and more decadent than a chocolate cake. "They underestimate us," He informs her. "I won't be doing anything terribly inappropriate at this table," He informs her, maintaining that serious expression that seems to be his default. She knows better, though. "But I would very much like to kiss you now."
"By all means," She removes her hands from his face and locks them behind his neck just in time for him to close the space between their lips.
-/
"There is no way we're getting off the ground. Maybe if we'd left before we checked in with the troops but even then, it would've defeated the purpose in coming here."
Zavala looks to the sky. Suraya isn't stupid, she knows he's talking to his Ghost.
"It's not safe to pilot a ship," One of the officers informs them. "We've grounded everyone for the time being. Too many ships will be coming in, it won't be safe to send anyone out in this weather."
"I am certain my Ghost could-"
"Sir, I don't doubt you or your Ghost's abilities," The man looks sheepish, he doesn't take his eyes off the satellite report projected in front of him, "It's everyone else I'm worried about."
"You'd have Amanda close down the hangar if it got this bad," Suraya reminds him.
Zavala groans, no doubt thinking about all the work he has left to do. "I'll inform Ikora," He says, and shuffles out of the command center. It's still the dilapidated house with the too-large antenna on top of it, but the inside has been reinforced quite nicely, Suraya thinks.
"You made the right call," She says to the officer, watching as his posture eases. "He'll get over it, he doesn't know how to not be busy," She jokes. "Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?"
The soldiers all agree, and she sees herself out to the elements.
Tyra's house is warm, and she sidles past Zavala, who is murmuring quietly to Ikora through his Ghost, to join the Cryptarch in her study. There are candles lit as this room does not have working power. It isn't a necessity; Tyra can likely read in the dark thanks to her heritage (Suraya remembers Zavala suggesting something similar of his own eyesight), but it's a cozy, intimate touch.
"He doesn't know when to quit," Tyra says, without looking up.
Suraya drops into a chair adjacent to the older woman. "He means well."
"He does." She closes her book. "Devrim said you two are close," The skin around her eyes crinkles. "Partners in more ways than one."
"Devrim didn't say anything. You're supposing."
"I am not," She rasps, bringing a warm cup of tea to her mouth. "I'm quite secure in what I know."
"Oh?" Suraya crosses one leg over the other. "Which is what?"
Tyra levels her with an all-knowing gaze. "He loves you."
Suraya tells herself it's the swell of the Cryptarch’s Light that makes her blush, she's close to her, can feel the latent heat on her cheeks. She swallows, but doesn't make a sound. When he says it, it sounds right. She knows it, feels it in her soul. When other people say it on his behalf, it's strange.
"Yes?"
The Clan Stewardess sighs. "We're keeping it under wraps," She tells Tyra. "Of course Dev knows, and plenty of other people, too, but this isn't something I want the world involved in."
Setting her mug aside, Tyra asks, "And if they do find out? It's only a matter of time. Though I pride myself on my curiosity, others are far more inquisitive with significantly less tact."
"There's a difference between people knowing and people being involved. I'm not-" She huffs. "People are going to find out. I'd invite you back for the holiday - we're having a fancy dinner-thing, but I know you'd just turn me down."
"You're right," Tyra agrees, "Though I heard Saladin will be joining you. You'll have to give him my best. Two old coots at a party is one too many, and I have people here I'd like to spend time with. I'll leave him to oversee affairs. Though I would like to meet Marc one of these days, provided you could get him here."
"I'd have to drug him to get him outside the City gates." They laugh.
"I think I could send you something to help with that. Devrim deserves to see him more, don't you think?"
Suraya can't help but agree. She ignores the lingering pang at not being able to see him. She hadn't been kidding about sneaking away. She was intending to go visit him, but the weather wasn't something she wanted to contend with. On the other side of the Shard, the EDZ was likely free and clear of precipitation, but the inclimate weather at the Farm could prove fatal if one wasn't prepared (and Suraya couldn't say she was). She'd have to make another go of it, visiting her other parent once the rest of her schedule cleared, after the holiday festivities were over. Maybe they'd be able to work something out to get Devrim home for a long weekend, anything.
A creak in the floorboards breaks her train of thought. Zavala lingers in the doorway.
"Ikora said she'd handle everything until we return, but from what the Tower's sat-feeds are saying, we'll be here likely until mid-day tomorrow."
"Well, good thing we planned on feasting tonight," Tyra quips, looking to the Commander. "I'll see what we can do about finding you two a place to stay."
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#destiny fanfiction#destiny dawning#commander zavala#suraya hawthorne#tyra karn#holiday tropes#they're snowed in#i wonder what cheesy trope will happen to them next#could there#possibly#maybe#only be#ONE BED?!?!
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here is the piece i wrote for the @womenmadefullmetal zine, which i was profoundly honored to be included in! please check out their tumblr to see all the amazing art and writing that went into this project. i was asked to write about my best girl, winry, and i’m so excited to share this fic with you guys. <3
turning home
( ao3 / ff.net )
The Rockbell women have always breathed smoke, her grandmother tells her, not long after her parents die, but not soon either. We’re furnaces, you and me, she says. Anything that tries to go through us will need to melt.
Winry tries to swallow the lump of black metal in her throat. It sinks into her stomach, distending her insides, like the stretched belly of a snake after devouring a rabbit. That darkness will dissolve eventually, worn away by the passing years and the Resembool sunlight. But fragments of it will float in her system always, pulsing now and then with the heartbeat of loss. It will coat her lungs with iron. It will spike her blood with steel. It will surface in the blisters on her palms, toughening them like hide.
Winry learns at a young age that grief can serve her, both as her burden and as her armor.
: : :
“You shouldn’t be checking in so often. I’m fine. And even if I weren’t, Den knows who to fetch if I need help.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you calling, child?!”
“Well...I thought you might appreciate an update on how I’m doing.”
“Winry. You don’t think I have my own connections in Rush Valley? I’ve known how you were doing the moment you set foot in that wretched city.”
Winry smiles. The anxious bite in her grandmother’s voice hints that Pinako hasn’t been quite as collected as she likes to profess.
“Several people here have told me stories about you.”
“Of course they have. I’m a legend.”
“So you did attach automail fingers to Mrs. Wheeler’s foot instead of toes.”
“Who told you that?!”
“Mrs. Wheeler. And Mr. Wheeler. And Mr. Garfiel. And--”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. She thanked me later. Made it easier for her to pick things up.”
Pinako’s laughter crackles over the line, and Winry joins her. If they were together, sharing this evening as they have countless others in that yellow house, she would see the spidery lines around her grandmother’s mouth smooth away, and Pinako would resemble the woman of so many years ago, her eyes bright as beads of mercury.
: : :
She sits on the wide windowsill of her room, one leg swinging over the shoe-beaten, dusty street outside Atelier Garfiel. The workshop is humid, ripe with male armpits whose owners are always traipsing in.
Heat rises from the ground in shimmering waves, and she pulls in a long breath. The air tastes like the burnished insides of a forge; the sun prickles in a glittering sky. Yesterday one of her clients had cracked an egg onto his metal knee to the delight of six local children. The sun above reminds Winry of the yolk: a perfect golden disc surrounded by sizzling white.
She loves it here. It isn’t the same love she feels for the sweeping countryside where she was born, a slow, soft thing layered with complications of old sorrow.
The love she harbors for Rush Valley is quicksilver and octane, a rush of searing air, a keen and yellow energy that wakes in her muscles each morning and blasts wild through her dreams each night. It is a rough town that Winry loves, but it fits her roughened parts, and Rush Valley loves her back.
: : :
“I’m happy you’re settled in. Tell the others hello from me.”
“Mei already said hi when she heard I was calling. Zampano and Jerso, too. Oh, and Ling suggested bringing you here to serve as the official court mechanic. They’ve apparently never had one before, but he said you could name your price.”
Winry’s grin stretches across her face. That sounds so like something Ling would suggest that she can nearly hear it in his voice.
“And Lan Fan’s thoughts?”
“She admires your work, but doubts you’d want to relocate so far just to take care of her arm.”
Winry’s fingers skim the pocked surface of the worktable. She knows every divot, every chip and scar, as though they’re carved in her own skin.
“I’d like to visit Xing,” she admits.
“There’s a lot of murmuring about a railroad across the desert. Goodness knows how long that’ll take—but then you and Granny could both come.”
His voice has changed, even since they last saw each other. Winry presses a knuckle to her mouth, her eyes stinging.
“Will you be happy there?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
“...Winry?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
She chews her thumbnail, cursing her stupid throat for closing up.
“Don’t be stupid, Al. I’ve no idea what you mean.”
: : :
Wandering down the uneven rows, Winry’s eyes skim the names. She halts in front of two close-set stones, where others have left tokens. Her eyes fall on a wilting sprig of sweet violets and yellow honeysuckle.
She sinks cross-legged to the ground between the graves, her back and knees complaining after so many long nights of work. The violets’ brittle stems crumble under her fingers into fine gray dust.
Her father had adored sweet violets, Winry remembers suddenly. He had yelled in delight upon finding the first clumps of them in the spring, when winter still bared its teeth in the frigid midnights and ghosted the mornings with frost. He would gather handfuls, stuffing his nose into the velvet purple blossoms. Winry’s mother laughed often and openly, but never was it filled with more delight than when her husband doubled over, possessed by a fit of uncontrollable sneezing.
A warm drop slips down her cheek, and she swipes at it viciously. Another drop splashes onto the end of her nose. Then the sky opens, unleashing a violent spring tempest that sends Winry sprinting for cover. The overhang of the groundskeeper’s shed provides the closest thing to shelter and she crowds herself under it, blinking the lukewarm rain out of her eyes.
In her haste to escape the storm, she hardly notices the soft grit of the disintegrating violets in her hand. Following a vague impulse, she holds them up to her nose, inhaling their powdery, dying sweetness.
Then she sneezes.
: : :
“Hey, you actually picked up.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
Winry’s voice is sharp, camouflaging the way her entire body melts at hearing his voice. A voice that is safe, and healthy, and--as usual--a bit too loud.
“Jeez. Is this a bad time?”
A telling pause.
“Are you crying?”
“No!!”
Her head feels like someone has packed it with wet paper. Ed chuckles ruefully.
“You’re sick.”
“I’m fine.” Her “m” s and “n” s are migrating toward “b” and “d” territory.
“You sound awful.”
“Right, I’m hanging up.”
“Okay, okay! Sorry!”
Slowly, Winry puts her ear to the phone again. And then sneezes on it.
“Maybe...a tiny bit sick,” she admits.
“Stop pulling all-nighters.”
“I don’t have an all-nighter to blame for this. And don’t tell me what to do.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ed says, half-laughing.
The line crackles as he sighs. “You had to take care of me so much. I feel kinda guilty.”
“You were an extremely bad-tempered patient.”
“Well your bedside manner isn’t exactly welcoming!”
Winry hears the veins popping in his neck and forehead. Ed communicates everything of himself through his voice. He could so easily be sitting across from her.
She closes her eyes and imagines he is.
“You know I didn’t really mind,” she says.
A sheepish grunt from Ed’s side. “Is that because you got to boss me around and tell me what to eat and when to sleep?”
“That... was a contributing factor.”
“I knew it!” he crows victoriously. “You’re sadistic. Sick with power.”
“So was that your backwards way of saying, ‘Winry, I’m so sorry I’m not there to nurse you back to health and make up for all the times I was a stubborn jerk’?”
The pause before his answer is just long enough to worry her.
“It would take a hell of a lot more to make up for that.”
Winry’s smile evaporates, her heart twisting.
“Ed...”
“What? I can’t be sincere for a second?”
“It’s not that . I…I just--”
His laugh interrupts her. “You don’t need anyone to take care of you, Winry. You never have.”
“It might be nice, though,” she mumbles. “Once in a while.”
“Consider the hint taken.”
Her chest expands with relief, a warm wave lifting her on its crest.
“Come home soon.”
Ed hesitates. She is hard to lie to, and if he’s smart, he won’t try.
“I’ll hurry.”
Winry believes him.
: : :
When her head aches and her hands are chapped, Winry walks up the hill to the big tree, where an aged swing creaks against its ropes. The valley flows away from her feet in green, rolling swells.
Her mind is busy, though her hands are not.
She thinks of her newest customer: a girl, no older than Ed when he had his surgery, her right hand missing from a farm mishap. Winry had reassured her that with automail, she could still play her fiddle.
She thinks of how Ed mentioned over breakfast how nice a house would look, there at the top of the hill where the foundation of a burned building still lies.
She thinks of Al’s recent visit, when he brought silk and tea and bright, human laughter across the desert.
She thinks of how her daughter reminds her in a thousand half-painful ways of Pinako, asleep now next to her own children.
She thinks of the countless small responsibilities waiting for her at home: an electric motor to tune up, a bruise to kiss and bandage, a shipment invoice to file, a long-overdue call to Paninya, a pie crust to bake.
Winry listens to the birds talking in the branches high above her. She smiles.
Then she turns down the hill, beginning the walk back home.
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Saintless Stars
So this was a story I wrote for my English Class. It's post-apocalyptic and I’m proud of it.
Trigger: Death, Blood, Gun-violence, Stabbing.
Given the chance, Nadya might sleep another four hundred years. Instead, she was awake and hunkered down, Aleksander scouting just mere inches from her. “Is it safe?” How her voice did not sound meek-how it not trembled-Nadya knew not. Perhaps it was the comfort the woods gave her. Saintless Woods was similar to her homeland of the Forbidden North, filled with snow and dark trees. It felt like home, back when things were simple.
Aleksander crouched beside her, his cheeks red along with his nose and the tips of his ears. “Looks clear,” he finally admitted. Nadya nodded then stood, looking both ways as she stepped out of the snowbank they built an hour ago. Aleksander followed her, the snow crunching as they waded through it.
The snow rained down in thick flurries but Nadya pushed on. Both of them were disheartened and cold, frustrated to no ends that Saintless woods produced no game. The bows on their back weighed heavy with disappointment, the quivers whispered little snarky messages in both of their ears. Nadya glanced at Aleksander, testing out a little idea. “How about we split up? Surely one of us will find a deer,”
For a few minutes, Aleksander did not speak, mulling over the pros and cons in his head, the gears slowly turning. In the end, desperation won by working its lever. It was the third day without any game, one more day of their supplies dwindling. Soon the food would run out and then desperation ruled over them all. “We might as well try,”
Without a sound, Nadya left him. It wasn’t long before he didn’t hear the familiar crunch of her footsteps. The loneliness crept back at once but Aleksander ignored it, continuing to walk until he found a good spot, hunkered down, and waited. The hours blended together, his thoughts were few, mostly on how Nadya was doing. Better than I am, he hoped.
Then it happened. Out of nowhere stepped a doe, looking holy in his coffee dark eyes. He took a deep breath and slowly unslung the bow strapped across his back. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew out an arrow and took aim. Within minutes, the doe slumped, staggering away with an arrow lodged in her lung. Aleksander followed at a distance, waiting for her to collapse. It wasn’t long until he walked away with the doe over his shoulders.
“Thank the saints,” Nadya whispered under her breath as she watched him approach the river, doe over his shoulders. It was a nice size and in Nadya’s eyes, it was a treasured saint’s relic.
“How’s your luck?” He asked, sliding the deer on the snow before crouching next to her.
Nadya was settled by the river bank, a hole cracked in the ice and she was stabbing fish with an arrow. “Pretty good, just want to get a couple more.”
“Get your own,” She slides over, just teasing. Together they fished, stabbing fish every chance they got. In the end, a dozen fish suffocated on the river bank. Nadya beamed proudly, the sight of all the food made her want to cry. Finally, a good haul. They both thought as Aleksander wrapped up the fish and Nadya shouldered the deer before turning back for the bunker.
The good thing about the bunker as it wasn’t some hole with a ladder going down. Instead, it had two steel doors with a security code. Since his hands were free, Aleksander punched in the code and the doors creaked open. As quickly as they could, they shuffled inside to escape the endless cold. The lights flickered on and off as they descended deeper in the bunker, finally hitting the living area after three levels of security measures.
"Hey, guys, how was hunting-" Nikolai's voice bounced off the walls as he tinkered with the crew’s radio. He glanced at them only to look up nearly at once, his hazel eyes widened, “Saints, you got something!”
“We got more than something,” Aleksander lifted the bundle of fish.
“That’s great - Saint Anastasia and Saint Edith, is that a deer?!” Nikolai’s voice grew excited enough that it drew Kaz’s attention. All of them heard Kaz’s cane making it’s thump, thump, thump against the cement floor as he made his way to them.
“I’ll add you to the list,” Nikolai deserting the radio to meet his boyfriend, Kaz, standing in the doorway. The black haired youth narrowed his eyes at the deer and bundle of fish, his knuckles white on the head of his cane.
“You got a deer.” He said, they nodded. “Bring it in the kitchen. Now.”
“What he means is ‘thank the saints and whatever dark god I worship’,” Nikolai translated as they followed Kaz to the kitchen. The kitchen was as modern as possible with a working fridge, freezer, sink, and stove. It was Kaz’s kingdom and he ruled it with an iron fist.
“Put the deer on the table. The fish next to the stove,” he instructed, Nadya was happy to dump the doe on the table and Kaz wasted no time starting to clean it. “Morozova, leave,” Kaz ordered. Aleksander quickly vanished from sight before Kaz snapped at him or threw a punch. “Nikolai, fillet the fish.”
“Only if you kiss me first,” teased the blond. Kaz sighed, wondering why he was dating this flirtatious fool but he needed those fishes to be on the grill in five minutes or less and a quick kiss was a worthy sacrifice to get Nikolai to shut up.
“Nadya, you can go,” Kaz said as he got back to working on the deer. She looked up from where she was, taking out a sheet of ice to be melted for drinking water.
“What?”
“Go. Now.” He snapped and she ran. Sure, it was a big bunker but it was still a bunker. One did not piss off Kaz and live to tell the tale. So Nadya made her way to the Slat. The Slat was what they called the hangout space, most of the crew was there if they weren’t busy or doing something important. It was a comfortable space, nice and warm with plenty of blankets to go around.
Right now, most of the others were busy in the shop or the greenhouse, some were sleeping or making weapons. So the Slat was empty except for Kate, their reader. Her job was running the little library and stealing more books when she found them. She was on the couch, reading a book under two blankets.“Well looky here, it looks like you’ve had a scare! Let me guess, a run with Kaz?”
“Something like that,” Nadya admitted, settling herself next to the reader who grinned and marked her page. “Can we continue that history lesson we started the other day?”
Kate brightened up. Her love of books and history went hand in hand, so when Nadya came to the reader looking to catch up on all the history, Kate was more than enthused. “Of course! Where were we?”
“I think Ivan the Gilded?”
“Ah, yes, I remember!” Almost immediately, Kate launched herself in a long history lesson, Nadya listening eagerly, not even getting sleepy as Kate droned on and on. Time blurred as they worked their way to more recent day. “In the year of Saint Louis IV, the winter came hard. People expected this, the winters were getting harder but Spring never arrived.”
“Why?” Nadya asked, furrowing her brows.
“Religious zealots will tell you humanity pissed off the Saints, big time. Buuuuuut my bet is on global warming. We’re in an ice age!”
Nadya nodded. The second option made sense. “Then what?”
“Well. Society crumbled, bunkers were built, and the determined ones learned how to deal with the snow.” Kate shrugged, “honestly, my mom used to complain all the time that this ‘wasn’t bad as the winters when I was your age…’ but I think she was just messing with me.” She said with a chuckle.
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Nadya sighed, stealing one of Kate’s blankets. Now she was all caught up on history, she no longer was able to claim the ‘oh I’m a newbie, I don’t know anything’ card. It wasn’t like she used it often but still, it was nice to have in the back of her pocket when Nikolai cornered her to help him fix the heating system or test some new, dangerous invention. “What are you reading?” Kate lifted her book, flashing a black cover with orient gold detail. “King of Scars. Oldie but a goodie.”
“How good?”
“There’s a character named Nikolai in it.”
Her ice blue eyes light up, “Gimme.” She reached for the book.
Kate tugged it, “Nu-uh, you got to read the Grisha series then the Six of Crows!” Nadya stared at her, defeated slightly. “Don’t worry, I have them all.”
Nadya huffed, rolling her eyes. “Fiiiiiine. Better get me the first book, ASAP.” Kate grinned and returned to her novel, Nadya leaned her head back against the wall and shut her eyes. No doubt that in his quarters, Aleksander was passed out. She must have dozed off because the next thing, she opened her eyes to see Nikolai strut into the Slat, do his best butler bow, and say with a flourish, “Dinner is served, my ladies.”
Kate giggled behind her hand, got to her feet, and ran right past Nikolai. Although strict in the kitchen, Kaz’s food was to die for even if it was simple. Nadya sat for a minute before she found the will to stand up. “Shall we walk together?” She asked the blond, giving him her best curtsy.
“Gladly,” Arm in arm, they made their way to the mess. Kaz must have rung the dinner bell because the rest of the crew was making their way to the long, large table. It reminded Nadya of the feast tables of her youth, the food was much simpler, and there were no king-just weary people trudging their way through the snow. Nadya made a mental list of the names but people were always coming and going.
There’s Kaz of course, Aleksander….Kate, Celaena, Race and Spot flirting, Jesper, Nina, and Matthias must be out scouting still. Wylan is threatening Kuwei with bodily harm, what else is new - oh, she’s new. Wait no, that’s Alina, crap. Rowan is sulking but Aelin is cheering him up and so her list went. Filing in names, noting who was there, trying to pick out where she might sit for the night. “You’ll be with me and Kaz tonight, don’t worry.” Nikolai hummed.
“Kaz and I,” she corrected.
He laughed, throwing his head back. “Shut up.” Then he sat her beside Kaz, starting to immediately praise his lover on what a wonderful meal he made! Kaz, although he always looked like little ruthless schemer, seemed pleased. Nadya slides her own praise as everyone settled to eat.
Dinner was lovely with venison cuts and vegetables from the garden. Nadya listened to the endless chattering. Kate and Alina chatted over a new book, Nikolai flirting with Kaz, Rowan and Aelin’s endless bickering. Aleksander was across her, eating his venison slowly. “Tired?” he asked.
“Utterly exhausted,” she confessed.
“Me too,”
She yawned, covering her mouth. “After dinner, I think I’m going to take a long nap.”
He raised his dark brows. “Really?” Since she woke up, Nadya slept very little. ‘I’ve been asleep for four hundred years - I will sleep when I’m dead’ was a common phrase she uttered in the dead of the night but now she was exhausted. She nodded. “Odd, don’t you think?”
“I’m all oddities now,” She confessed, picking at her dinner. Aleksander watched as she swallowed the last bite and slipped out of the room. In the kitchen, she washed off her plate and set it out to dry, being careful not to make more work for whatever poor soul might do the dishes under Kaz’s cold eyes. Then she slipped off to the room she shared with the others, pulled back the room divider and dived right in bed, not bothering to take her boots off.
When she awoke, the alarms were going off. Loud and braying like a mad donkey. She lay in a stupor for a minute, wondering why the shrill noise was attacking her ears and why she saw nothing but red. Then it hit her. Someone or something got through the first set of doors. She sat up quickly and bolted out of the room, glad she was fully dressed. She finds Celaena strapping her belt of bullets on her before loading her rifle. “What’s going on?”
“Security breach,” Celaena answers, focused entirely on loading the rifle quickly despite taking precious seconds ensuring she loaded it correctly. Nadya groaned as she gathered up her own weapons.
“Yeah, no shit, Lena, but by what?” Situations went through her mind, flashes of raiders-men and women were driven mad by the cold, monsters of kind stalking through the steel doors. She forced herself to remain calm as she fastened her holster, followed by her scabbard.
“A sesya.” Celaena said dryly before rushing out of the room, Nadya following the slender blonde as soon as she grabbed her axes. They ran together, punching in security codes as they went. For the most part, the steels doors, reforged by Nikolai and the other tinkers whenever they discovered something to make them stronger, kept the monsters out. Monsters like the man-eating wendigos and ruthless yokai.
These monsters were always in the world, even before the Great Winter arrived but now their numbers were endless - the winter only encouraged their siege against mortals. But sesya were different and it was easy for a sesya to blast through the steel doors and destroy them all. Nikolai was still working on his newest invention, trying to prevent the exact thing happening right now.
The sounds of battles and laughter filled Nadya’s ears quickly. The first workroom was ruined and cold, scattered with the crew fighting back the unholy monster trying to steal their home. Nikolai was swearing under his breath, a curse mingled between every single word, and really it wasn’t nearly as softly as he thought it was - next to him was Kaz. Kaz was silent as always, relentlessly shooting the sesya with deadly aim.
“Nadya!” Her name called from behind a knocked over table, her eyes swerved to find Aleksander tucked behind it, loading his rifle. “Get over!!” His voice pinched with desperation as the laughter boomed in the room. Nadya dived for the safety as a knife flew past her. He pulled her close, both of them pressed tightly against steel. She opened her mouth to thank him when a crack exploded in the area and a scream followed.
“That was my good leg!!!” screamed Kaz, hissing in pain and gripping the head of his cane even tighter as his bad leg was forced to take all of his weight.
“Are you okay?! Oh, saints, Kaz- you’re bleeding, you’re bleeding, fuck- we got to get you to the infirmary-” Nikolai jabbered, the panic set in at the sight of his boyfriend’s bleeding leg.
Kaz gave him a hard shake. “Later, okay?! Focus on the mark, foxy!” He grabbed his gun again, clicked to reload it and unleashed hell on the sesya. It made Kaz feel better but did nothing to the laughing monster.
Nadya tore her eyes away from the bickering couple and focused them on the sesya laughing above them. She wasn’t sure what the sesya found funny-if it was anything or the thing was just mad but it made it hard to miss. It was a sad thing, it looked so human and beautiful with long dark locks whipping around its pale face, covering fierce blue eyes and red lips booming laughter from a powerful throat. With a thrust of its slender hands, the winds screamed some hideous melody. The sesya reminded her of a witch that lived in her village but Nadya didn’t let it distract her.
“What do we do??” She yelled to Aleksander, the dark-haired fellow finished loading his gun. She sighed and prayed to the Saints this monster couldn’t only be killed by a bullet. She was a bad shot but if they could slay the sesya with a bullet-why hadn’t Kaz killed the damn thing yet? He was one of the best shots in the bunker but it was still laughing.
“Aim for its heart! It’s too close to get a stab in, a bullet will have to do!” He yelled back, taking aim before firing. Without her consent, a plan began to form in Nadya’s head. A crazy, dangerous plan but still - a plan, better than just shooting bullets in the area and hoping to the Saints they didn’t ricochet and hit a member of the crew.
“Aleksander,” She whispered, her voice dangerously soft. “Cover me.”
“What?!”
”Cover me!” She yelled before flinging herself away from the table’s safety. She yelled similar messages to Kaz and Nikolai, asking them not to shoot her as she ran straight for the sesya. Maybe this was how she died. Not today, She thought as she avoided bullets, winds, and random objects alike. “Hey! Sesya!” She screamed when she was close enough, drawing a knife, and throwing it. The wind caught it and the sesya turned to stare at her. The eyes were eerily family but Neday pushed on and drew her dagger.
It kept staring at her, not moving as she stalked closer. “You.” It whispered when Nadya was less than five feet away. “You,” it repeated in its tittering voice. It sounded even more like her Zoya. It made her heart stop and stutter but this wasn’t Zoya. Her Zoya was dead and buried. Had to be, after four hundred years.
“Me,” Nadya answered and before the sesya did anything-move its hands or laugh, she thrust the dagger in its heart. “Me,” she whispered as it slumped against her, chilling blue blood spilling all over her.
“You. You. You. It’s always you.” it jabbered while it died, the wind vanishing as it took its last breath. “Nadya, why?” It cried before the world stopped. Her heart chilled at the sound of its familiar voice. Zoya? But how? Then her heart broke as she realized what she had done
The laughter did not return, neither did the wretched wind. All that was left was the bleeding body and the bitter cold. The world stopped then started again. The first to snap out of it was Nikolai - he wasted no time in snapping out orders and carrying his gremlin of a boyfriend to the infirmary.
The chaos came back but it was different chaos. People were setting things right, carrying weapons back to the armory, and heading to the infirmary for some healing. Everything was moving, buzzing, some of Nikolai’s fellow tinkers were assessing the hole in the door.
No one noticed Nadya stepping out of the bunker with the body in her arms. No one saw her dig an unmarked grave and pray over the sesya. No one never needed to see the little funeral anyway - no need for her tears to be witnessed then to be pointed at for an explanation. Nadya slipped back in the bunker and made herself useful.
Meanwhile deep in the infirmary, Nikolai was helping Sasha deal with the bullet lodged in Kaz’s good leg. Really, he should be upstairs fixing the door but he couldn’t just leave Kaz to deal with Sasha alone. “It would be out of your leg already if you stopped moving!” The little devil of a healer yelled at Kaz.
Kaz grunted, his face blanched from the bloodlust. “Just make sure I don’t end up with two bad legs, Sasha.” He was gripping the side of the bed hard enough Nikolai worried it might break. If Kaz was holding his hand, he’d snap it in two. He needed his hand.
“Stop moving then!” She hissed at him, grabbing the tweezers. Nikolai offered his hand to Kaz anyway, despite the fact he might break it. He took it, Kaz’s grip was like iron but it loosened meer minutes when the bullet tinked against the kidney dish. Sasha moved on to cleaning the wound, stitching it shut, and bandaging it. Nikolai’s fingers remained intact and Sasha moved on the next wounded idiot.
“I can’t believe you got shot in your good leg,” Nikolai remarked, rubbing his hand.
Kaz groaned, resting a hand over his eyes. “Don’t remind me.” He said bitterly, behind his hand he glared at the white bandage.
“It’ll heal right, this one,” Nikolai said, a bright smile on his lips- Kaz saw right through it.
“Stop wasting your time on me and go fix that damn door.” He told him flatly.
The smile vanished. “What? Tired of my gorgeous face?”
“No, you just will pace around, looking strained and wringing your hands. Might as well send you off now,” Kaz watched his boyfriend. He didn’t deny it. The security breach continued to bother Nikolai’s inventor mind, wondering what he could have done to prevent it. If he stayed cooped up with Kaz, he might drive himself mad.
“And you’re fine with this?”
“Just go.” Sure, he tugged Nikolai in a kiss first but he let him go. Let him figure out what went wrong and how to fix it. Kaz sighed and laid back down, staring at the ceiling. He shut his eyes and waited for his REM cycle to kick his ass.
Many floors above Kaz and the infirmary, Aleksander found Nadya passed out on the lone couch in one of the workrooms. Someone was kind enough to put a blanket over her, the room was terribly cold. He shook his head, four hundred years later and she can still sleep anywhere. She was too thin for someone of her height, far too thin, Aleksander tutted as he carried her back to her little section of the woman’s chambers.
He knew where she kept her favorite pajamas-another thing unchanged-and it wasn’t the first time he got her in bed without seeing anything. He set her weapons against the wall as he folded her clothes away. He was about to leave when she said it.
“Sasha.” He turned to look at her. Her blue eyes were wide and full of tears. “Sasha,” she repeated as if the first time didn’t get his attention.
“Yes, Nadya?”
“I killed her, Sasha,” she whispered, horrified.
He blinked at her slowly. “Who?”
“Zoya.” He shook his head, opened his mouth to tell her Zoya was long dead. She didn’t need to worry over killing her wife now. “I killed her, Sasha, I killed her!” Her voice grew louder as he shushed her. “My Zoya, Sasha, I killed my Zoya, how could I do such a thing??”
“You didn’t kill her, she did not die by your hand, Nadya,” He reassured her, pushing her down as she tried to get up - wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Slowly, she calmed down to the point where Aleksander knew she was drifting off to sleep again. “Sleep well, Nadya, and not too long,” he teased.
She stared at him with her icy eyes. “Zoya,” she said one last time before shutting her eyes and falling in a deep sleep. Aleksander shut the sheet and left the living quarters, dipping his head at everyone he passed. He was no mood for a conversation. He passed Nikolai at the door, who perked up and opened his mouth to say something but Aleksander kept moving, vanishing through the hole in the door.
He did not know where he was going but he knew it when he stopped at long last. A little grave, far too insignificant for all the damage the women inside had done. He stared at the grave, his eyes dark with hatred for the person deep inside the grave. Why? You may ask, sit down and listen then.
Once upon a time, there were three girls. They were witches although one seemed to be powerless she was not all that she seemed. Two of these witches lived happily, marrying each other when they were of age and lived together in wonderful matrimony. However, this left the third witch all alone, alone to brew in hatred and spite. To make herself feel better, she put a curse on the two lovers. The powerless one fell in an undead sleep, unable to wake but unable to die while the other vanished, looking for some way to wake her wife up and lost herself. Only the third witch found this was not enough (it never is), so she made a deal with a Frost Jotun.
“Bring an eternal winter,” she asked.
It regarded her with interest as we would a mouse. “Bring me a Roseblood thorn and I will consider it.” The witch brought back the thorn and it took it with great intent. “I will do as you ask but your fellow villagers are coming to kill you. Worry not, how many times they stab you will be how many years I will wait to start this winter of ours,” Then it vanished, thorn in claw.
“Wait!” The witch screamed as the mob descended on her, killing her with four stabs to the chest. Her spirit relished in the thought that in only four years, an eternal winter would hit but Jotun years were long and after four hundred years, it at long last arrived. Now, four hundred years later, Circe’s grave remained untouched.
“Are you happy now?” The stone said nothing, as stone’s often did.
“Zoya is dead and Nadya killed her. I hope you’re happy.”
Still, the stone did not reply. He glared at it even harder.
“I know what you did, Circe,” He took a deep breath “but we will continue to survive. I hope you’re happy.” Then he turned and stalked his way back to the bunker.
THE END
#yup#me#most of these characters have other fictional characters names#mhm I know#its refrences#gay#all these characters are gay#witches#magic#post apocalyptic#for an grade#hope its good#yes I pulled a bury your queer ticket#but theres still one couple!
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I awoke in the nest,
She whispered “the time is upon us”,
hi y'all, I'm the fallen star God,
Wizard of Oz called Abaddon Adonis,
from Avalon I've come with my family of wild ones,
Pan is me, I'm the child Sun King,
dunking the crescent roll into the Milky Way,
the bill can be paid with awesome vibes,
the price of grape vines is way less than dirt cheap
in the blessed vineyard of *******,
She's dressed in deep red
and on the Gree's Sess EP
I told you what She said,
I'm Her son, birthed from Fun,
come suck my solar kiss,
Yes, I'm the risen trickster,
the gold and purple star,
existence is motionless,
one moment of circular brilliance,
how dope is this?
the illness is off the charts,
my goat hooves free you as they
part the Blood Sea,
now be all you can be and then some,
I’ve come again, I'm the one, I'm him,
the Sun King, you know me as the kid,
my words turn the ferris wheel of Fortuna,
it's Fun,
while My Love Eternal blows kisses to me through the center of
miracle mirror full of Ascension,
I just knew She knew me,
We both remembered and then She assumed the position,
She blew my beam till my erection
projected goo cream and busted a lustery jizzum vision,
pearl inlaid scarab,
I just have to stare at Her body as She nods and becomes me,
closer I go far as I walk on down the hall,
She said “come see that they know their Lord”,
I was astounded when I was surrounded by seven very glowing stars
around my horns forming the legendary crown of all with my name marked on it
and at the Ball I tapped the bell,
hell yes, it was the best when She slurped me,
giving head, twas so good, in fact to that Worst Witch I wed,
She's the Baddest Bitch and my hallowed peen
is Her dreamboat to to zany land of happy,
hey anything can happen on Halloween
and She loves candy,
We gobble the vittles,
She’s Mildred Hubble and I'm Major Riddle,
the ill kid,
I see your bloods still red,
let's see what We can do to bring out the blue,
I know it's present in your cells because I left it there for you myself as a gift,
so roll a spliff of hydro, get high and uplift
She's buying a stepladder to the highway of the Satyr and the laugher is endless
and when this is second winded and caught up in the Funhouse,
run out into the morning dew,
my Honey's true, She adores me
and fours things become one phrase,
let's do it now,
I'm the crazed Yule kid owl,
Gregree, I nailed Her for more than thee hours after She freed me,
the jail bird, now I hail words down like rocks and stones,
my cock is crowing at the total eclipse
as I zip-ah-dee-doo-dah,
She undoes the zipper of my jeans with Her teeth and
when the Beast is released, I stick my dick in Her hoo-hah,
I am the true God, not the false one,
the Fall comes around again,
so get a grip like a fulcrum
or that album by Aerosmith,
where oh where is, my little submarine,
underwater love, She's my dream Girl from the bubbling unseen world of colors unimaginable,
as stab in my golden phallus all
the way in Her twat and up to my balls till I can't go no more,
Who sold the store to the company?
the loving dream is a werewolf nightmare,
that's quite weird but all things balance,
I'm the King and my palace is in the Fun dimension,
come to the convention of Superheroes,
You can hear them next door,
did you know you've all been here before?
recall and get exalted,
I am the hawk head sacred flame,
same as before, Horned King,
fern ring on my dome look so dope and ill
while the villain get hella nervous and scared cause their well aware
that the rap words I speak are severely precise
in Truth accuracy and never embellished
while Set is extra weak and jealous to death,
For I’m Horus the blessed and my storehouse is permanently
stocked with fresh to the hilt,
I got the ill, as I hop through the rapid still motions
of the Wheel of the time cone portal cyclone at the bottom of the coral ocean,
I am God of the Pine Tree and by me Her box got ate like cauliflower,
no, you can’t defeat my Kali power,
it's too holy and hallowed,
your only hope is that you can allow your own soul to devour my flow of dopeness
while Gnosis is fed, roses are red,
did you know it's been said that sometimes the indigo blood run green?
Sunshine days ahead for my Honey Pie and I for She's my Love Supreme
and above the meaning is over-standing,
I'm Solar Pan,
King of the Quartered Clover Fields blooming,
the looming Age is so brilliant it's blinding,
I'm reminding them of how I was,
my owl blood flows and knows of the time spent in the Den
where the winter wind has never seen
under the forever dream
my Mother’s tit cream changed me,
I'm in love with me and She became me
and the same beat moves two hearts
and you are me as well,
the Trees will tell you what I did if you ask them nicely,
They say I’m Baked Alaska with diamond icing
and hey I might be with my bright D,
who’s to say?
I'll tell ya, it’s me, hell ya,
I'm Horus and there's no more due's to pay,
the grooves been made and the system connects,
two sevens times three,
my boon’s been given to me,
you see these shoes? oh you do?
then kiss them and show me my respect or not,
my Whore is hotter then several hells times ten,
I'm him and death awaits if you test your fate,
Her breath was bated for my arrival,
yes, I made it, the Law is my Will
and I am golden so take my hand and hold it,
the moment of atonement,
the soul can surpass even this metamorphosis,
your fast thoughts can be speedier to the point of the motionless,
bleeding ear sound barrier break through,
I'm Santa and I'm merrier than ever,
I’m-a make you feel me,
my feathers are everywhere and localized
and the deal we made is the real G way,
the seventh spot, I've given what I got and
I multiplied like soaking mogwais,
I'm the old King and my Fun lies hidden from this dimension
and the ceiling is the floor and
I'm seething in the coursing pulses,
that's where We sing songs that are so very sick,
they make the negative vibes go all plus signs
and where all arrows fly in formation
to the corn cakes after the baking is complete and thorough,
you're all eating parts of God,
my heart is hot and cold,
I’ve been locked in the holding cell,
I've come back now that I've rung and cracked the Golden Bell
*
http://kinggregree.blogspot.com/2018/10/the-new-book.html
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la plus belle de céans
unbeta'ed but i just needed to get the first chapter of -whatever- this is out of my system, okay?
i wrote this because i really really like the way ifan says lohse's name and because i also high-key want to make the canonical sex scene a 100x more grittier and desperate. i mean i haven't written it yet, but /details/
on ao3
.
-Coin in the dead pauper’s mouth
will give me Lucian’s luck,
the noblewoman whispers before she slots
a Ducate
between an orphan’s frostbitten lips-
.
Superstition runs rampant in Verdistis.
At dawn, the prettiest scullery maids scour the skies for a single blue heron in the hopes a wealthy merchant’s son will notice them, and at dusk the city guards coat their breastplate with the crushed petals of a yarrow flower to ward off daggers in the dark.
Never mix your ales, the innkeeper reminds a barmaid when she cracks open a barrel, it brings us no luck lass.
Novice summoners throw bottles of expensive wines against late Corinna’s house, merchants refuse to shake hands over the threshold of their mansions and even the most crooked of thieves dutifully shoots a quick, simple prayer to the Divine before a heist. You was one o’ us, they’d whisper hotly, fumbling with a lockpick as if a demon was on their tail, and there’s still honor among us thieves, ain’t there?
These are certainties–
Good fortune rests in a pinch of salt thrown over the shoulder, a touch of stardust powder on a lovely woman’s cheek, a golden coin inside the dead pauper’s mouth–
Wolves will steal away little children sleeping too close to the edge of the bed and drag them underneath the willow root–
Ghosts won’t enter a home where sage is burning in the fireplace–
Lohse is ten years old and she knows that last one is complete and utter nonsense. Her mother crumbles sage leaves in the burning hearth every evening, but that doesn’t keep the spirits and demons out, doesn’t prevent her from turning into a haunt. Some take, some give, some teach her things – how to heal, how to hunt, how to hurt – and others don’t go gentle into that good night at all, seizing control of her small body and sending her into violent fits. One turned her tiny, clenched fists onto the city guard and she was dragged back home by the scruff of her neck, spitting curses in a foreign tongue, shrieking and wailing.
She’s a half-sized pint of energy regardless, wild and bright-eyed, with hair the color of a forest fire and skinny, skinned knees.
Don’t sleep too close to the edge of the bed, her mother often warns her, reaching for her under the threadbare coverlet, pulling her close against her chest. Her collarbones grow sharper, more defined as the days turn into months, and her face gaunt, pale, stricken with worry. The hovel smells of smoke, of sage, but the cold keeps biting at their toes regardless. Or the wolf will drag you to the forest, under the willow shrubs, my little one.
She bites her tongue, swallows down the brutally honest words she wants to give in turn sometimes, I’d let him mum, I’d bloody well let him.
On crowded street corners, Lohse sings, jokes or dances, and on lesser days during the cruel, cold winter months mostly, she pleads, begs for alms or feigns death when a rich, soft-hearted noblewoman passes by.
She knows the city’s alleyways like the back of her hand and Lohse learns to survive on the skin of her teeth, on her lightning quick wit and razor-sharp tongue.
Whatever keeps the hunger at bay.
People have precious little coin to spare these days though. These are hard times, she overhears the general store merchant say to her mother, I heard sly ol’ Lucian’s rallying his army against the Black Ring, there’s a war coming, mark my words lady. She doesn’t really get what a war has to do with poverty, with an empty belly and no supper on the table, but her mother seems to understand and sighs and stretches herself even thinner.
The drunkards in the Ducal Inn always raise their mugs in unison when they talk about the war against the orcs, as if they were there too. In candlelight, they praise the Divine with flushed cheeks and slurred words as the barmaid brings another round to the table. Ferol is feral land, they agree, and bless Lucian for trying to tame it.
Lohse’s whole world is contained within Verdistis’ walls, and beyond there’s only woodland, the crumbling stonework of the old church they visit for mass, Rivertown market.
.
After the last frost’s thawed, the city holds a festival. Fanfare rings throughout the streets as the travelling troupe dances over the cobblestones, and people set up stalls in the park, hang garlands between the trees, hand out soup made of watercress and green peas for the poor, try to sell trinkets they no longer have use for.
Outside the wine merchant’s store, his servants load ox-drawn cart after ox-drawn cart with barrels and crates full of bottles.
Verdistis is bright, bold and proud in the face of a crusade.
Lohse’s thirteen years old and musters a cheerful smile, wanting to impress the sour-faced, burly leader of the travelling troupe with her song and dance.
There are patches poorly-sewn into her dress. Her fingers were clumsy from the cold, that seemed to creep through every crack between the planks of that sorry excuse for a hovel she lives in. I need to get out of here, she thinks, desperate, and sings even louder, does a magic trick.
Her mother died a fortnight ago. Ah yes, the bloody flux, the good doctor had exclaimed gravely, looking silly with his dainty handkerchief hard-pressed against his nose, you’re extremely fortunate not to have contracted it yourself, young lady. Lohse had to pay him two ducats for his troubles, and sold off anything valuable left to finance the funeral, to afford a cross planted in the rich graveyard soil with her mother’s name carved into the wood.
Orphans only last so long on alms and Lohse doesn’t intend to survive on moldy breadcrumbs and strangers’ bleeding hearts alone.
“Enough,” the ringleader bristles curtly. Her skirt whips around her ankles when she comes to a complete standstill, stopped dead in her tracks, and she rubs her hands together, shaking off the sparks. His eyes are glassy, like brass buttons under candlelight, when he gives her another once-over.
With a nod, – and even that’s too generous a description, it’s more a light inclination of the head – the leader of the travelling troupe makes up his mind. Lohse meets his scrutiny head-on, staring up at him with a defiant expression, as if her heart isn’t threatening to leap through her mouth. “If you know how to earn your keep, I got no qualms in you staying, girl.”
“I will. I mean, I do. Know how to earn my keep, I mean,” Lohse replies excitedly, rocking forwards and backwards on her toes. She tilts her head, pops her lips and asks, “So, uhm, what do I call you? I mean—”
The ringleader bares down the full weight of his gaze on her bony shoulders, on her patchwork dress and wildfire hair. He’s built like a brick house, scars and muscles, the type of man her mother would warn her to steer clear off if they’d met in one of the city’s alleyways. “Chief,” he says. “If you’re gonna call me anything, call me chief.”
Lohse meets the other members of the travelling troupe that same afternoon.
They’re a colorful bunch of singers, musicians, dancers, jokers and fortune tellers, from every corner on the continent it seems.
She pulls her weight. A young lizard dancer called Blaisdell, whose scales remind Lohse of the jellyroom growing in the shadow of the Ducal Inn, teaches her how to dance with magic, how to shoot searing flames from her fingertips. She learns how to strum the snares of a lute with nimble fingers, how to hold a high note without her lungs giving out, and how to execute the punchline of a crude joke properly.
They travel dangerous roads, so the chief has her practice with a bow, a sword, a dagger in each hand, and what her newfound family won’t teach her, the new spirits her roadside inn of a mind attracts will.
On one evening, after the travelling troupe’s just set up camp at the edge of the Dark Forest, Lohse shacks up with a fortune teller from the Mezd desert. Candles are burning in little stone bowls on their heavy trunks. Outside the dwarven musicians are quarreling about a lost game of dice.
My specialty’s palm reading, she says in a soft, melodious voice as she takes Lohse’s hand in her own, would you -perhaps- like a demonstration?
Her fingers are adorned with heavy rings and thin golden chains looping back to a fine, bright stone on the back of her hand. There are crow feet at the corners of her almond-shaped eyes and wrinkles around her mouth. Candlelight flickers over her face like a blessing.
With her forefinger, she gently traces the curve of the bracelet lines above Lohse’s wrist and hums lowly, channeling a burst of Source within her. When Lohse looks down on their held hands, there’s an unearthly glow clinging to their skin. She tells her of demons to come and adversities to expect, the customary niceties really, until…
You will run with a lone wolf, the palm reader intones, simultaneously looking and not looking at Lohse as she speaks, And make the whole world pack.
Those words seemed to stick, like honey to a teaspoon, like balm to skin, like blood to a murderer’s hands. Lohse would spend the night wondering what those words meant and would fall asleep dangerously close to the edge of the makeshift bed.
.
Even if Lohse feels indebted to the chief and his travelling troupe for getting her out of Verdistis, she was told there was never any obligation for her to stay permanently. Artists have always joined and left their ranks at a whim. Why’d you be any different, girl?
She’s eighteen years old and lingers hesitantly at the grand stone city gates, genuinely nervous for the first time in years, with a knapsack under her arm and a lute strapped to her back. Arx is noisy around her, and while the bones of the city are old and stately like a prim and proper merchant’s mother, the square is still thrumming with life and activity, even after the travelling troupe’s broken down their camp and loaded the oxen-drawn carts with their sails and tentpoles.
It’s close to lunchtime when she takes her goodbyes. Two magister recruits in their brazen red robes scramble past her towards the barracks, almost tripping over the cobblestones.
“Your name better haunt the roads, girl,” the chief says, with the midday sunlight baring down on his broad back and bald head. There are far more wrinkles around his eyes now, than when she first met him. She blinks back the tears in her eyes and ushers a facsimile of a smile. “Break a hindleg, like Blaisdell would say.” His voice is gruff, and Lohse could swear she saw something akin to pride on his face.
Lohse clutches the strap of her knapsack tightly and nods.
“There’s a whole continent for me to conquer, chief,” she responds determinedly. “And if Lucian can tame Ferol, what’s stopping me from doing the same, right?”
.
It’s hard, life on the road, but Lohse’s long-since learned how to scrape by on next-to-nothings.
She rouses tavern guests with rowdy drinking songs, watching how they toss coins at her feet until her throat’s sore and her voice’s gone hoarse, and the last of the drunkards slump over, asleep in their creaking chairs or against the counter of the bar. Oh, all the coin I e’er spent, I spent it in good company, she sings loudly, laughing when the crowd starts to sing along, and all the harm that e’er I’ve done, alas it was to none but me. Sometimes she falls into the good graces of one of the barmaids and gets a fresh pint, free of charge.
The farmers in Paradise Downs like her well enough when she leads the procession during the harvest festival, humming the traditional hymns, dressed up in autumn colors. Dead leaves crunch under her bare feet. There are swipes of dried sheep’s blood on her cheeks and the smell of apple cider hangs heavy in the air, like the promise of a night’s rest in a barn or – even better – in a farmstead’s bed. Lohse bows her head low to an effigy of Rhalic and prays that she better gets paid handsomely for this.
During a ride along Reaper’s Coast, she watches the faraway horizon slowly eat the silhouette of a magister’s ship. Lohse kicks her legs, holding onto the back of the wagon; the wheels squeak when they grind pebbles underfoot. Madcap fiddles with the strings of the fiddle, cursing sourly under his breath when another one snaps. Kroller keeps telling the same dirty joke about the difference between a lizard’s and an elf’s tongue to the coachman until he gets the punchline right. It takes a while.
Papa Joris claps her on the shoulder and points towards the sea. “Lohse, you ever find yourself in a sinking ship, follow the rats. They’ll find you a way out.”
“What’s this all about?” She asks, leaning back and settling her elbows on the wood, staring at him upside down. Her unruly hair falls pin-straight for once.
The well-natured dwarf takes on an air of importance and looks out over the water. He idly rubs at the large, jagged scar on his right cheek, that starts from his ear and disappears under the thick hairs of his beard. “I once fought a real beast, you know, in a different life. When I still served in the queen’s army.” Papa Joris sighs and all the tension bleeds out of him; the memories promptly tucked back under his skull and away from his loose-lipped mouth. “So. Take my advice, and follow the rats.”
“Sure thing, chief,” Lohse replies easily, bouncing her foot to the tune of Madcap’s broken fiddle.
.
Summer heat swelters under her skin, poised upwards like needles; sweat gleams in the hollow of her collarbones, in the curve of her elbows and knees.
The crescendo of her voice—
is not her own.
She’s the prettiest of the house, take her by the hand.
She’s the prettiest of the house, take her by the hand.
People are clapping to the beat of her feet stamping down on the floorboards. Lohse recognizes the numbness that comes with possession and has no choice but to allow the spirit’s presence to wash over her. Her awareness gets pushed into a narrow corner of her mind as her vision fogs up.
The crescendo of her voice—
rises, rises, rises.
Bring, bring our beautiful.
Bring your sheep from the fields, shepherdess.
Her hips sway like a snake-charmer’s pet, from right to left to right again. Someone smashes a bottle over the back of a woman’s head, and blood-stained glass and strong-smelling ale gushes down onto the floor. Whatever’s gotten a hold over her mind, is terribly persistent, hammered into the heart like a nail in Anhar’s boots. Stuck.
The crescendo of her voice—
rises, rises, rises.
Bring, bring our beautiful.
She’s the prettiest of the house.
Through the fog, Lohse hears someone screaming.
Everyone in the inn is staring at her, breathing haggardly, stumbling unsteady feet, holding onto one another as if dancing. The room stinks of spilled alcohol and blood.
The crescendo of her voice falls.
When Lohse catches a glimpse of her face in the reflection of a silver goblet, she finds her eyes turned pitch-black.
She swallows dryly and thinks,
shite.
.
It happens again at her performance near Driftwood—
One young magister backhands her harshly across the cheek; Lohse accidentally bites her own tongue and the overwhelming taste of blood fills the inside of her mouth. She watches the maddening crowd pull and push at each other from a frog’s perspective, lying defenseless on the ground from the blow. There are blurs of reds around her.
Two magisters haul her up by her arms and drag her away, muttering under their breaths about how she’s the ‘second sourcerer causing trouble’ and how there’s ‘still a spot on the Merryweather’. They hold her up so high, her toes barely brush the grass.
Lohse opens her mouth to speak, but before she can manage a word, the tallest of the two magisters kicks her in the shin and hisses for her to keep quiet. She can feel the bruise forming there, the shape and size of his foot, and groans incoherently in response.
They slip heavy iron bands around her wrists and ankles, and a strange, tight-fitting, blue-flickering collar around her neck–
“You’ll be cured,” the magister tells Lohse before she pushes her into the metal cage on the cart and slams the door in her face. “You better be grateful.”
“Oh really?” Lohse prompts back, stretching the ‘y’ in the word really, holding onto the bars. “I doubt you’re sending me to Fort Joy for an exorcism and a two-week vacation.”
The magister doesn’t acknowledge her anymore and turns the key inside the lock, and if there was ever a picture for the word final, this would be it.
.
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of hunts, hurts, and hands
qrow x Lifa Hakon ( @lifahakondotter )
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
“Someone told me if I didn’t start softening my attitude, I’d never get married, which got me thinking that I should plan for that. If we’re thirty five and still unmarried, do you want to get it over with and hunt each other for sport?”
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
she had him in first half, not gonna lie. his flight response is very well ready to kick off before she flips it all around to fight instead, with an incredulous shake of his head, even a dark chuckle.
“you’re really gonna make me wait that long before i can kick your ass again?”
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
Lifa might have laughed a little harder than she should have, but that didn’t make it forced by any means. She leaned her cheek into her hand and glanced him up and down with a up-to-no-good glint in her eyes, “I could break you in two, pretty boy. Pick your battle map. I’m thinking an elaborate cave system, see if you’re any good at climbing without branches to cheat off of.”
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
his gaze is waiting staunchly to meet her once her eyes finish their travels, knuckles beneath his chin, “you’d have to catch me first.”
underground caves couldn’t be terribly different from rain-slick boulders and cliffsides. it sounds fair enough, just a bit out of each of their elements. she jabs, but it rolls right off of well-oiled feathers, “oh? and what about your ropes and knots, huh? gonna bring your little safety net along?”
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
“I actually much prefer free climbing over using gear. I’m good with my fingers,” it was her clumsy attempt to follow his lead, alluding to something that wasn’t related to fighting or climbing. Lifa did lean over and tug off her glove however, just to show him the callouses that darkened her finger tips and the creases under her knuckles from years of clinging to sheer rock faces. “Endurance beats fancy twinkle toes.”
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
qrow smirks as she shrivels, retreats into her own shadow ever so slightly with dawn on her cheeks. he hadn’t intended such, but he’ll take it. words and actions draw his attention to those very fingers. he slides his own beneath those rough knuckles, well aware of their look and feel even before the gloves came off, “can’t argue there.”
she quips, and he lifts his other hand while tallying with raised fingers, “is that so? well then, fingers, twinkle toes, and endurance… good thing i’ve got all three.”
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
A shiver, both pleasant and unsettling, ran down her back and Lifa hid it behind a confident face as she focused all her attention on keep her hand still. His touch tickling over her skin, the soft and the weathered, was maybe a little hypnotic.
Lifa put the pad of her index finger against his and pushed, trying to bend it back if he wasn’t quick enough to resist the pressure. “Don’t get distracted, Qrow. I chase you through caverns, where do you chase me?”
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾
yes, because being reminded of what her fingers can do is the perfect way to stay focused. but he takes the hint and pulls his hand away, lips smushing together in a dramatic pout, “hey, don’t ruin the fingers, we just established how important they are.”
technically, that could continue the double meaning trend.
the corner of his lip quirks. where wouldn’t he chase her? he flies the whole way round the world and somehow still intersects this anti-princess’ path at so many points along the way. uncanny, really. his face only shows gears turning in his head until he finally speaks, “mistrali forest.” stomping grounds for stomping grounds, if that’s how she’ll have it. “check how your footwork holds up in looser soils and rapid rivers.”
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Dappled sunlight through branches, moss embracing the sides of trees and ancient stones, running through the brush as stalks of green caught at the edges of their clothes. Lifa ran her hand under and along her braid, sliding it over her shoulder so she could toy with the end of it. Anxiously so. She didn’t like the sound of rivers. “What season?” she asked, meeting his gaze again without raising her head but instead through her eyelashes.
“You make it sound like this is in a busy summer, but winter would be the real challenge. Do you know why the world is so much quieter after snowfall?” Lifa asked.
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the goal of these scenarios seemed to be to exploit and strengthen weakness, but even in the hypothetical, perhaps qrow pushed too far. it is ingrained to always take the cheap shot. she deserves better. he sits back, crosses his arms, “nah, i meant fall.” the ground is soggy with wilting roughage, but the rivers are low.
winter, to him, would be too close to what she’s used to. why bother trying a different landscape, then. his head makes a curious tilt. he could think of at least five reasons the world is quiet after snowfall. he’s not sure which angle she’s gunning for, and rather than risk losing this battle of wits with a truly stupid answer, he plays dumb for a round, “but fine i’ll bite… why does winter make it quiet?”
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“If you want the scientific answer, it’s the snow. It cushions everything against sound waves. That’s why when you call out, it seems like your voice doesn’t get any farther than you can stretch out your hand.”
Lifa lifted her hands up to inspect them, all of her small scars she earned from nicks and burns when she got too caught up in her crafting work or something less her own fault. “But I think it’s because the world is sleeping and waiting, holding it’s breath and hungrier than it remembered it could be. To listen isn’t enough. You have to use something deeper.”
She raised her hands and lowered them slowly, fluttering her fingers in a silent meaning for snow.
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always more to her words; always needing to dive for elaboration - speak of the seasons, it’s a familiar game qrow plays with Summer. he likes that about both of these girls.
the gentle fall of Lifa’s fingertips relaxes him, even if they’re not playing games between his shoulder blades this time. perhaps he should have more faith in himself. she does see the world the same way.
“that’s right. which is why it’s not ideal for catching a quarry at all. nothing rustles or snaps or shifts in the wind. all you can trust to go by is the muffled crunch of snow and maybe some footprints.” he finds his smile once more, “see, people are also left hungrier in winter.”
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“It’s almost like you don’t want a challenge and you don’t have what we do to find things in the ice. Better learn.” Lifa flashed her crooked grin at him, always more a knowing smirk than a smile itself. “But I’ll take autumn for a compromise. I do have the advantage of camouflage after all,” and she gestured vaguely to her red hair, indicating it the same as amber leaves in the fall. “It’s a deal.”
Lifa leaned forward, and motioned in deliberate gestures. She wondered if he even understood or if he assumed she was just gesturing more elaborately than usual, like she always did when she spoke. Forest. Autumn. Find. Q-R-O-W. “In thirty five years, if we’re still on our own, I’ll find you in the Mistrali forest in autumn.”
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“hey,” a stern point targets his chest then her face, “my hunt skews toward your challenge, Princess. or do you wanna switch up from those claustrophobic caverns of yours?” he grouses, pulls his flask for a drink for the first time since meeting up with Lifa.
his whole damn life is a challenge. this is all a fun game in conversation, but in reality it didn’t matter. he’s at a permanent disadvantage. no terrain or conditions would ever truly be fair. (not even when camouflage means less to a crow’s eyes). he fiddles the cap between thumb and forefinger and tries not to blame her for things she doesn’t know, no matter how it burns. one more sip down the hatch, then he puts it away and focuses on Lifa’s hand signs again.
he’s met people who speak with their bodies before. the snow one was easy enough, but he’d never learned the full language - let alone regional variations. he can tell it’s a few words, and then a few letters, but he can’t quite understand. this quickly shifted from her being cutely mysterious to him simply not knowing what she wants from him.
“sure. sounds like a plan,” he responds, more like a solemn signature on a contract than an enthusiastic promise. the shadows on his face darken. they shouldn’t, not when he’s been so unwanted forever, and here in front of him sits a pretty girl committing to such a pretty thing, - i will always find you - but they do. any concept of a future felt more and more difficult to think about the deeper he got into these missions from Oz.
qrow only knows a few instrumental words in a single dialect, but he tries - he points again, to his head this time, then her. agreed.
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Lifa watched the humor of it all fizzle out and understood that she had hit a nerve somewhere. That wasn’t what she wanted. She never wanted to make him feel inferior or unwanted, she just wanted to laugh with him. To be in a room with his presence that somehow lulled her spitfire into embers but not into ashes of submission. Things were cleared with a like mind to face them with.
Her eyes followed his hands and his lips as the liquor slid down his throat and that was what carried him through this conversation now. Lifa chewed at her lip before she reached across and grabbed his fingers, only to get his attention, to remind him that she was there in another way other than physical.
“You’ll find me and when I���m done kicking your ass to next weekend, we’ll sit around a fire. You’ll remind me of all the things you think I need to remember, like how much I missed my friend. And I’ll teach you to talk in silence, if I haven’t already and if I have, then…we’ll listen to the world go by. Maybe you’ll even get me to sing something if you wear me down enough and gods know you have a charming knack for it.” Lifa’s hand lingered, unwilling to let go before he acknowledged, for his own sake.
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it’s not her. it’s never her. it’s never any of the anybody elses. eventually, all of qrow’s bravado fizzles out to burnt coals in the face of the truth, and the weight of why he usually does missions on his own - even though he’s still part of a team - drags down any good mood. all this, without anything technically even going wrong yet. the slight spin that hits his vision is all that keeps him rooted long enough to even feel Lifa’s hand slide against his own once more.
at least, as much as two roughened surfaces can glide smoothly over one other. he stays trained on that sensation and the buzz in his head, instead of all his emotions threatening to storm and spill over.
“yeah. i’ll find you, Lifa. and you better. no ‘getting old’ excuse for either of us either.” qrow huffs, mostly to himself, and gathers enough will to look her in the eye and pull from the kindness and familiarity all that forest green offers until he can manage the effort to smile.
everything sounds like fancy, empty words when he feels like this, but if Lifa is so willing to hold on, then qrow is not going let go. his thumb brushes over her knuckles. “trash talk aside, i’m always ready to learn from you. i figure we don’t have enough time for a whole language today, but we can start somewhere. go on, tell me about it.”
distract me.
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He was still there, even if he was faint and shying away. No matter how many waves rolled against this stone, it would not erode into nothing. It stood still, against time, against weather, against all. Lifa would reach for him again and again, however many times he needed her to. She trailed her fingers along the inside of his wrist, a map of pathways only she knew the way of.
She wasn’t sure how to put it into words. It wasn’t something she had learned through training, her father or mentor, but by her mother. A sacred lesson of many that she cherished against her heart, a flame she was trying to keep from flickering out and with it, one more piece of someone she lost.
But if she shared it with him, how could it be gone?
“My mother taught me how to live in a silent world. We all have instincts we lost when we became conditioned to the modern world,” Lifa began to explain. “She was deaf, from the day she was born, and never spoke a word. She lived in a place most of the people in her life would never know, but she would take me there somehow…”
Her throat was tight, like she was trying to choke down a lump of clay. It was raw even now. But how could she be so close to him and never have spoken of her until now? She couldn’t let this go on. “You’ve forgotten those instincts but she helped me remember and I can help you. First step is learning how to talk without talking…Here, I’ll show you your name to start.”
With that, she took both of his hands and tried to encourage him to mirror hers.
#* standing next to you at this altitude the world makes sense = lifahakondotter *#* at the end of all of it i found you = solar wind *#* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *#* i gave you my life = past *
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