#so this morning I got determined enough to push through the fear of have to scrap the work I'd done previously. i had to redraw her hands | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

love and mandrakes

sirius black x gn!reader

word count: 5,220

warnings: swearing, fluff, i think that's literally it, but let me know if it's not

a/n: hi! so this is new!!! a new character!! sirius black is the loml, and i've been working on this for what feels like forever. i'm really proud of it, and i hope that maybe some of you will like it. it's been very fun to explore a new universe and the marauders as a whole. i hope you enjoy this!! love you 3000 <333

————

The greenhouse windows are frosty this morning, and you can feel the chill seeping in through the thin glass panes. You fight the urge to lift your finger, using the tip to draw a face in the condensation gathering on the one nearest you.

You’re stood at the back of the greenhouse, like always. You’ve never liked to be very close to Professor Sprout–certainly not because of any disdain towards the woman–but for the fear that she’d have something negative to say about your work. This is despite the fact that she’s been nothing but kind to you regarding every plant that’s ever been in your care.

Really it’s just that you’d beat yourself up if you killed a plant that makes you so determined to do well.

You’re twenty minutes early for class today. Early enough that it’s just you and Professor Sprout in the greenhouse. Everyone else likes to stumble in within the five minutes before class begins.

But clearly, that’s not quite the case this morning. The greenhouse doors open, both rather than just one, and Professor Sprout turns to greet whoever it is.

“Good morning, Mr. Black.”

You look up. Sirius Black is never early to class. If anything, he’s usually either not there at all, or the absolute last one to find his way in, perhaps a half hour late, if not more. He sidles up to Remus Lupin, and suddenly they've got a lovely little group project on their hands.

“Remus won’t be in today, Professor.” Sirius gives her a look that you assume is supposed to induce sympathy on her part. “Seems he’s got a cold.”

Pomona has never found it in herself to be frustrated with the boy, unlike the majority of her colleagues. She’s one of the few professors at the school to not harbor particularly malicious feelings towards the boy. He might be a troublemaker, but who isn’t at that age?

She’s been briefed on what his home life is like, too, and who he has to put up with. And since she was a young girl, Pomona has been determined to give everyone a fair chance.

"Thank you for letting me know," she tells him.

You watch as Professor Sprout heads to a supply closet and begins to pull out heaps of gloves and what look to be earmuffs, messily tossing away the things she doesn’t need. You're lost in observing her, so consequently the voice sounding a few inches from your ear startles you.

"You always in this early?" Sirius has materialized next to you, the beginnings of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

You glance at his hand where it lingers over the stem of a plant you’re not sure he should dare to touch. He’s got a ring on every finger excepting his thumb.

“Usually,” you say. It occurs to you that these are some of the first words you've ever spoken to the boy, if you don’t count bare minimum exchanges in the odd class. “I like it back here.”

You like it back there because less people can look at you. Because having to sit somewhere else stresses you out, not to mention throws you off. You feel safe in your little corner.

Sirius withdraws his hand from the questionable plant and raises his head. His eyes bore into yours. They’re the strangest shade of blue. It seems to shift in the light, and sometimes they look almost gray. He grins, and then begins to scan the area around the both of you.

“Suppose it is nice. Maybe I’ll stay back here with you. Wouldn’t want you to be lonely, you know.”

You snort at that and he quirks a brow at your amusement. Sirius pushes his hair behind his ear and you realize he’s got a silver industrial piercing.

“That hurt too bad?” You ask, gesturing towards the jewelry and hoping he knows what you mean. He does.

His thumb skips over the metal ball at one end, coming back to fiddle with a section of his robes. He leans forward, grinning at you. His smile is wide. The corners of his mouth tick up mischievously, smile lines conveying layers of mischief you know he must have hidden in that mind of his.

“Probably wouldn’t have as much if I’d gone to a shop.”

You gasp lightly, thinking about it getting infected and Sirius having a bloody mess on his hands.

“You did it yourself?” You ask, eyes wide and full of concern.

He laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound, deep and friendly. Warm.

“I was prohibited,” he says, pressing a scandalized hand to his chest. “Remus did it for me over break, while my brother played nurse.”

“Well it looks nice,” you tell him, palms beginning to sweat. You find his presence to be slightly overwhelming. “I mean I think so.”

“Thank you, sweets.” He bends slightly at the waist, hand over his stomach, and it’s a gesture you might take as being that of an asshole, if it weren’t for his voice being so kind.

You hum in place of a you’re welcome, trying to will away the swarm of butterflies in your tummy. They’re being rather aggressive.

“And for the record,” he adds, “Remus was very strict with my cleaning regimen, so I did not get any infections if that’s what you’ve been contemplating.”

“That’s good.” You smile. You’re not sure it’s anywhere near as pretty as his.

Professor Sprout claps her hands, startling you. Today is really not your day. Sirius snorts at your jolt, but when you glance at him he’s pretending to be intensely focused on your instructor.

“Morning, everyone!” she begins. “Today, as you may have guessed, we will start our lessons on Mandrakes. This particular lesson will focus on basic knowledge, as well as care, but come next class, your actual project will begin.”

“You’re going to need a partner, so I’ll give you a few minutes now to choose, that way you can prepare with one another prior to the main exercise.”

All at once, everyone turns to this person and that, chattering and deliberating. It seems everyone has someone.

Your heart starts to pound, and you wonder if maybe Professor Sprout might let you work independently. Pairs are forming, and you can feel yourself being left out, pushed to the edges of society. Maybe that’s dramatic, but it’s how you feel.

You lean against the table behind you, hoping that she won’t call you out for not having a partner. That is until there’s a figure in front of you.

“What’d you think, huh? Shall we work together?” Sirius stands so that you have no other choice but to look back at him. It’d come off rude to not maintain eye contact at this distance.

You feel yourself burn and can’t help but wonder if this is some sort of cruel joke.

“Wouldn’t you rather wait and join Remus?” You ask, fingernails picking at the wooden underside of the table.

“You think I’m using you as a fill-in?”

You shrug, rubbing your nose. “We’ve quite literally never spoken an actual conversation before today. I just thought you’d want to work with your friend and not some stranger.”

“Well there’s a first for everything, isn’t there? And you’re not a stranger. I see you all the time.”

You sigh. He grins, ever pleased with himself.

“You don’t want to be friends with me?” He teases.

“I—”

“No, it’s quite alright. I’ll see if good ‘ol Mona will help me out.” He turns like he’s going to march away, though his feet barely move. He’s not going anywhere and you both know it.

“Holy shit,” you start. “Just shut up. Go and get the gloves then.”

Sirius grins. “Demanding, aren’t we?”

He does go and get them though, returning with two sets of gloves and a pair of shears, as Professor Sprout had instructed.

“Today, we will focus on tending to your Mandrakes. I want you, in your pairs, to check the soil and water as needed. I also want you to trim the leaves, as these have been left to run amok for a while. To work!”

Chatter erupts around you, bouncing against the glass walls of the greenhouse.

You fetch a watering can while the area is still free, and Sirius fills it up for you. You notice that your Mandrake is severely lacking the soil it needs. It’s not very well off at all.

“Do you see this?” You ask him, gesturing towards where the roots are showing, clearly dehydrated and with nowhere to sprawl out and grow. “She’s got us treating the wounded.”

Sirius crosses his arms. “That’s a damn shame now, isn’t it? Guess we better heal this thing then.”

“Are you fucking with me?” You ask, eyes darting up to meet his.

“No, I swear. I can tell you’re into this. It’s not my best subject.”

“Well you know what they say.”

“What do they say?” His eyes are gleaming. That’s the best word you can think to use for it.

“Teamwork makes the dream work.”

He rolls the very same eyes. “I’d like a new partner after that one.”

You laugh, and Sirius feels a pang in his chest. Like he’s taken a blade to the heart, and he can’t do anything but let it happen. Your laugh is such a sweet sound and he worries it might be the death of him.

You slip your gloves on and start trimming the leaves that have to go. There’s quite a few of them, but luckily they seem to be towards the bottom of the stem, and you think once you’re able to water it, the Mandrake might have a chance.

You finish with the shears, and set them down. You look up at Sirius, and your eyes catch a group of buttons on the shoulder of his robes. His hair had been covering them before. You find yourself feeling warm inside, as one in particular tickles your fancy.

“I like your pin,” you say.

His brows shoot up, “Which?”

You use your pinky and tap the glossy finish. He watches. “That one.”

“The Queen one?”

You nod, shoving some more soil into your pot to try and save the roots.

“You listen to them?” Sirius leans down so that his face is next to the Mandrake and in your line of sight. He’s got this brilliant grin. It’s worrying you. For a moment you think he might say something cruel, but the look in his eye is almost boyish.

“Yeah,” you say. “My mom is a muggle. Fell for a dorky wizard boy. So she’s raised me on loads of good stuff.”

“Lucky duck, you.”

You snort and then look up at him, though he's already been looking at you. His eyes haven't left you the whole time you've been working. He finds the way you treat the plant as if it has feelings to be charming. He wonders if you take care of everyone like that. Or maybe even yourself.

You move the soil pouch towards him. "You gonna help me?"

He slips his gloves back on. They really don't match anything he's wearing, and frankly it bothers him a bit. "Of course, of course."

He starts tending to the plant and you watch, noticing the bumps left in the gloves where his rings are hiding underneath.

"Feed her, Seymour," you say, and Sirius whips his head towards you.

"Who the fuck is Seymour?"

"Muggle film. Musical actually. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry for exposing your nerdiness. What's the film about? Talk to me," he proclaims, wincing at the state of his soil work.

“This guy, Seymour, finds a plant, and he tries to take care of it, you know, as you do, but he figures out it only wants blood and meat to eat and that’s what he feeds it, so it keeps growing and growing until it’s big enough that it starts eating people.”

Sirius looks at you with wonder in his eyes, and starts to laugh. "Are you fucking with me, love?"

You start to smile, one that you at first try to suppress, but it ends up spreading across your face, softening your features. Sirius thinks maybe it's the prettiest smile he's ever seen. He can't get over the way the lines around your mouth form, or the way your cheeks bunch and your eyes light up.

"No, I promise."

The boy tugs his gloves off, having finished salvaging the soil for your plant. "Killer plants, huh?"

"Indeed," you say. "You know Mandrakes are killer too, right?"

"Stop."

You start to water the plant, trying your best not to drown the damn thing. "What do you think the earmuffs are for, dumbass?"

You immediately regret calling him a dumbass, thinking you may have crossed a line--it's not like you know him all that well, you've only been speaking for this one class period--but he only smiles at you.

For some reason, you find him easy to be around. He doesn't scare you.

"It's cold."

"Because it's cold? No. After we save the plants we have to re-pot them, and when we take them out they're going to scream. Their cries are fatal, Sirius."

He stares at you. Remus did not tell him this. Technically he could've read his textbook, but clearly he didn't.

"That seems highly uncalled for."

You chuckle and he grins again.

"I agree,” you say. “Have you got the time?”

Sirius pushes his sleeve up, glancing at the watch tight around his left wrist. “We’ve got five minutes left.”

You look up, and notice Professor Sprout removing her gloves. If you’d waited to ask for just a moment longer, she would’ve begun her everyone-get-your-shit-together-and-get-out-of-here speech.

“Students, your attention please!” Professor Sprout’s cheeks are rosy, tufts of curls sticking out from under the brim of her hat.

“Next class we’ll try and get the Mandrakes repotted, so that they may grow to their full potential and can then be used as needed for Madam Pomphrey. You’ll need to come and water your plants periodically throughout the week, as these tend to drink rather quickly, so I suggest you alternate days with your companion.”

When you’ve finished and you’re outside once again, it’s misty, your skin dampening with each step you take.

You feel a hand on your elbow, and Sirius has appeared next to you. Frankly, you hadn’t expected him to continue contact with you.

The both of you had discussed what days you’d water you plant, and you assumed that was that.

“I’ve realized we’re co-parenting a Mandrake,” he starts, “and I feel as though I should at least know a little something about the mother of my child.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “You know, to ensure that they don’t grow up lacking proper guardianship.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, hopping over a puddle.

He tosses his head back, laughing, and you feel your insides go all warm and gooey at how his hair moves with the motion. You can’t help but wonder what it feels like.

“First, you don’t want to be friends, and now, you want our child to be one of divorce.”

You stop, resting your forehead against the cool stone of one of the courtyard walls.

“Sirius, we haven’t even been married.”

He presses his forehead against the stone next to you, and you turn to look at him. “I’m pretty sure there are a good bit of people who’ve been married and know less about each other than we do,” he says.

You smile at the wall and he catches it.

“Besides, we’ve got the same music taste, and that means I’ve got to keep you around.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, that’s how this works. Didn’t you know?”

You brush at the side of your robes where you’ve now gotten moss remains on them. “I was not aware, no.”

“Haven’t you got class or something?” You ask him. His cheeks are pink from the cold, a stark contrast from the chill of his eyes, the sharp black of his hair.

“Not for another hour. You?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“So tell me something quick.” He spins a ring around his finger, a chunky silver one with something set into the center. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Seriously?”

He smiles. It’s gorgeous and full-fledged. You can’t believe he’s looking at you like that. It feels like some big error.

“Sorry I set myself up for that one,” you say. “Um, it’s green.”

“Lovely. Now what shade of green are we talking?”

“Sirius.” You pout.

“Come on now, chop chop.” He snaps his fingers. “Thought you had an excuse to ditch me or something?”

You roll your eyes. It seems that cocky ass grin never leaves his face. “Like a forest green. Trees and such.”

Sirius claps his hands together, metal clinking. “That’s fantastic. I’ll be sure to remember it. Mine’s purple, by the way, thank you for asking.”

“I bet you look stunning in purple, Sirius.”

He blushes. He actually blushes. You grab for his wrist and push his sleeve up to peer at his watch.

“I’ll see you around, okay?”

For the first time in a long time, Sirius Black hasn’t got shit to say. No one ever makes him blush.

————

“I don’t come to class one day, and you’ve made a new friend? Why couldn’t you have made a new one any other day? I think I need some time off. Maybe even early retirement.”

Sirius smacks Remus on the shoulder where the latter lays stretched out in bed. The curtains are drawn one one side so that the only person they’re visible to is James, who is half asleep in the neighboring bed, glasses askew and tie on the brink of choking him.

“It’s rude to abuse the wounded.”

“You’re off your rocker, Lupin.”

Remus rubs his face, though he winces, his arms much too sore for any sort of activity. “Tell me about it.”

“Feeling any better today?”

“Yes, Sirius. I’m feeling fucking wonderful.”

“He’s being sarcastic.” James’ voice is muffled by the pillow he’s collapsed into.

Sirius turns to look at his friend. “Yeah, no shit, Prongs. Thank you so much for enlightening me.”

James raises a weak arm, flipping him off. “Eat me.”

“You say that as if I won’t do it.”

James sits up, but only enough so that he may rearrange himself into a poorly structured child’s pose. “Stop being such fucking tease and do it then, babe.”

Remus rubs his eyes aggressively, like it might somehow rid him of his ever permanent longing for sleep. “Shove it, you two.” He peeks out from between his fingers at Sirius. “I thought you were saying how you’ve made someone else miserable with the joys of your friendship.”

“Fuck you,” Sirius says.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I did make a new friend. In herbology, since you decided to have a go with the moon and left me to perish.” Remus rolls his eyes. “They’re very kind, if you must know. We are co-parenting a Mandrake.”

James snorts into the mattress.

“Is it really co-parenting if you’ll make them do all of the work?” Remus asks.

James snorts again and Sirius leans over to smack him against the back. He lets out a pathetic cry that both of the other boys ignore.

“I’m helping, asshole,” Sirius begins. “I’m supposed to go water the fucking thing in a bit if either of you need proof of life.”

“Of your friend or of your child?” Remus reaches his arm out to grab hold of one of the bedposts and heave himself up.

“Both.”

James slides off of his bed and starts to stretch, and a cacophony of cracking sounds follows, which is slightly concerning considering his age. “Sorry. I’m supposed to go and see Lils. But I expect a full report back, Moons.” He strips off his tie and pulls on a coat. The other two boys watch him bound across the room like they’re at a tennis match.

James is gone so quickly you’d be amazed that he was half-asleep minutes before.

“What a prick,” Sirius says from where he sits at the foot of Remus’ bed. He looks away from the door and at his friend.

Sirius sets his hand on Remus’ knee. “You get any sleep this morning?”

“Some. Not enough. Though it’s never enough, or whatever.” Sirius gets a pang in his chest. He wishes he could make it all better.

“You want to get some fresh air? You can come with me to the greenhouses if you want, but you can stay here too. I’ll sneak down to the kitchens and get you something.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go with you. Sun’s not out, is it? It’ll kill my head.”

Sirius stands and peers beneath the drawn curtains. It’s cloudy, like it might storm, a thick layer of cloud lying over the grounds. “Nope. She’s hiding from you today.”

Remus nods and his friend walks back over to his bedside. “Come on, Rem.”

He removes the blankets from over his lap and scoots to the edge of his mattress. Sirius holds out his hands for Remus to take. Sometimes he gets really woozy when he has to stand after nights like the last. His knees shake, but he’s steady once he’s up. Sirius keeps an arm around his back when there isn’t anyone in the halls to question Remus’ condition, but has to settle for watching his friends footing otherwise.

Sirius gets Remus on a bench and makes a stop by Madam Pomphrey on the way, feigning a headache. She gives him a little bottle of these chewable tablets with instructions on how often to take them and tells him to come back if the ache persists.

He hands the bottle to Remus when he’s finished, and the boy’s had the medicine for an entire four seconds before he’s chewing. It’s one of those headaches that stays dull, but any sudden movement and your entire skull is throbbing and he thinks he might just die. Remus thinks this every full moon. He is not dead.

The trip to the greenhouse takes longer than usual, mainly because of Sirius’ tendency to baby Remus during his moon hangovers. He claims it’s because he doesn’t want a death on his hands, something about living up to the Black name, but Remus knows it’s really because Sirius is much more caring than he’d ever admit.

“See? Look at this fucker. My child.” Sirius gestures dramatically at the potted plant. Remus leans up against one of the tables, only slightly amused, much more out of breath.

He’s only just gone digging for a watering can when he hears the door open and glances up, assuming it’s another student having to monitor their own dirt ball.

But it’s you.

“What’s up, love?”

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up. He hadn’t realized when Sirius said he made a friend he actually meant friend. He’s never really seen Sirius look at someone that way.

You stand by the doors, kicking the one you came through shut behind you. Sirius pretends like he’s not attracted to the movement.

“Hi,” you say. You step a little further into the room. “I know it’s not my day to water, but frankly I was kind of worried you’d forget to do it.”

Remus turns to face you and laughs, full on. You grin at him. He’s never really looked at you before, but there’s no denying how sweet you look. He bets you could kick Sirius’ ass if you wanted. He also thinks Sirius might let you do it.

Sirius straightens and flips his hair back as he does so. “You wound me.”

You shrug. “I was also slightly panicked you’d drown the thing, so there’s that.”

Sirius walks over to the sinks, filling up his watering can, though you both know he could easily use a spell to do it instead. “So you came to supervise?”

“‘Fraid so.” You chew on the inside of your lip.

“I don’t blame you,” Remus says. “He’s kind of a flake.”

“Fuck you, Rem.”

“Yeah, sure.” Remus pushes off of the table, moving in the direction of you and the doors. His head is starting to feel better. He leans in next to you, though his voice is anything but a whisper. “I don’t know why you’re putting up with him. Would’ve asked for a different partner myself.”

“She picked me!” You laugh, seeing Sirius put his hands on his hips out of the corner of your eye.

Remus raises a brow at you. “Oh yeah?” He smiles at you. It’s a knowing expression, an understanding one. He keeps his eyes on you, but speaks to Sirius. “I’m gonna go for a walk, Pads. Come and retrieve me when you’re finished.”

The squeeze Remus gives to your shoulder is kind. It tells you you’re safe with Sirius. With him. That you’re welcome. The glass door rattles as it shuts.

“You really have no faith in me?” Sirius asks, spritzing the Mandrakes leaves. You peer into the pot, noticing he’s watered it just right. It’s not going to drown after all.

“No, I’ve got plenty. Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

Sirius sets the bottle he’s holding down. “No shit.”

“Well you see, last time you asked me a question, and I didn’t get to ask you one of my own, and I figured I’d better do that if I want to keep the friendship alive, you know?”

Sirius is smiling at you. He can’t believe this–your teasing.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone. “So what’s the question?”

“Do you like pie?” you question.

“I do.”

“That’s good. Because I feel the same way, and rumor has it you can get into the kitchens, so I thought we could work together on this...and get pie. It’s like a reward. I put up with you and you put up with me kind of thing, so we get something to eat.”

Sirius tosses his head back, letting out a bark of a laugh. Your eyes linger on his neck for a second longer than they should.

“Well the rumors are indeed true,” he says. “Guess we’ll have to ditch Remus, then. Make it a proper date and whatnot.”

“That seems unkind,” you chuckle.

“He’ll live.”

————

“What’s happening here?” Sirius throws himself into one of the chairs on the other side of the table where you and Remus sit.

“We’re reading,” Remus tells him. “Go away.”

Remus had shown you to this table. Said it was his favorite. There are a small group of them in the very back of the library, behind one of the last rows of shelves. You wouldn’t know they were there unless you went looking.

He said it’s where he goes to hide when James and Sirius won’t shut up and let him work, which is more often than not.

“You whined about me making new friends,” Sirius says, “so that I’d leave you alone, and now you’ve taken it upon yourself to steal said friend from me?”

You cover your face with your book, sliding deeper into your chair and trying your very best to fight off a giggle.

Sirius reaches across the table and snatches the book from your hands. He wants to see the shit-eating grin you’re hiding. He stands and moves in front of you just when you bury your face in your sleeve.

He tugs on the fabric of your shirt. “Traded me out then, have you?”

You snort into your sweater, and Sirius watched the way your shoulders shake. Remus eyes his friend’s hand, trying to make sure he didn’t lose your page with his frenzied antics. He didn’t though, pale thumb tucked into the paper.

Remus sets his own book down, stretching over the back of the chair. He’s thinking about going to bed.

Instead of looking at Sirius like you know he wants, you turn to Remus.

“Leavin’ me, Rem?”

Sirius scoffs. Rem his ass.

Remus lowers his head so that it’s level with yours. “Sleepy,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. You look at the scar that runs through his brow and across his eyelid. There’s another by his ear. You wonder if he’ll tell you about them someday.

He bumps his forehead—the gentlest of taps—with yours, and then he’s standing. Sometimes you forget how lanky he is when he’s always so hunched over.

“Goodnight, Lupin,” you say.

“Goodnight, you two. Don’t get too wild. This is still a library.”

Sirius takes the chair Remus had been occupying. You look at him, and reach for his hand. He wouldn’t even think about denying you taking it, even if he is being a grump.

“I have not traded you out, Sirius.” He glares at you, though his eyes are still much too soft for it to be anything malicious. He’s not sure he could ever look at you in a hateful way.

“You could’ve read with me,” he argues, tickling your palm. You try and wriggle your hand away, but he only presses his fingers firmly into your skin, keeping you there.

“Come on.”

“No, you could have,” he continues. “I can be very well behaved, if need be.”

“Oh yeah?” You’re the one smirking now. Sirius is afraid he might never get this image of you out of his head.

“Yeah.” He leans in, nuzzling his nose against your temple. When he pulls away, you realize he has a smattering of freckles under one eye. You have the urge to touch them, and so you do.

He relaxes against your hand. “You’re very pretty, Sirius.”

“Thank you.” He kisses your knuckle. “You’re very pretty, too, sweets.”

“Thank you.”

In the weeks since your Mandrake project has finished—and the plant did indeed survive—Sirius has grown increasingly attached to you. Frankly he finds himself shocked that you’re willing to deal with him at all, let alone that his friends like you so much. He wasn’t even a little upset that you’re spending time with Remus. You have a lot in common, actually.

He just likes to tease you. And he’s very good at it.

“So you come looking for me because you need something? Or are you perhaps attention starved?” You question, taking your hand away from his face, though your other is still within his grasp.

“Most definitely the latter.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

He speaks close to your ear as if he’s about to spill the world’s most confidential information. “Is this a safe space?”

“Absolutely,” you assure him.

“I want you to play with my hair,” Sirius says.

You gasp, clutching at your nonexistent pearls.

Your moment's pause makes him a little nervous. “Well let’s get on with it then,” you tell him.

You take Sirius up to your common room, it being much too late for anyone to be up. You slip your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp until he’s falling asleep and you’ve made promises of braiding it sooner or later. Eventually, you have to wake him, send him off to bed.

And he pouts. God, does he pout. But it’s okay. He’ll get you to do it again tomorrow.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

2K notes · View notes

ghostkeegan · 1 year

Note

I wrote some Drabble about keegan/ghost (I can’t remember) strangling reader with their underwear after he rips them off. I love your writing could you write something with Keegan doing that? Lmao (had someone do it to me once, was hot af)

Unleashed (Keegan P. Russ x Fem! Reader) 18+

Warnings: teasing, edging, degradation, fingering, p in v, choking (obvs), pure porn no plot.

Keegan was never one to lose his cool. He was the silent ghost. Only resorting to violence when on the battlefield. The rest of the time he was calm and calculating, like a cobra ready to strike.

But the way you were getting on his every last nerve today was really pushing his boundaries.

It started off simple, with you teasing him slightly by bending over to pick up spare ammunition shells on the floor, or how you’d pull your shirt down lower during a spar, specifically when you were fighting him.

Then you got even more ballsy, insisting on moving past him when you really didn’t need to. In an open hallway you’d still brush up against his front, causing Keegan’s pants to become uncomfortably tight. He’d grit his teeth, irritated at the little obnoxious giggle that left your lips.

He had enough of your games after a specific morning while working out. You had gone about the typical teasing of flaunting your breasts when sparring. You were dressed only in a sports bra and running shorts. You had him distracted, so it wasn’t hard to swing your legs around his neck, and throw him to the ground with the momentum.

It was just you and him today on base, so the only thing that echoed through the training area was muffled grunts and panting breaths from sparring.

Your legs straddled against his hips, but Keegan was stronger, he had that advantage as he flipped you over, pinning your back down against the mat with one hand clutching both of your wrists in place over your head. If you weren’t so determined to win, you would have been drooling at the sight of him out of breath on top of you.

“Give up.” He grumbled, his eyes dark and dilated. You squirmed underneath him, but he pushed down your pelvis with his free hand. With a defeated huff you smirked, “I submit then,” you drawled, feeling his grip on your wrists loosen significantly at your tone.

Your smirk grew as you ripped your wrist away from his grip and hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him closer towards your face until he was a couple centimeters away from your nose.

He let out a growl in warning, only watching as you tilted your head to the side, your warm breath fanning across the sensitive pulse point of his neck. His weight nearly collapsed on top of you as you whispered into his ear,

“You seem to be distracted, Sergeant…”

It was only a teasing jab, but something in him had enough of your antics.

He hummed slightly, before he slammed you down into the mat, your head slightly bouncing off the material before he pounced on you.

“What are you playing at?” He growled, your eyes weren’t showcasing any fear, instead they were blown wide, resembling the dirty feeling of lust.

Any since of gentlemanly respect he had flew out the window at the little giggle that released from your throat.

You had played this game for too long. It was his turn now.

With a bruising grip, his fingers laced around your neck, restricting your breathing. Yet the hot trails of his tongue among your neck brought you back to life. “Don’t fucking move. If you move, you won’t want to know what happens.” He threatened through gasps of air.

“Yes, sir.”

He started with little kitten licks, but it progressed to the feeling of his teeth nipping down to your bare stomach, you felt his smirk against your skin as he bit down hard on your hip. You released a strangled hiss at the dull ache, but still you didn’t move.

“I can feel you shaking, babydoll.” Keegan teased as he blew hot air upon your clothed pussy, a soft moan escaping you. You wanted nothing more than to buck your hips up into his mouth. To feel his lips suck sloppy kisses against your clit.

His mouth ghosted over the shorts, as he placed a chaste kiss upon the material before pulling away completely. You whined at the loss, but the smug look across his face made you rethink your plea.

Keegan pushed himself up to your upper body, bringing his fingers around the straps of your sports bra before you felt the fabric strain as he tore it apart. “Please…” you begged without guilt as his hungry eyes travelled over your breasts.

“You wanted this all along didn’t you, slut?” He growled as he squeezed down on the soft skin of your breasts, the pain a welcoming bliss as you moaned lowly.

“Didn’t you?” He asked again, beginning a trail of sloppy kisses upon the skin. “Yes, I want you.” You mewled as he sucked a heavy purple bruise right next to your nipple. With a whine, you moved your nails to his back, scratching the soft material of his t-shirt as you attempted to ground yourself.

And that’s when you realized. You had moved.

You released a pitiful cry as his lips stopped moving against you, he knelt back upon his knees, his eyelids heavy. “I told you not to move. Get on your knees, now.”

His tone sent a deep twist to your stomach, and you were suddenly aware of the soaked material of your lace panties. You turned your back to him, whining lightly as you knelt on your kneecaps. It took a moment to feel him again, his chest was now bare as he pressed against your back, the scolding flesh grounding you as he kissed you again on the neck.

His arm reached around the front of you, finding the waistband of your shorts before his fingers reached just where you wanted him.

He hissed close to your ear at the slick coating his fingers. “Fucking soaked, darl’, so pathetic.” He drawled, pushing a digit into your needy cunt, using his other hand to pull down your shorts.

Your hands clenched at your sides, trying your hardest not to reach out to him. You wanted to feel his hair between your fingers, to pull him closer or to stroke his very hard erection against your thigh. His ruthless pace was borderline painful, he’d added another finger, spreading them apart inside your walls as he stretched them.

“I’m gonna cum…” you cooed as you felt the hot twisting of your walls, but Keegan pulled his thick fingers away teasingly. The cool air was like a slap to the face as you lost his contact. You whined pathetically at the loss, but Keegan only chuckled darkly from behind you.

“Nah uh, tease me, I tease you. Now look at my fingers, look at you.” He commanded, as your eyes flickered to his hand, where strings of your arousal dropped down to the mat.

Without even thinking you leant forward, pulling his fingers against your mouth and sucking down on the flesh. All you knew was that you needed him, or something to keep your mouth occupied. Keegan let out a surprised hiss, before releasing his fingers from your mouth with a gentle pop.

Shuffling was heard from behind you, and sneakily you gasped behind you as Keegan pulled his sweatpants down to his thighs. A small gasp left your mouth at his sheer size.

He was absolutely enormous.

“Like what you see?” He teased, his voice several tones deeper than it was usually. You reached out to touch him, but Keegan was quick to slap your hand away. “No, no, darl’, you don’t get to touch.”

His hands found your hips, before he took the lace material of your panties and ripped them off of you with a grunt. His hands immediately substituted the loss of warmth on your ass. He cupped the flesh in his one hand.

“Please…. Please I need you.” You begged against his back, trying desperately to push back into his erection. You wanted some type of release, and you didn’t care just how desperate you sounded.

Keegan lined up his cock to your opening with a sigh, relishing in the feeling of your juices mixing with his leaking pre-cum. With a careful grunt he pushed into your weeping cunt.

Immediately you felt the stretch of him, his arm pulled you flush against him, as his hips moved slowly to get you used to the feeling of the painfully delicious stretch.

“Taking me like such a whore, babydoll.” He praised, you mewled when his hips moved faster. Your ass slapped against his pelvis, a delightfully sinful noise.

He was ruthless, fucking all of his frustration into your tight cunt with a smirk on his face.

You weren’t going to last long. With him already teasing you earlier, your walls were already clenching around his veiny cock, “gonna cum.” You warned again, satisfyingly Keegan didn’t stop his relentless pace, instead he seemed to move against you faster and harder.

But what made you clench and cum around him wasn’t his pace, it was the feeling of your lace panties against your neck. “You’re mine. All mine to ruin.”

Keegan looped the material around your neck, restricting your windpipe in such an irresistible way all you could do was cum on his cock and worship his name over the squelching of your cunt.

He rutted into you, deeply hitting your g-spot even when you were so sensitive it was nearly painful. You felt him growl as he tightened the piece of clothing around your neck before he pulled his cock out, the warm ropes of his cum spilling against your back in a searing mess.

“Now onto your back, darl’. I’m not done with you yet.”

#Keegan p Russ #call of duty #cod #Keegan Russ #Keegan cod #Keegan Russ x you #Keegan Russ x Reader #cod ghosts #ghosts

675 notes · View notes

allisluv · 2 months

Text

COMING CLEAN

Chapter one: Thumper

WC: 5.5k

Finnick O’Dair x OC

Dahlia Holloway sat quietly on her porch as morning dawn approached over the horizon. The events of the 67th Hunger Games had followed her back to district nine and almost a decade later, it continued hanging over her head like a black cloud.

Over the years, she had tried every trick in the book to stop the constant buzz of thoughts; writing down what she felt, walking aimlessly through the fields of wheat, having the shower turned up so hot that skin peeled off of her bones. Out of all the things she had tried, knitting was the only hobby that worked.

Every morning, when she had grown tired of staring at her ceiling when it was so apparent that sleep was not coming, she would creep downstairs and slip out onto the patio. It was peaceful and the one place that she could knit without the fear of someone intruding.

It was a neat little way to make money too; while her district was more commonly known for grain, cotton had become another popular crop over the years. Her brother often came home with baskets full of it and she would use it to make clothes.

It failed in comparison to the clothes that the Capitol citizens wore daily but the residents of district nine had more important things to worry about than attaching gems to their cloaks. So long as they had something warm for the winter, they weren't fussy.

Sunlight was beginning to creep up through fields of wheat and grain. Mockingjays had begun to wake up and whistled melodies back and forth while squirrels scurried up tree branches.

"You're determined, huh?"

Dahlia involuntarily flinched before casting a glance over her shoulder, fingers picking up their pace with the needle again. "One of us has got to bring money into the house," she teased lightly, the tension in her shoulders dissolving.

Her eldest brother, River, had always been light on his feet and he shot her a lopsided apologetic smile. A part of him forgot that she would never completely recover from her time in the games. Nowadays, they had to announce their presence rather than sneaking up on her. He had learnt that the hard way and had a broken nose to show for it. "Couldn't sleep?" he leant against the wooden bannister of the porch. She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Me either."

Dahlia silently continued working on her patchwork, refusing to meet his gaze. She felt as though it would burn a hole through her soon enough. Ever since she could remember, River had always been the one who wriggled answers out of her.

It wasn't intentional but he had these intense, prying eyes and sometimes, it felt like he could look straight through her soul. He would undoubtedly be met with the darkness in her chest and thirteen names carved into her heart but she tried not to think about that too often.

Most mornings started like this. Dahlia rocked back and forth in her chair, basking in the sunlight until River eventually graced her with his presence. Those were the mornings where everything felt quiet and she didn't feel so alone anymore.

Dahlia huffed out a sigh and ran a hand through her chocolate curls, flexing out the muscles in her legs. "I better check on the others. I swear to gods, if any one of them has kicked the bucket, I'll lose it," she failed to hide the bluntness in her tone but her brother had become more than accustomed to it.

Pushing through the back door, she slipped inside the house and busied herself with getting everything ready. Grabbing two wicker baskets from under the sink, she began stuffing day-old loaves of bread into them. River had to duck to fit through the doorframe and he grumbled under his breath, disappearing into his bedroom.

For once, she was grateful she had stopped growing before hitting the six-foot mark.

Dahlia crammed strawberries and blackberries into two jars, making sure there was enough to keep her fellow victors going for a little while. Just as she was wrapping up the goat's cheese and containers of fresh water, River shuffled out of his room.

"Here," he held out a packet of frosted cookies and slowly inched them closer to her. She blinked up at him, waiting for an explanation. "I got them from the bakery. Cost me five squirrels. Just leave one for Ivy and split the rest," he explained, running his tongue over his bottom lip impatiently. "I'm trying to be nice so... take it or leave it."

The corners of her lips quirked upwards and she dug her bony elbow into his stomach. "Aw, don't worry, I can take the credit. We wouldn't want you losing that reputation you worked so hard for," she stood on her tip-toes to lightly smack the side of his face, cackling like a mad woman.

He scowled down at her but she could see the hint of a smile trying to break through. Shoving his sister off of him, he narrowed his eyes jokingly. "I thought you were meant to be making sure our neighbours are still with us?" he arched a brow and shooed her out of the house, shoving another loaf of bread into her already overflowing arms.

The door slammed in her face before she had time to spew back a witty comment. He underestimated how soundproof the door was because she could still hear him laughing on the other side. "Bastard," she hissed.

It took some manoeuvring and wobbling on one foot but Dahlia somehow managed to loop the handles of the wicker baskets through her wrists. With a loaf of bread under one arm and a piece of (shoddy) needlework under the other, she trekked towards the other victors in their village.

She passed Juniper Sinclair's house, deciding that it would be easier to bypass it for the moment. Juniper was more than capable of taking care of herself for an hour or so.

Wyatt Riley on the other hand... well, he hadn't been doing too well lately—— and by lately, she meant the last ten years.

Despite her desperate attempts to return some of the light and joy to his house, it never stayed around for very long. His patio was littered with rotten, maggot-infested apples and Dahlia swore that the damn tree had some personal vendetta against her. They'd have to be dealt with later.

Rapping her knuckles against the front door, she didn't bother waiting for an answer. No one else ever visited and this had become a daily routine, so Wyatt wouldn't be caught off guard. Pushing her way inside of the run-down house, the floorboards creaked in a form of protest. "It's just me!"

Another broken mirror lay at the bottom of the staircase and splinters of glass crunched underneath her leather boots as she ventured further inside. It was safe to say he would not be receiving any more mirror-shaped presents from her at this rate; that one had only lasted a week.

She waded her way through rubbish and glass before forcing her way into the kitchen. It was almost pitch-black but there was nothing new there. Fumbling her way around furniture, she easily found the table and set her wicker baskets down. Now was the hard part; finding Wyatt.

Sometimes, the twenty-seven-year-old would be spread out on the floor and other times, he would be tucked behind the fridge. She supposed that he found relief in knowing that no one would find him in his hiding spaces. It was strange but acting oddly came hand in hand with surviving the games. She knew that better than anyone.

Dahlia wasn't in the mood to hunt for him and she let out a sigh of relief when she found him buried in blankets on the sofa. Flicking on the light switch and arming herself with a fire poker, she stood a short distance from the sofa. "Wyatt," she gently prodded him with the poker and waited for an answer. "Wyatt." He snored obnoxiously. "Wyatt!" she groaned, jabbing his ribcage with the poker.

Wyatt jumped out of the sofa with a gasp, wielding a kitchen knife in his hands and blindly flinging it into the air. Dahlia ducked and the knife lodged itself in a cupboard behind her head (and this was why the fire poker was part of their morning routine).

She clutched the fire poker in both hands and held it out in front of her, waiting for the adrenaline high to wear off. After a second, he seemed to get a grip on his surroundings. "It's just me. Are we good?" she arched a brow and brushed stray strands of hair out of her eyes, slowly lowering the weapon.

Wyatt nodded sheepishly, his adam's apple bobbing as he took deep breaths. Running his shaking hands down his face, he quietly muttered reassuring words to himself. Purple bruises were beginning to blossom on the olive skin of his knuckles. Dahlia guessed that was where the broken glass in the hallway had come from. Her heart constricted in her chest and she had to bite down hard on her cheek.

Sometimes, she wondered why she burdened all this extra responsibility on herself. Hell, sometimes she'd much rather let Wyatt rot in his house than deal with him. But then, there were moments like this, when he would mutter into his hands and she knew giving up on him wasn't an option.

Wyatt Riley was the victor of the 66th Hunger Games at eighteen years old. Dahlia remembered the day of his reaping—— she had stood with a crowd of other fifteen-year-old girls, each of them waiting with their hearts stuck in their throats, hoping and praying that they'd make it through another year.

Jasper Riley had been called and suddenly, someone from the crowd was screaming that they volunteered as tribute. The utter desperation in Wyatt's voice had been enough for people to allow him to pass through and then, he was stumbling onto the stage, clutching his chest as though it was going to give out on him.

He had volunteered for his younger brother who had been fourteen when his name was called. Jasper and Wyatt Riley were strangers to Dahlia at the time but she did know that they were kind people— until the games, that was. Wyatt smiled for the cameras when he returned home but there was something different. Something missing.

He used to radiate sunlight. His smile used to reach his eyes and laughter had come as easy as breathing to that boy. But that boy had died in the games. Hollow eyes and frown lines were all he was left with.

She had seen his light return once. Only once; after the games, when he got to reunite with his family. It was a fleeting moment but it was there. Dahlia saw it in his eyes——he had spun his wife, Violet, around in a circle, laughing and giggling as he captured her lips in a kiss. When the newlyweds finally parted, Wyatt had scanned the crowd and practically bolted toward his daughter. Every camera panned in on ten-month-old Isla and her father as he held her close and cried into his wife's shoulder.

She had never seen the light in his eyes again.

When Dahlia was reaped the following year, she was sure she would die in that arena, just like he had. The only living mentor for district nine was a man three years older than her. A half-dead man.

But even with her doubt and her scepticism, he had pulled through. He gave her pointers on appealing to the crowd and an angle to work with. He convinced the sponsors to root for the underdog. He gave her hope. No matter how difficult she made his job, he refused to give up on her.

And she wouldn't give up on him. Not now, not ever.

"I brought you some stuff," she cleared her throat and dug through the first wicker basket she laid eyes on. Kicking her foot at one of the wooden chairs, he obediently sat, a tired look in his honey-brown eyes. Berries, loaves of bread, goat's cheese, water, fresh eggs and cookies were unpacked from the basket. "I'll find some meat later. Swing by if you run out of food."

Wyatt nodded quietly, eyes surveying the mountain of food on his kitchen table. "Thank you," he tugged on his dark curls anxiously, keeping his eyes trained on a broken floorboard beneath his feet. To say that he was grateful for Dahlia Holloway would be a huge understatement. On mornings when exhaustion left him tied to the bed and grief seeped from deep in his bones, she never let him go hungry. And how did he repay her? By aiming a knife at her head.

Dahlia didn't seem to mind, though. She hummed a tune under her breath as she buzzed about his kitchen. Small talk had never been their strong suit and they opted to sit in silence instead. The knife hit the chopping board as she carved the bread into thin slices. Finding a jar of gooseberry jam in the fridge, she slathered it on two of the slices and slid it across the table to him.

"Eat," she ordered, tongue quickly running over the excess jam from the knife. She was sure he would happily starve if she didn't force-feed him.

Wyatt gingerly took the bread, muttering a soft word of thanks. In the time it took for Dahlia to sweep and restore a bit of order to his house, he had finished off another two slices of bread. He got to his feet to help but Dahlia glared over her shoulder and he sunk into the chair again. He was older but he also knew better than to argue with her— talking to a brick wall would be easier.

Pushing herself onto a countertop, she leant forward and cracked open a window to let fresh air in. Dahlia hopped down and wiped her palms in her dark jeans, spinning around to look for Wyatt. He had reclaimed his place on the sofa, curling into the far corner with a baby blanket clutched in his grasp.

She softly padded her way towards him and perched on the edge of the sofa, gently ruffling his dark curls. "It's okay," she whispered, the pad of her thumb running over his bruised knuckles. "It's all okay," she soothed.

They sat like that for the better half of an hour until Wyatt's breathing evened out and he fell asleep. She draped a fluffy blanket over the exposed skin that his baggy sweatshirts didn't manage to cover and started gathering up her belongings.

Balancing the lighter load in her arms, she managed to slip out of the front door without much noise. She kicked the rotten apples off the porch and hoped that the birds would take them off her plate.

Dahlia retraced her steps, trekking towards her final destination of the morning. Pale pink tulips bloomed in the flowerbeds outside of Juniper Sinclair's house, brightening up the young girls' front lawn. Before she could even knock, the door swung wide open and she was almost flattened as Juniper tightly hugged her.

"You're late today," Juniper pointed out, rocking on the balls of her feet as she grabbed Dahlia's hand and pulled her inside the house. A fond smile tugged at Dahlia's lips as she kicked the door closed behind her and followed the bubbly blonde into the kitchen. "Do you want me to take Ivy scavenging today—"

"What the hell is that?" Dahlia cut in, dark eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline as she stopped in her tracks. Hastily throwing the basket down, she chewed on a fingernail and watched with reproachful eyes.

Juniper squealed excitedly as she bundled the rabbit into her arms, stroking its black and white fur with a gentleness that resembled a mother holding her newborn baby for the first time. "It's a rabbit! My rabbit. His name is Thumper," she explained proudly, wisps of sleek blonde hair framing her face.

Dahlia resisted the urge to roll her eyes—— the last thing she wanted to do was upset the seventeen-year-old. If she had learnt one thing about Juniper, it was that the victor was easily upset. At the start, it got on her nerves but she grew more sympathetic when she realized that it wasn't an act—— it was simply part of who Juniper Sinclair was.

Instead, she folded her arms across her chest, eyeing the rabbit suspiciously as if it would launch itself out of Juniper's arms and start attacking. "Alright, cliché name aside, whats it doing in here?" she asked flatly, waving a dismissive hand about. "Please don't tell me you wanna keep it, June," she groaned, digging her fingers into her temples.

Juniper wrinkled her nose in confusion and the freckles dotted across her cheeks dipped. "Well... I've named him now," she frowned, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm keeping him," she paused as if she was hesitating on speaking. "I get lonely in this house. It just reminds me that I'm alone, I guess," she admitted, ducking her head to hide her flaming cheeks.

Dahlia's stomach was doing flips and bile burned the back of her throat. Memories raced through her head at the speed of light; kneeling on the grass outside of Victors Village as Juniper buried her face in Dahlia's jacket, sobbing and screaming.

Now, a year and a half later, she felt crescent moons forming in the skin of her palms as she tried to stay tied to the present. She couldn't dwell on it. Falling apart wasn't an option at this point.

Regardless of whether they kept it together or not, it wouldn't bring back their loved ones. Wyatt wouldn't get back his wife or his daughter. While Juniper may have managed to escape the clutches of the repulsive Capitol men, she was still an orphan.

Dahlia, on the other hand, had refused to sell herself to snobby Capitol citizens and in turn, traumatized her younger sister when she watched their parents be slaughtered. The final nail in the coffin, really, was that Snow had still managed to keep her under his thumb.

All he had to do was flaunt the threat of harming Ivy or River and before she knew it, she was being pulled back to her hotel room by a man who left bills on the dresser instead of saying goodbye.

Rolling her shoulders back, she clenched her toes in her boots and cleared her throat. "Alright. So long as you look after it, I don't mind, June," she shrugged a shoulder and turned her back but not before Juniper pumped her fist in the air excitedly. "What's a rabbit meant to eat anyway?" she mused, rummaging about inside of the wicker baskets.

Juniper placed the newest member of her admittedly non-existent family into a cardboard box and slid up onto the countertop beside the baskets. "Haven't got a clue," Juniper yanked her cream-coloured cardigan up over her slender shoulders. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand and Dahlia shot a pointed look her way. "I'll figure it out! He might like ice cream or bread or something!"

Dahlia's mouth fell agape and she had to fight back a laugh—— Juniper may have been cunning and a fighter, but god she lacked common sense at times. "June, if you want that rabbit to stick around, you don't feed it ice cream," she started searching the cupboards and checking expiry dates. "I think they eat grass and lettuce."

"Are you sure you're not trying to kill him?" June raised an eyebrow and tapped her fingers against her kneecaps as Dahlia chucked a gone-off banana out of the window for the birds. "Five minutes ago, you told me to get rid of him and now you're telling me about his dietary restrictions."

Dahlia snorted at the comment and playfully swatted her in the face with a tea towel. "I'm not trying to kill him, you idiot."

There was never a dull moment in Juniper's presence and today was no exception. As Dahlia restocked the pantry, she rambled on about every thought entering that little head of hers. Every so often, she would ask if she should stop talking and every time, the woman insisted that it was fine. She couldn't begin to imagine how isolated June felt at times.

Despite her bubbly personality, Juniper lacked in the friend department. She was the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games but, unfortunately, it didn't win her any brownie points with teenagers her age. Most of them claimed she was too much, too exhausting to be around, and her friendships usually fizzled out after six months.

Ivy was the only exception——Dahlia's younger sister and Juniper were like two peas in a pod. Both Dahlia and River had been slightly worried that it might end in tears but so far, they had been best friends for two and a half years (despite the two being polar opposites).

Once the cupboards were stuffed full of juicy berries, gooey pastries and tins of ripe tomatoes, Dahlia eyed up the rabbit once more, trying to make up her mind on it. So long as she didn't have to take care of it, she supposed it didn't matter. She didnt have a say in the matter, technically speaking, yet June nearly always ran things by her anyway.

Maybe it was because Dahlia had been her mentor in the games. In the last two years, she had grown fond of the younger girl, to tell the truth. Or maybe it was because Dahlia was the closest thing to a mother that she had left. Either way, she wouldn't tell her what to do unless it was something irrevocably stupid—- and a rabbit didn't exactly fall into that category.

She dragged her attention away from the rabbit and back to the girl, who was too quiet for Dahlia's liking. "What's wrong with you?" she interrogated, hands on her hips. "Come on June, spit it out," she impatiently dug her fingers into her hipbone.

June hesitated, slowly starting to rock back and forth on the counter. "Do you think our tributes will stand a chance this year?" she murmured, green eyes staring blankly ahead. There was no answer and she cracked her knuckles to fill the silence. "I mean, it's a quarter quell, isn't it? What do you think the catch is gonna be?" she shuffled back on the countertop until her spine hit the wall.

"I don't know," she muttered truthfully. Her answer did little to soothe the blonde's nerves. She didn't have all the answers but she backtracked all the same. "Well, it's four months away. I haven't thought about it, really."

She leaned against the oven, close enough to feel the lumpy dials digging into her pelvis. "Hey, at least it's not us," she teased, draping an arm around the girl's shoulders. "We're gonna do what we do best—- we'll teach them how to fight and we'll work our pretty little asses off to win them sponsors. That's all we can do. Got it?"

She chastely kissed the crown of Juniper's head and squeezed her shoulders before struggling to her feet. "Now, are you walking me out or do I have to do that on my own and all?" she raised a dark brow jokingly.

If Juniper was still upset, it didn't show. She hopped her way to the front door, dragging her feet along the tiles and grabbing hold of Dahlia's bicep when she remembered something she so desperately forgot to tell her.

Dahlia knew what she was doing—— it was obvious that she didn't want to be left on her own for the rest of the day (and, let's be honest, subtle was not in that girl's vocabulary). Nevertheless, she hummed when it fit the context and nodded without missing a beat.

If the years she had spent socializing with the people in the Capitol had taught her anything, it was how to fake a conversation she had absolutely no interest in. After an agonizing ten minutes, she stepped onto the porch and into the warm stream of sunlight before a shadow got in her way.

"Hello, hello, hello my darlings!"

District nines escort, Malaki, traipsed his way down the driveway, flashing the girls a dazzling smile as he approached. Once he was close enough, he grabbed a hold of Juniper's hands, squeezing them gently. "My god. You need to stop growing, Juney," he tutted. There was no malice in his voice—— there never was, not when it came to Malaki.

He turned on Dahlia next, picking up a few limp and loose strands of hair. "Bloom's gonna kill you, y'know that right?" he frowned, letting his hands drop to his hips once more.

As if on cue, a blood-curdling scream came from the woman behind him, followed by the frenzied clack of eight-inch heels.

Bloom clutched at her chest and Malaki had to slip a hand around her waist to keep her steady. "Oh my god, I need a drink already," she murmured between heavy breaths.

Within a split second, she was manhandling Dahlia, angling her head and prodding her cheekbones. "You need to give me something to work with, darling. It's the same every month," she complained, rubbing the crease between her brows.

Bloom began ordering about her gaggle of assistants, hysterically screeching that they were at least twelve hours behind schedule now. Dahlia chanced a glance at Malaki and it took every ounce of self-control that she possessed to not burst into laughter. That would certainly send her stylist into a breakdown.

Bloom's entourage of assistants were drenched with sweat from hauling bulky suitcases from the train. Admittedly, the train couldn't be any closer to Victors Village, but Bloom couldn't fathom the concept of packing light and it showed.

With aching arms and forceful pants of exasperation, the assistants began carrying the supplies up the hill leading to the Holloway house. Dahlia's house wasn't far— less than a minute away from June's, to be exact— and it was more a slope than a hill but with the amount of equipment her stylist had packed, she wasn't surprised by their lack of enthusiasm.

"Don't tell me you forgot about today," Malaki raised an accusing brow in her direction but she brushed him off with a roll of her eyes. "You're lucky Bloom hasn't caught on yet," he continued, checking his golden watch to double-check how long they had to pack. "You may be able to fool our little redheaded friend, but not me, my darling. I know everything."

Dahlia suppressed a smile by clamping her lips shut. He was right. He nearly always was. She had forgotten and Bloom would lose it if she found out.

Malaki always knew people better than they knew themselves.

If Bloom was fretting over a new outfit, he knew how to put her mind at rest. When Dahlia was searching for an escape route out of a particularly painful and uncomfortable conversation, he would glide onto the scene and sweep her away without anyone batting an eyelid.

Malaki wasn't scared of calling people out when they were in the wrong. He knew what to say and when to say it.

"How long does the Capitol need me to stay for?" she couldn't hide the bitterness in her tone as she kicked a pebble into the air. She narrowly missed hitting the back of Bloom's shins and made a mental note to keep her anger at bay before her stylist tripped in her ridiculous heels and broke an ankle— or worse, a nail.

"A week," Malaki replied, choosing to bite the bullet rather than sugar-coating the truth. He didn't scold her for her tone, not when her anger was directed in exactly the right place. "Since our star-crossed lovers won the games, there's been parties in the Capitol all night, every night."

He paused, fingers moving to toy with his lip ring. If he wanted to approach the subject, he needed to take precautions. What she was forced to do on her visits to the Capitol was a sour and sensitive topic and one that she didn't talk about. "I know it's not gonna be a lot of comfort, my darling, but at least you somehow managed to escape some of the parties until now."

She didn't answer for fear of what would come out of her mouth. She knew that he was trying to make her feel better but the reality was that nothing was going to ever make this better.

She sucked in a steadying breath and tried to remain focused as her house grew closer with each step that she took. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks," she choked out the words, offering him a tight-lipped smile.

Malaki gave her a curt nod. He didn't push her for a further answer and chose to walk in silence while the pair caught up with Bloom and her assistants.

Dahlia worked her way through the miniature sea of people gathering at her front door, each one of them slightly skittish. She couldn't blame them— Ivy and River had a history of being... hostile when it came to her prep team.

She debated asking them to wait outside but decided against it. Hopefully, she could gather her things and leave as quickly as possible. Ushering the group into the warmth of her hallway, she racked her brain for a plausible excuse that would satisfy her brother.

"What the hell are they doing here?"

Looked like she was out of time to think. Closing the door behind her, she let out a sigh and turned to face her brother's temper. "Dial it down, for gods sake," she huffed under her breath, returning his glare with just as much discontentment. Shoving her brother out of the back door and onto the patio, she left her team to their own devices in the living room.

River's eyes were blazing with anger but she knew it wasn't directed at her. No, it was aimed at the people who were associated with the Capitol, a group of rich and selfish people who had stolen his parents from him. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached. "How long are they here for this time?" he snapped, knuckles white from holding onto his bicep.

"Not long. I have to go to the Capitol for a week," she folded her arms over her chest shamefully. "I can tell Ivy that I have to do planning for the quarter quell or something," she pinched the bridge of her nose, head throbbing with pain.

While River knew about her... arrangement with the president, Ivy was unaware of why she was called back to the Capitol every month.

Ivy was seventeen and her older siblings had agreed that there was no need for her to know. She was still so young. She had a couple of childhood years left—and Dahlia was damn certain that the Capitol didn't get to take those, not when they had robbed her family of so much already.

River's eyes softened ever so slightly and he sighed through parted lips. "I'll come up with an excuse for Ivy. I'll look after Wyatt and Juniper, too, there's no need to worry about them," he said softly, rubbing at the crease between his brows.

"Just—— be careful, yeah?" he dragged a hand down the length of his face. He moved a bit too quickly for Dahlia's liking and she flinched without thinking. He muttered an apology under his breath, taking a step out of her space. "You better bring me back those scones I like, alright?" he teased, trying to break cut up the tension in the air. He lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

His touch began to burn and she wriggled out of his grasp, grinding her teeth. He didn't take it personally; between the Hunger Games and the men in the Capitol, she couldn't stand being touched.

Dahlia endured the physical contact whenever it was asked of her but if she could avoid it, she did. Ivy and River had witnessed one too many of her episodes to bother being offended at this point.

She wrung her hands together anxiously and craned her neck to peer through the glass panel in the back door.

Malaki ran his fingers over a painting that hung on the wall while Bloom hastily dashed about, scolding her assistants for messing with precious valuables.

Dahlia pulled her sleeves over her hands and turned her attention away from her prep team. "I should get going before Bloom pops a blood vessel." She made a start for the door but paused. "River?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't let June feed that rabbit ice cream."

#grace talks🐚🌷#the hunger games #wlw #thg #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #catching fire #mockingjay #coming clean #dahlia holloway

37 notes · View notes

capybaraonabicycle · 3 months

Text

The Doctor's Ship (Tenteen x Mels)

Please, @whenyourunwiththedoctor put them into my head this morning with her beautiful collage of pictures and quotes and now I need them to be a thing! So I wrote a tiny bit of a scene for them - don't ask me how this fits into canon; do ask me about the circumstances though, I would love to work on yet another Mels AU tbh

[ID: two images, the first one is of the Tenteen (14th) Doctor looking out the TARDIS door, smiling cheekily, the other one of Mels Zucker, looking upwards with a determined expression and the hint of a smile. end ID]

Mels has seen the police box stand in their garden with doors closed for so long, she has almost forgotten it is supposed to open. There is a flutter in her stomach when John turns the key and he looks over his shoulder, winking at her, like he knows exactly what is going on inside her mind. He probably does. John always seems to know.

He doesn't open the door though, stepping to the side and leaning against the TARDIS's corner – because this is the TARDIS, right? Mels is honest-to-God about to enter the TARDIS, the Doctor's spaceship, step into his realm, experience the wonder of timetravel for herself.

“Would you do the honors?” John asks, tapping the handle invitingly, before pulling back to continue staring at her.

He does that as lot, stare at her. Always has, even before they started seeing each other. Sometimes it feels like he knows her in a thousand different lives and realities, like he looks at her but he's seeing someone else who is also her, who she will grow into, perhaps. He is a timetraveller after all. Or is he?

There is a soft smile playing at his lips, the kind he reserves for her and Donna and Rose and Mel.

“Don't mind if I do, honey.”

She tries to put on a brave face – she is just opening a door after all, nevermind what that might change between John and her – but she can't quite hold back the jitters in her voice. John seems to notice, because right away he is streching out his hand towards her, fingers wiggling back and forth, eyebrows raised in question. She accepts the hand gladly, palm sliding against his calloused skin – he spends way too much time in his tinkering shed, cooking up a present or other for her (or Rose). Still, the pressure is reassuring and now she is pushing open the door, slowly.

She knows immediately. It's hard to miss a 'bigger on the inside' spaceship, but she knows at first glance on the white floor and walls that this is her. Awestruck, she steps inside, John following behind her. It's like the air is buzzing with time, but maybe those are just her nerves, flaring up at the realisation that she has actually found him. The Doctor. She had known, of course, but having the confirmation, finally – frankly, it is dizzying.

“Hello” Mels breathes and the TARDIS hums in response, a sound that goes through her body and into her mind. It feels like coming home.

John is pressing her hand again. “Are you okay?”

He's standing very close, she can feel his breath on her skin. So close. So vulnerable.

It's John, she tells herself. That's all that matters, that's all she has to know. Just John, her friend, her love, who is stupid enough to try and keep the Doctor safe from her and yet is trusting her with this knowledge now. Well, he doesn't know that she's out to get the Doctor, does he? Because he isn't him.

She turns around to him and again he is watching her, all caring eyes and adoring smile. No trace of fear. And why would there be?

“Perfectly” she lies, smiling back, and his own grin grows, showing his teeth.

“Come on!” he beams. “You've got to check out the coffee machine!”

“Your - This ship has a coffee machine?” she laughs, letting him pull her over to the console.

“The best coffee machine in the universe” he boasts, startling when he already finds a cup waiting. He picks it up, sniffing carefully, before plunging his tongue into the scalding hot contents. He winces, pulls a face and hands the cup to Mels, shaking his head, huffing and puffing.

“It's for you” he says and the words sound airy as he's trying to cool his burnt tongue. Mels bites back a grin, taking the cup. He shakes himself violently.

“Triple macchiato with a pinch of cinnamon” he coughs. “I don't understand how you gulp that stuff down.”

“You mean without a bucket of sugar to go with it?” she teases and he glares.

“Careful, love” he then warns, belatedly. “It's hot.”

“Yeah, dear” she deadpans. “I noticed.”

She blows onto the cup, looking around the console in wonder. He passes behind her, lightly touching between her shoulder blades.

“Be careful not to spill onto the console either” he mutters. “Or we could end up Rassilon-knows-where.”

She raises an eyebrow at the haunted look in his eyes. “That sounds like you've got experience.”

He huffs. “Don't remind me.”

She chuckles, taking a small gulp of the coffee. It tastes heavenly. She can definitely see John's clumsy self spilling coffee onto the console and jettisonning the Doctor far out into space. The Doctor was probably livid with him. Mels wish she could have been there to laugh at John and then hurt the Doctor for shouting at him. No one but Mels (or Donna) gets to be cross with John on her watch. Sylvia is on thin ice and only because she annoyingly tends to be right.

“So” John call out at her, putting a hand onto the engine lever. Mels doesn't know how she knows it is the engine lever but she is dead certain and it sends her stomach down to her knees to see John in a position ready to start the ship. Can he fly the TARDIS? “Where are we going?”

“The Doctor lets you fly the TARDIS?” she blurts out and he grins.

“Sometimes” he confirms. “If I'm good.”

Mels blinks. This is getting into dangerous territory. The Doctor is the only one who knows how to fly the TARDIS, isn't he? That's what they all say? So how does John-? No, she is not thinking about that.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, John winks at her again. “Want me to show you how?”

She forces a smile, putting down the coffee cup and meeting her – very human, very much not the Doctor – friend. “I'd love that.”

“Come on then!” he gently guides her towards the lever, steady arms wrapping around her to help her along.

“John” she says softly, fingers grabbing tightly around the cold metal on the lever, not daring to start the engine yet.

“Yes, Mels?”

He is right behind her and she leans back, craving his embrace more than ever.

“You know I will have to kill you some day?” she asks and he goes still.

Then he hums in confirmation, low and contemplative, before tenderly pulling her against him with one arm, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Anything you want, sweetie” he promises like she had asked him whether they could adopt a pet and not told him of her plans to murder him. “But not before we've seen the stars!”

#mels zucker #tenteen #fourteenth doctor #doctorriver #mels zucker x tenteen #doctor who fanfiction #the doctor x river song #melody pond #doctor who #river song #watch me ship mels with any incarnation of the Doctor's #there's already lore to go with this btw #because of course there is #I have not completely figured out the family dynamics though so that'll be fun #Donna and Mels are definitely besties though #just to please me

23 notes · View notes

athanza · 2 years

Text

"Shell" (Part 3)

Eric Coulter x fem reader

Tags: Enemies to lovers (sort of??), hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, a sprinkle of fluff.

TW: Canon violence (blood, fighting, knives, guns etc), angst, abusive past, self-destructive behaviour, crying.

Part 1 Part 2

You didn't sleep that night. You didn't even notice Eric staring at you occasionally from across the dining hall at dinner, almost absent mindedly as he replayed your fear landscape in his mind. You had been so quiet and kept so to yourself throughout your entire training, he hadn't known a thing about you until now, other than your sheer determination and resilience, which he came to admire in you as you pushed through the rounds of training.

You got up early that morning, far earlier than anyone else and climbed to the top of the building where the jump point was. The sun was just starting to come up and you sat and watched it rise above the city, the brisk morning air not doing much for keeping you awake after your sleepless night.

Your fear landscape proved something to you that you didn't know needed proving. You knew now why you chose Dauntless, to learn what you were never taught, to stand up for and defend yourself, no one else was going to. You had to learn what you had in you and now you had, a new part of you had been unlocked and you didn't quite know how to process it yet.

The 7:00 alarm went off on your watch and you took the fall down to the net as a shortcut back to Dauntless HQ.

You were the first initiate at the scoring board waiting for the results but the others arrived not long after. You got a nod of acknowledgement from Four and, unusually, one from Eric as well.

Whispers rippled through the crowd as everyone waited for the results, you noticed a few were as silent as you were, they were at the bottom at the end of the last round. You'd be surprised if any of them made it. You felt a ping of guilt, knowing you were at the top.

Suddenly the board lit up and the names were displayed in their places, you quickly saw your name in second place and a sense of relief and calm came over you so much that you walked away and sat on the first chair you could find, resting your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands.

"Congratulations initiate." Came Four's voice a few moments later. It sounded proud almost, it grounded you.

"Thank you." You smiled.

"Go get yourself some rest. You've earned it."

He walked off, leaving the crowd of passing initiates to cheer and celebrate, while you noticed Eric usher the three quiet initiates away amidst the celebration.

Your heart sank a little. It was a bitter-sweet moment but you couldn't let that get in the way of all that you had accomplished these last few months, especially yesterday. You were proud of yourself.

~~~

That night the celebration continued in the pit with music blaring and drinks being passed around. It wasn't really your scene but you did want to do something to commemorate the day, something for yourself.

You let your hair down, put on a little makeup and went down to the tattoo parlor.

"Hey! Congrats initiate!" Said one of the tattoo artists who you had seen around before.

"Thank you." You replied with a smile.

"You here to get a tat?" She asked.

You nodded.

"You know roughly what you want? If none of the ones on the wall suit your fancy I can draw one up for you?"

"I think I know what I want." You said, a vague idea in your mind but it was enough for the artist to draw one up and you loved it.

It only took a few minutes to apply but when she was done you stood up and walked over to the mirror to have a look and you instantly teared up.

It was a moth. It's detailed wings stretched across your back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, signifying your transformation from when you arrived to where you are today.

"Welcome to Dauntless." The woman smiled and you smiled in return.

"Nice tat." Came Eric's voice from behind you.

You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes, hoping he didn't see and clasped your bra back up and pulled your tank top down.

"Thank you sir." You said.

"You're not an initiate anymore, you can call me Eric." He said, chuckling slightly as he walked over to one of the tattoo chairs and began pulling up his sleeve. "Relax."

"Thank you Eric." You replied, less stiff than before.

Hearing you say his name for the first time gave him another ping of warmth towards you and he smirked and started going over some tattoos with the artist.

You walked back out into the chaos of celebration that roared through the pit. A mosh pit in the center of the crowd getting wild and you weaved your way to the food court to get yourself a bite to eat before heading to the safety of the railing that looked down on the crowd. You wanted to be involved but didn't want to lock yourself in your room just yet, so you sat, chewing on your bread roll while you watched the chaos unfold beneath you, wishing you had bothered to make some friends during initiation.

Just then a bottle of beer appeared in your peripheral vision and you turned to see who was holding it. It was Lexa, one of your fellow initiates, 4th on the final ranking. You remembered you had sparred with her a few times.

"Beer?" She said with an inviting smile.

"Sure, thanks." You replied.

Lexa took a seat next to you, legs hanging over the ledge. "We haven't really spoken much. I'm Lexa. Transfer from Amity."

She reached out her hand and you shook it. "I'm Y/N, transfer from Candor."

"Oh my god, Candor!?" She said. Clearly she was a bit tipsy. "I never would have guessed. You're so quiet!"

You chuckled, Candor were known for their big mouths. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

#Divergent #eric coulter #eric x reader #divergent x reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fic

269 notes · View notes

heyiwrotesomethings · 2 years

Note

Ahh thank you for opening up requests! You always deliver masterpieces. I was wondering if you could do a request for Kanae. Where the reader is a lot like Sanemi so there’s always angry about everything. They’ve dealt with a lot so they push everyone away. It’s only because of Kanae’s stubbornness that she manages to break down their walls to get close to them. Reader eventually realizes their feelings but refuse to acknowledge them until Kanae gets hurt badly. Shinobu is the one that makes them realize they’re being an idiot and they evntually confess. Please and thank you!!!

Prickly

Kanae Kochou x They/Them Reader

A/N: Hope this turned out alright. I tried to find a balance between angry and compassionate, but I don’t think I quite got it. Here you go anyway, sorry! Word Count: 2,634

“Good Morning!”

(Y/n) released a guttural groan almost sharp enough to be a growl. How was it that she always managed to pop up when they really, really wanted to be alone.

“It was before you showed up, what do you want?”

Kanae’s smile never wavered, not even a hitch in her step as she continued to fearlessly walk up to the brooding slayer most had dubbed Shinazugawa Junior, but only behind their back of course because even though it was accurate, they weren’t willing to get beat up over it. Even just looking at (Y/n) wrong could set them off, which was why everyone gave them a wide-berth, everyone except Kanae anyway. A fact that drove (Y/n) insane.

“Do I need a reason to visit my very good dear friend, (Y/n)?”

“I told you to quit that! We aren’t friends!” (Y/n) snapped with a sneer. “There’s no way in hell I’d ever be on a first name basis with you, Kochou!”

“But (Y/n),” Kanae pouted, “you said you didn’t care what I called you, remember?”

“Obviously I was saying I don’t wanna talk to you so there was no reason for you to call me by anything!”

“Oh, are you training, (Y/n)?” Kanae asked, completely changing the subject, “You should rest your hands higher on the hilt.”

“Oi!”

Kanae’s hands gripped (Y/n)’s over the hilt of their practice sword. (Y/n) could smell her nauseating perfume, feel the lotion softened skin of her hands over their heavily scarred ones. Their blood boiled and their skin heated with anger, definitely just anger!

They yanked their hands out of Kanae’s, twisting their body away from her with a murderous look cast over their shoulder.

“I don’t need your help! My grip is just fine!”

“Come on now, (Y/n). Most people would leap at the chance to have a Hashira aid in their training without expecting them to become a Tsuguko in return. However, if you did want to—“

“I would rather die than take orders from you.”

“Aww, (Y/n), I don’t think that’s true.”

Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn… between the two of them, they had the lion’s share of stubbornness. (Y/n), for being determined not to be friendly towards Kanae, and Kanae, for refusing to leave the grump alone.

People thought Kanae would get tired trying to tame the savage beast, but apparently lost-cause was not a term in her dictionary.

Conversely, everyone thought (Y/n) would have snapped by now and Kanae’s body would be found floating down the river, but fortunately the Flower Hashira was still alive and well, not even a single scratch marred her skin after any encounter.

They must have liked each other on some level, otherwise why go through all of the bickering and threatening? Unless they were masochists, no one could understand why they would stand within fifty feet of each other. They seemed completely incompatible.

“(Y/n), when will you finish training? You should go to this cute little dango stall with me. It’s not too far from here, and it will be my treat!” Kanae offered, not an ounce of fear within her as she wrapped her arms around their neck from behind.

“Get off of me!” (Y/n) ground their teeth together and tried to slip out of Kanae’s grip from below, but her arms only got tighter, nearly choking them as she smiled and giggled.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll go eat stupid dango. Just stop touching me!” They fumed. They ripped themself away from Kanae as soon as she loosened her hold.

Anyone else would have expected them to run or deck Kanae in the face with their newfound freedom, but (Y/n) only grumbled under their breath while Kanae cheered and began ushering (Y/n) in the direction of the dango stall.

“This is so exciting! We’ll have a good time, you’ll see.” Kanae promised.

“Not gonna hold my breath. Let’s just get this over with.” (Y/n) grumbled, but still followed Kanae’s lead.

When Kanae forced them to spend time with her, it was during those times (Y/n) scowled the deepest. They would sooner die than admit this, but it was an act mostly for show. If they accidentally cracked a smile, then all of the lengths they took to distance themself would be meaningless.

Kanae somehow understood that there was something more going on with them, that there was more to them than meets the eye. She giggled as (Y/n) pushed away her offered dango skewer she had taken a bite out of. She would keep persisting and pull a genuine smile out of them yet.

***

“I don’t understand why you bother with them, Neesan.” Shinobu told her sister upon her return.

She had listened to Kanae’s tales about (Y/n) time after time and she was never impressed. She knew that she wasn’t exactly rainbows and sunshine herself, but (Y/n) brought it to a whole other level.

“I think they’re lonely,” Kanae smiled sadly, ��but they’re scared to get close to people. They lost everyone dear to them, as so many slayers do, so they don’t want to be close to anyone anymore, but that’s no way to live, is it?”

Shinobu made a noncommittal grunt. If her sister had her mind set on something, she’d see it through to the end. She thought it was a big waste of time, but if that’s how Kanae wanted to spend her time, then that was her decision. As rough and abrasive as (Y/n) could be, they had never truly hurt Kanae emotionally or physically, so as long as that held true, Shinobu would try not to worry.

“I better get going. I wanted to pay them a quick visit before my mission tonight.” Kanae planted an obnoxious kiss on the center of Shinobu’s forehead, “Be good while I’m gone!”

“Don’t treat me like a child.” Shinobu rubbed at her forehead with her sleeve, “Don’t do anything stupid while you’re gone either.”

“Don’t worry Shi-no-bu!” Kanae tapped the bridge of Shinobu’s nose before she could duck away, “I’ll be back before you knew I was gone.”

“I am literally watching you leave.”

“Close your eyes~”

Shinobu shook her head and bid her sister goodbye, already missing Kanae as soon as she could no longer hear her footsteps.

“Get home safe…”

***

(Y/n) sat on the edge of the cliff near their family home, just their home now. They watched their feet dangle over, head resting in their hands.

What a dull evening.

They could already tell that it was shaping up to be another one of those sleepless nights. It was too bad they didn’t have a mission to keep their mind busy. The weather was fair, but their core held a noticeable chill.

“(Y/n)!”

And then suddenly they felt a bit warmer… stop that!

They snapped themself out of the fuzzy feeling that had overtaken their prickly heart, and turned to look over their shoulder with a scowl.

“You’re trespassing you know.”

“You are so funny!”

Kanae plopped down beside (Y/n), making them nervous enough to shout,

“Careful! You trying to fall off of the cliffside like an idiot?”

“It’s fine,” Kanae laughed, kicking her feet over the edge, “thank you for caring though.”

“What are you here bugging me for?” (Y/n) asked bluntly.

“I haven’t seen you since our dango date—“

“That was not a date!”

“Since I haven’t seen you since our dango date,” Kanae repeated, “I decided to come see you.”

“Great. You’ve seen me, now get lost.”

“Nope!” Kanae escalated even further and rested her cheek against (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“Ugh, get off of me.” (Y/n) shoved Kanae off of them, but they were very careful about how they did it. They were on the edge of a cliff after all.

Unperturbed, Kanae kept close, “I have a mission not too far from here, do you want to come with?”

A negative response was already building in (Y/n)’s throat, but they couldn’t bring themself to reject the offer. They wanted a distraction, and then here comes Kanae with a mission for them to go on.

“Why didn’t you just say that then?” They stood up and left Kanae at the cliff to retrieve their supplies. When they returned, Kanae gave them her brightest smile yet, causing their heartbeat to stagger.

Kanae held out her hand and wiggled her fingers expectantly. (Y/n) rolled their eyes and lightly swatted Kanae’s hand away as they walked past, but even that quick contact was enough to leave their hand tingling.

***

How could it have gone so badly so fast?

“Kochou, hey, come on, we gotta get you home.”

“Hm? I’m sorry, (Y/n). I’m not feeling very well…”

That damn demon. It had sprayed a toxic fume into the air as Kanae dealt the finishing blow. She had seemed fine, but it was clear to (Y/n) now that Kanae had been hiding the extent of whatever havoc was being wracked on her system.

Kanae tried to excuse herself as a round of particularly violent coughs overtook her, but (Y/n) refused to let her leave their sight. When they saw Kanae’s hand come away from her mouth wet with blood, they felt a rush of fear that they hadn’t felt in years.

“Damn it, Kochou!” They seethed, cradling her in their arms as if she weighed nothing.

They then began sprinting towards the butterfly estate, ignoring the twinge in their ankle after a misstep they had suffered while facing the demon. It didn’t matter to them, they just needed Kanae to get treated, only then would they allow themself to rest.

“(Y/n), you’re hurt too,” Kanae wheezed, trying to twist in their hold to look down at the cause of (Y/n)’s uneven gait.

“Who cares! Just shut up and keep breathing!” (Y/n) gritted their teeth together, a combination of anger, pain and fear brewing within them.

“After all the effort you went through bugging me time after time, if you die on me now, I’d never forgive you! The efforts I went to, to never be hurt again and you— If you die it’ll be your fault that I never let another person come near me ever again, you hear me?!”

“(Y/n)…”

(Y/n) managed to meet up with the Kakushi around the halfway point. They all but threw Kanae at them, barking orders along with threats.

“If you let her die, I’ll kill all of you too! Get moving, go! Now!” They batted away the remaining Kakushi that attempted to help them bring the weight off of their ankle, yelling at them to assist with Kanae instead.

Kanae was already well covered for however, so they settled for jogging a little ways behind (Y/n) as they stalked towards the Butterfly Estate on their own.

By the time they arrived, Kanae was already on the mend with Shinobu’s quick work, so she got to work on (Y/n)’s ankle right away. She pulled them through the estate and the two of them bickered about the state of (Y/n)’s health the whole way. Shinobu refused to back down, threatening to sedate them just so she could splint their sprained ankle.

“You’re kind of a huge idiot, huh.” Shinobu goaded as she wrapped the ankle resting on her lap.

“Excuse me?!” (Y/n) had half a mind to kick her in the stomach for saying something like that!

“I thought it was my sister who was crazy for trying to hang out with you, and she still might be, but she’s actually worn you down a lot. I can especially see that now.”

“What they hell are you talking about?”

“Oh please,” Shinobu huffed, “It’s clear you like her. You don’t think the Kakushi told me about the scene you caused trying to get her home? For someone so adamant on shoving everyone away, you didn’t try very hard when it came to her.”

(Y/n) clenched their jaw and searched for someway to refute, but the Shinobu continued.

“Like on her birthday when she received an anonymous package filled with all kinds of things she likes.”

“Anyone could have done that.” (Y/n) argued.

“Yeah, except there was a packet of seeds for a plant she wanted that she only mentioned to you.”

“I highly doubt that. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? You don’t even look like you believe what you’re saying!” Shinobu tied the splint extra tight, making (Y/n) grunt from the discomfort.

“It’s clear you like my sister, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, she likes you too. We lose people everyday, so I can empathize with your perspective, but who really knows how much time we have? For all you know, you could be wasting years standing by the wayside. Of course, you could have no time at all, but I imagine the regrets would be as painful and thought-consuming as any wound.”

(Y/n) furrowed their brow, removing their splinted foot from Shinobu’s lap. She was right, the regrets were often what kept them up at night alongside their memories of that awful night. But would they really regret not pursuing Kanae? Before they had lost everyone they had ever cared about, they used to dream about finding someone like Kanae… but then everything changed. Could they really risk feeling that anguish again? It never really left but— agh! Shinobu was messing with their head!

Shinobu pulled them up by the elbow, and dragged them into the hall, despite their protests. After a few turns, Shinobu stopped in front of a room. She rapped her knuckles against the door, pointless really since she opened it without waiting for a reply anyway. Then she shoved (Y/n) inside.

“Not saying you need to snap out of your denial in a snap of your fingers, but this’ll be a good first step in the right direction.” She said before closing the door behind her.

“The hell she talking about now?” They turned to take stock of the room, feet freezing to the floor when they realized they were in Kanae’s room.

She was laying on her futon, bundled in blankets. Her breathing was raspy, but she wasn’t coughing blood anymore and had regained some of her color. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

(Y/n) silently cursed Shinobu for bringing them here. What were they supposed to do? Stare at Kanae while she slept? They turned their back and went to open the door so they could go home, but then Kanae called over to them.

“(Y/n), is that you?” She rasped, “come sit with me, please. Elevate your ankle.”

(Y/n) wanted to deny her, they told themself that they did anyway, but they went to sit beside her, pursing their lips when Kanae smiled at them.

“I’m getting closer it seems.” She continued to speak, despite her sore throat.

“Closer to what?” (Y/n) asked with a gruff, softness.

“Closer to seeing you smile back at me.”

(Y/n) huffed in disbelief and turned their head to the side, hiding how the corner of their lips quirked upward just the tiniest bit.

“You’re lucky I tolerate you, Kochou. Otherwise I’d have left you in the woods.”

“You don’t tolerate anyone, so I still feel very special.” Kanae teased.

“Shut up.” (Y/n) rubbed at the back of their neck, skin heating upon hearing Kanae giggle.

Shinobu was right. They were kind of an idiot, weren’t they? They’d try to make an effort from now on.

“Hey, get better soon so we can get udon sometime soon.” They tried to say casually, but the words tumbled awkwardly from their mouth.

Kanae allowed surprise, and then pure delight overtake her features.

“Udon date? I’ll do my best! You better heal up quick too (Y/n), but I’ll carry you if you want me too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” (Y/n)’s cheeks burned,

“I can walk to our udon date just fine.”

#demon slayer oneshots #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kanae kocho x reader #kanae kochou x reader #kanae x reader #kanae kocho #kanae kochou #requests #anonymous

189 notes · View notes

stardropcritter · 28 days

Text

Welcome to the Valley~

I kept getting distracted instead of making a small summary post for Iris' playthrough, but I want to put it up here before I play too far lol. I've been working on some sketches for her, but please enjoy the WIPS since I keep getting distracted. During the first years, her main circle of friends is: Shiro, Yuuma, Philip, Sebastian, Sam, Leah, Hayley, Alex Kiarra, & Shane :)

The bus ride was rather exausting, but after Lewis and Robin showed her to the new farm, Iris was very pleased to have the afternoon to get settled. She probably spent most of the first week just clearing the land around the farmhouse, and enough to clear a small path towards the town, and the mountains, as well as one around her coop so she doesn't lose track of the chicks when they are out.

She ran into Alex pretty quickly, probably on the second or third day. He found her petting Dusty, chatting to the good boy. Iris isn't a super sporty person, but lots of classmates and coworkers in Zuzu were big gridball fans so she knows enough of it. She feels like Alex is a bit full of himself, but a good guy. They click well enough.

The meeting with Abigail and her family was not the best, she was a bit on edge that morning, and Abby came in swinging with the "It's a shame you moved here" welcome line. Pierre was also pushing the salesman front quite hard, and Iris can't stand that.

She met Phillip, Yuuma, and Shiro very briefly on a day when they were in Pelican Town for their therapy. It was just a short conversation, but she got along well with all of them.

It took her nearly two weeks to get the courage to take the cable cars up to the ridge. The first ride she ended up having a panic attack, during the afternoon. A tourist who was taking the car along with her ran to get Lenny and Paula while Iris struggled to get to her feet and get her heart and breathing under control. Phillip, Shiro, and Yuuma happened to be coming back on the next car, and Phillip was quick to help talk her through the attack. Girl was mortified, but super appreciative when they all walked her to the hotel for a bit.

Since then, she would say hi to them whenever she saw them in town. She didn't go back to the ridge for another 2 weeks though.

When she learned that Yuuma often stopped at Pierre's on his own to do grocery shopping she's determined to give him a hand. She shifts her schedule around a little bit so that she has one day she can spend up at the ridge. She offers to help Yuuma carry the groceries up. He does initially say it's ok and he doesnt want to cause trouble for her, but she tells him he would actually be helping her- having a goal/chore that takes her up on a regular basis can help her get over her fears. Plus, she'd feel safer if he keeps her company. He says ok after that. I headcanon Yuuma as like 8 years old or so? I don't remember if we ever get any closer age.

Throughout the first year she becomes very close with Shiro, Philip and Yuuma. Yuuma especially starts to see her as a sort of older sister, feels comfortable asking her for help, and sometimes asks to visit her farm. Iris also fully adopts Yuuma, and does her best to lessen the workload for him.

She beat Abigail at the egg hunt during the first year and Abigail was wildly bitter about it, not helping. These two just do not get along.

It doesn't help when Abigail walks by Sam's and sees that Iris is hanging out on the lawn in front of his places with both Sam and Sebastian (Abigail is crushing hard on Seb, and is a wee possesive)

Nearly missed the summer Luau, she was completely lost in finishing a new book that Sebastian had just lent her. They share similar tastes in what they like reading, and this along with music is the main building point of their friendship.

Her friends and some of their fam start picking up on her habit of making little cards or bookmarks or small trinkets with pressed flowers and leaving them around as surprise gifts for them. Granny Evelyn in particular loves getting these, and Iris is happy to help her out with the garden beds around town from time to time. Alex finds this mega endearing.

Seb, Sam, and Iris continue the Solarian Chronicles campaign, and Victor and Sophia join them later in the year. The group begins to become a bit closer due to this. Abi joins from time to time, but seems to never quite feel comfortable or fit the party much.

She gets along well with Shane, and they're close-ish but she was very surprised and very worried when she found just how bad his mental health is. She makes a concsious effort to check in on him more often, and they somtimes have evenings where she brings a book and reads at the ranch while he helps Marnie, and they chat on and off. Shane still delivers feed and other things from Marnie's to her farm, and has definitely found her asleep on the floor of the coop with a book in her lap, and a chicken too, on more than one occasion. Maybe he thinks thats cute, but you won't be hearing him admit it.

Fall, um.... June Arrived. And Iris might be in trouble y'all.

She loves listening to him play the piano at the Ridgeside hotel, and they get along very well. He's even more of a coffee nerd than she is, which was surprising. So when they had a little breakfast hangout/date and he was nerding out about coffee, no, she wasn't bored at all. Was that a blush? maybe.

and holycrapJunewhat That dialogue killed me- Iris was trying to be a silly flirt and I feel like June absolutely called her bluff and left her a tomato-faced mess. It's a shame he's only here for half of the year, she'd love to get to know him better.

She continues to to become closer with Shiro, Phillip and Yuuma. (Yuuma was the first villager i got full hearts with). She occasionally helps them with the physio as well, and some minor chores at the Kobayashi house. It's a nice way to spend time with them and chat, and for the first few months while she didn't have a kitchen, it was a good excuse to use theirs and make them dinner sometimes.

Dinner at the Legame house also becomes somewhat of a frequent occasion- She likes to help out Kiarra, and they always end up chatting late into the night. Iris loves listeining to all of Kiarra's wild stories with Joja sabotage and boycotts. Anton also grows to really enjoy her company, but his heart belongs to Paula.

As we turn to spring of Year 2, the layout of the farm is looking like this! She keeps a steady turnaround of coffee and tea, two grape varieties and honey. She makes wine and jam as well and only a small-ish selection of seasonal crops. She grows flowers near her house, and is working on renovating the little guest cabin close to the shipping box. And we got our first cow!

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv farmer #sdv art #sdv farmer oc thoughts #farmer Iris

3 notes · View notes

crystalninjaphoenix · 9 months

Text

Assessing the Situation

A JSE Fanfic

Septics Inverted AU

First IRIS Chapter | Previous

(It’s back again! Time for part six! And with only two months since the last part XD We pick up with Chase where we left off, still stuck with IRIS. And then we check on what Anti has been up to. He’s found someone he hasn’t seen in a while. And meanwhile, Jackie has found out something as well. Happy reading :D)

A day must have passed. Chase had slept through most of it—or tried to, at least. It was difficult to sleep in this room when they wouldn’t turn the lights off. He managed to drift off eventually, only to be awakened by the loud CLUNK! of the door lock. He immediately sat up. The woman in the white coat from yesterday was back. Another man in a black uniform had come with her—not the same one from yesterday, but it was hard to figure out details beyond that. The woman sat down at the table. “Hello again, Mr. Brody,” she said with a smile.

Chase didn’t say anything. He glanced towards the door. Sure enough, it had already been closed and locked again. Damn it. He slowly stood up. “So... are you going to actually fucking explain things now?”

“First, we have to get through this assessment,” the woman said. Behind her, the man was resetting the camera, putting it back on the tripod after Chase had thrown it around yesterday. “This will all be better if you cooperate.”

“You say that, but I don’t know if I believe you,” Chase mumbled under his breath. Even so, he didn’t want to push IRIS’s limits. He still didn’t really know what they had planned for him. While the woman wrote something down on her clipboard, he walked over and sat at the other chair.

The woman glanced at the cameras in the room. No doubt double-checking if they were on and functional. “The date is August 14th, 2019, and we are interviewing Chase Brody again. Use of the Dr. Hopkins Assessment has been approved. Good morning, Mr. Brody.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “Is it?” He folded his arms.

“We are going to ask a series of questions to determine your state of mind,” the woman continued. “Now, keep in mind, we can detect if you’re lying, so please try to be truthful.”

Wait, they could? Did they know he’d been lying like a dog all through the ‘interview’ yesterday? He tried not to squirm self-consciously. Or, wait. Maybe they were lying about that? After all, he couldn’t see anything that could possibly be a lie detector in the room.

The woman looked up at him and smiled again. “Are you okay with this, Mr. Brody?”

Chase sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

She didn’t answer, just looked back down at the clipboard. “Is your name Chase Brody?”

Oh, they were starting now? Chase glanced around the room. “Wait, shouldn’t I be hooked up to some wires or something?” he asked, trying to gauge her reaction. Maybe he was calling their bluff on the lie detector.

“Don’t worry, our technology is quite capable,” the woman said in what was supposed to be a reassuring tone. “That won’t be necessary. Now, I will repeat the question. Is your name Chase Brody?”

Chase sighed. Might as well get this over with. “Yeah.”

“Are you 30 years old?”

“Yes.” He didn’t question how they knew that; they probably got his records somehow.

“Are you taking the Dr. Hopkins Assessment right now?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“On a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest and ten being the highest, how would you describe your current mental state?”

Chase laughed dryly. “Thought you didn’t care about that.”

“Please just answer the questions, Mr. Brody.” The smiles and pleasant facade from earlier conversations were now gone. She was all business.

“I don’t know,” Chase said. “A... three.” He lowballed it a little on purpose.

“Have you ever felt an attack of fear or anxiety?” the woman asked.

“Yes, of course.” Didn’t everyone, at some point in time?

“Do you feel safe?”

Chase laughed again. “Right now? You fucking kidding me? No. I don’t know what you people want or why you illegally moved me here, because you definitely didn’t get any sort of government approval for—”

“Do you regret your decisions?” the woman interrupted.

He blinked. “...what?” His voice had gone quiet.

“Do you regret your decisions?” she repeated, eyes locked onto him.

He leaned back in the chair, metal creaking with the movement. Even though he wanted to say something about how this was a stupid question and it should be more specific... he couldn’t deny the answer he knew he had. “Yes,” he whispered.

The woman nodded once. “Do you know where you are?”

A few seconds passed while Chase collected himself. “I-I don’t know. Somewhere in IRIS.”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“No, I keep telling you guys, I have no idea.” Chase shook his head. “I... you said something about helping people like me, but I don’t know what that means.” Especially with the way he’d been treated so far.

“Have you ever heard of ALTR 114209?” she asked.

“I heard of it yesterday, when you mentioned it,” Chase said. “Other than that? No.”

“When was the first time you came into contact with 114209?”

“Are you even listening?” Annoyance was now overriding any other feelings Chase had. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t know what the fuck that is? You said you would explain!”

“Alright, moving on, Mr. Brody,” the woman said, ignoring the noise of frustration Chase made. “How many pictures have been shown to you so far?”

“Pictures?” Chase glanced around the room, confused. “None.”

“How many sounds have been played for you?”

Again, he looked around the room. “None.” Was there supposed to be some sort of subliminal messaging going on?

“Are you easily startled?” the woman asked.

“No. I mean... maybe?” Chase answered distractedly, now keeping an eye and ear out for strange pictures or sounds. “Depends on the situation.”

“What’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember.” Maybe the one time Marvin went crazy and blasted him with that weird Void magic? He wasn’t really thinking too hard, still watching for anything suspicious.

“Do you believe in God?”

That snapped Chase’s attention back to the interview. “Bit of a loaded question, don’t you think?”

“Please just answer the question, Mr. Brody.” The woman sounded a bit tired.

“Well, uh... no.” He used to, but that was a long time ago. That belief came from a different person entirely.

“Do you believe in life after death?”

“Okay, no.” Chase shook his head. He shifted a little, ready to stand up at any moment. “This is ridiculous, I’m not doing this.”

“Ridiculous or not, Mr. Brody, please just try to answer the question truthfully,” the woman said firmly. “Do you believe in life after death?”

Chase sighed. He leaned forward onto the table and glared at the woman. “No.”

She was unintimidated, moving on. “Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that has impacted you significantly?”

“No,” he lied.

“Have you ever lost someone close to you?”

He stiffened, a visible reaction. “Lost in... what way? Like, death or just...” He trailed off. “Actually, you know what? No. We’re done here.”

“We are not done here, Mr. Brody,” the woman said firmly. “The assessment is not complete. Have you ever lost someone close to you?”

“I don’t care if we’re done or not, I’m not fucking answering any more questions without knowing why I’m here or what you people want!” Chase started to stand up. The black-uniformed man in the corner took a step forward. He stopped.

“Just answer the question, Mr. Brody,” the woman pressed. “Have you ever lost someone close t—”

Chase slammed his hands down on the table. “If I say yes will you stop fucking asking?!” he shouted. “Or does it not count if they’re dead?! Does it not count if they’re right?!”

The woman stared at him. Chase stared back, breathing heavily. After a few seconds, without looking down, she wrote something on the clipboard. Then she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Brody, this concludes our assessment.”

The sudden whiplash was enough to shock Chase out of the spiral the question had sent him into. “Wait, that's it?”

The woman stood up, adjusted her coat, and walked towards the doorway.

“What was the point of all that?” Chase demanded. He stood up fully now. “When do I get some damn answers?!”

She didn’t look back, just opened the door—which had somehow been unlocked without Chase noticing. He started running after her, but just like yesterday, the man in the black uniform grabbed him and yanked him backwards. It was a bit rougher this time, and Chase staggered. By the time he regained his balance, they were both gone, leaving him alone again.

“You—you—fuck you!” he shouted at the closed door. He kicked the chair leg with enough force to send the whole chair spinning. It crashed against the concrete floor with a deafeningly loud clatter. Chase winced.

The silence after the sound was equally deafening. Chase turned his attention to the camera on the tripod. He was really tempted to throw it around again. His hand was already reaching out before his mind caught up and reminded him that this was probably not a good idea. He hesitated for a moment, then settled for picking the tripod up and turning it around so it was facing the wall. But there was nothing he could do about the camera in the ceiling,

He stared at it, dangling in the corner. “Is this fun for you?” he asked. “I don’t think you’re the type of people to have fun. But is it? I don’t know why else you would promise to explain, and then not tell me a damn thing. What sort of—of sick, twisted, fucking game are you playing?”

The camera didn’t react at all. Its red light continued to blink.

“I used to hang out with some terrible, terrible people,” Chase said. “And I can see them doing something like this. That’s how you know you’ve done something wrong. But then again, I guess you wouldn’t care, would you? They definitely wouldn’t have.”

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Chase stared at the camera for a moment more. Then sighed and walked back over to the bed. He climbed in and buried his face in the pillow. He needed some rest. If something happened, he didn’t want to go into it while exhausted. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that something would happen sooner or later.

- - - - - - - - - -

“No, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of them before this.”

The House was unchanged since Anti had last been to visit. He paced back and forth across the entrance hall, occasionally glancing at the broken mirror. Dark leaned against the wall by the staircase, looking thoughtful. “Really?” Anti asked. “They’re a large organization. And they were founded in America, in this same state.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down as much as you think,” Dark said, slightly inclining their head. “California is a big state. It could qualify for its own country. Do you know where, exactly, this IRIS corporation came from?”

Anti’s form flickered slightly. “Their website lists a town called Kronolle.”

Dark shook their head. “I’ve never heard of it. At the very least, it’s not in the forbidden zone around Los Angeles. Perhaps it’s up north somewhere.”

“How old are you again?”

Dark smiled. “Old enough.”

“Very fucking helpful,” Anti grumbled.

“I know what you’re thinking. You think that, being around as long as I have, I should have at least heard of this IRIS. But I have not. If you want, I can ask G or his new friends to search the Internet.”

“Nah, that’s fine. Guy freaks me out.”

“Really?” Dark raised an eyebrow. “The great Antisepticeye? Freaked out by something?”

“Oh shut up.”

Dark’s lighthearted expression fell. “You’re even grumpier than usual. I haven’t seen you in months, and you come back twitching erratically and snapping at everything? What happened? Is this IRIS situation that worrying?”

Anti stopped pacing. He sighed. “I could deal with it,” he said quietly. “I’ve dealt with it before. But they’re bringing Jack and Sam into their bullshit, and I don’t like that.”

“Ah.” Dark nodded. “You’re scared something will happen to them.”

“Of course I fucking am! I hacked into their network. The files I saw—” Anti shuddered. “It’s been a while since I saw widespread horror on an organized level like that. If... if Jack was... subjected to that, I... I don’t know what I’d do. Nothing good.”

Dark stood up straight, now fully serious. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I need more information on them,” Anti said. “Even their own network is vague on their origins and purpose. Maybe you could find something out, since you’re on their home turf.”

“Yes. Of course.” Dark nodded. “I can’t promise anything. We’re having problems ourselves. Which reminds me. Have you seen an elaborate box with a blue crystal on it anywhere? Or maybe just the crystal?”

“No. I can keep an eye out for it, if you want. What’s it do?”

“Well, that’s a bit compli—”

Thud. “Ow!”

Anti’s head immediately snapped towards the noise. It came from behind a door beneath the staircase. The door was labeled “Coat Hanger” but Anti knew that meant nothing with the strange, shifting layout of the House. He glitched over to the door and threw it open, revealing that there was, indeed, a hallway beyond that. And more importantly, revealing— “You!” he gasped. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

Henrik von Schneeplestein stared back at him. It had been a long while since Anti had last seen him—about eight months or so. In some ways, he was the same. Bright blue eyes peering through rectangular glasses, slightly unkempt brown hair and beard, and the gray sweater he wore was something he would have worn before. But in other ways, he was different. There was more color in his face, his clothes had no stains, and he looked far more... alert than he ever had before. There was also a bruise forming on his forehead—the result of the thud a few seconds ago. Schneep blinked, then folded his arms. “I live here now,” he said defensively.

“Really?” Anti glanced back at Dark, who nodded and walked over to join the conversation. “Well, in that case, what the fuck are you doing right here while we’re talking? Listening?”

Schneep hesitated. “No.”

“Mm-hmm.” Anti glared at him suspiciously.

“Alright, perhaps I was, but I did not mean to come here!” Schneep protested. “You have been here before! You know about the twisty turny hallways and how nothing connects as it should!”

“In that case, the question is clearly why the House wanted you to be here.” Anti now directed his glare at the broken mirror. A vague shape moved in the reflection. It almost looked like a person shrugging. “He’s the last person I wanted here.” Anti huffed, and looked back at Schneep. “How much did you hear?”

Again, Schneep hesitated, clearly contemplating if he should tell the truth. “You were saying something about a TV store...”

“Oh for fuck’s—” Anti threw his hands in the air. He was glad Schneep hadn’t heard him telling Dark his personal experiences with IRIS. But that meant he’d heard his explanation of what IRIS was and him asking Dark for help. “So you were just standing here eavesdropping for two minutes?”

“Henrik.” Dark folded his hands on top of his cane, looking disappointed.

“I—You—There—Was I just supposed to leave?!” Schneep stammered. “I hear Anti’s voice, I get curious! I wonder if this will involve me, because it seems like it always fucking does with him.”

“No, it doesn’t involve you,” Anti says firmly. “Or any of your friends. Are they here too?”

Schneep rolled his eyes. “You know what happened to Marvin and Jameson and Chase. And Jackie is still in England.”

“So why are you here?”

“I...” Schneep cleared his throat. “...thought it would be... good for me. They have... services here. Without judgment.”

Anti gave him a once-over. “You mean psychiatrists and stuff.”

“I—shut up.” Schneep looked away from him.

Dark put a hand on Anti’s shoulder, silently asking him to back down. Anti glanced back at him, then sighed. “Fine. It’s not my business.” Schneep did look much more... put-together. So that was good. Anti still didn’t trust him, though. Not everything Schneep did could be blamed on mental health issues. “Look, like I said, it doesn’t involve you. It won’t involve you. This is an entirely separate issue than everything between us. So just forget it.” He turned and started walking away.

“Is Jack going to be okay?” Schneep asked quietly.

Anti stopped. He turned back around. “He is. This is a problem, but I’ll take care of it.”

“It sounded like a very serious problem,” Schneep pointed out.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” The last thing Anti wanted was for Schneep to get involved with IRIS. A whole organization of advanced technology and questionable practices? He would probably jump at the chance to join them. And Anti knew he would do great in there. After all, Schneep had been the one to figure out magic combined with an EMP would briefly incapacitate Anti. He hated to think what he could do with more resources.

Schneep nodded. “Okay. Fine, then.”

Dark cleared his throat. “Are you alright, Henrik? I heard you shout a minute ago.”

“Is nothing. Embarrassing, really. I had my head up to the door and then I turned too fast and hit this.” Schneep patted the door frame. “Right on the corner. I am fine. But... thank you.”

“Alright. You can let Edward know if you need anything.”

Schneep rolled his eyes. “Right. I will definitely talk to him, definitely.” Clearly, he wasn’t getting along with Edward, the House’s resident doctor. Some things would never change.

Anti gave a little laugh. “I’m going to head out. Do some searching around, see if there’s any sign of anything... strange.” Double-check if IRIS really wasn’t in the area.

Dark nodded. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out as well.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back later, just to... finish our conversation.” Anti gave Schneep one last glance. Then he dissolved into particles and disappeared.

- - - - - - - - - -

The car pulled into a spot near the visitors’ entrance. Jackie leaned forward, staring out the window, while Frederick parked. “This won’t take too long, will it?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Jackie said. “I just want to check in on things. If it takes too long I’ll just tell him where I’m going and that I’ll be back later.”

“Jackie,” Frederick said tiredly. “You’re not going to tell him about the IRIS situation, are you?”

“I mean, if he asks where I’ve been.”

Frederick leaned forward over the steering wheel, bonking his head on its rim. “Do you know how it’ll sound if I have to explain we were late because you had a sudden impulse to check on your friend in prison, and you just happened to tell him everything about this secret operation?”

“It’s not any more secret than the rest of the magician stuff, right?” Jackie insisted. “Chase already knows all about magic.”

“I know. But think of the context. We’re already a bit delayed. Nick and Briony are going to freak out if the wards are down for a minute longer than necessary, they won’t... react well to you if you say we were delayed because you wanted to visit a friend in jail.”

“Well maybe they shouldn’t be so judgemental about people in jail,” Jackie pointed out.

Frederick laughed. “I’d agree, but not in Chase’s case.”

Jackie slumped lower in his seat. Frederick had told him that morning that his magician group was willing to let Jackie into their safe house to look at the IRIS technology they had, but only if it happened today at noon. That proved a problem, because Jackie realized it had been a while since he’d seen Chase and wanted to visit him. Today. When visiting hours were from 10 to 12. And the prison was in the complete opposite direction of the safe house. There had been a brief argument before Frederick agreed they could stop by before the meeting if Jackie made sure to keep it brief. “You... Have you told these guys about... me?” he asked.

Frederick straightened up. “In what way?”

“I’m just saying, you’re really concerned about what they’d think of Chase if we told them about him. You must be extra-worried about what they’d think of me.” Jackie didn’t look directly at Frederick. “I was much worse.”

A moment passed in silence. “I thought I’d...” Frederick started, then trailed off. He shook his head. “You’re right. I’m being unfair to you and to Chase. I’m just... nervous.”

“Is being on time really that big a deal?”

“Maybe not in the grand scheme of things. But the whole situation has me on edge, so...” Again, he trailed off. “I haven’t told them about your... checkered past, by the way. Yvonne already knows, obviously, but the rest only know that you’re my boyfriend, because that’s all that matters to me.” Jackie gave a small smile at that. Frederick smiled back, and continued. “Of course, the past is a big thing. They might have to know. Hard to keep that a secret. But I’ll leave it up to you.”

Jackie thought about it. “I don’t really see myself getting to know these guys that well, y’know? I, uh... We’ll shelve that whole thing for now. If I see them more and more, I’ll... bring it up myself. But I’m not throwing Chase under the bus. If we’re late—which we won’t be, cause I’m keeping it short—we’ll just say I wanted to visit him and not mention where.”

Frederick nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Great.” Jackie opened the car door. “I don’t know how long the processing will take, but if I’m not back in thirty minutes, call me.”

“Thirty minutes?!” Frederick repeated, nervously glancing at the car’s dashboard clock.

“I don’t want it to take that long, but who knows? Red tape and shit.” Jackie shrugged. “We’ll still be able to make it on time. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll try.” Frederick sighed. “Good luck. Have fun.”

Jackie smiled. “I’ll try.” Then he stepped out of the car and walked up to the entrance.

Every time he walked in here, he couldn’t help but clutch the amulet around his neck. It was made to disguise his appearance from anyone he didn’t want to recognize him, including on recordings. Even though he knew it was an effective disguise, he still felt exposed strolling right into a police building like he wasn’t a wanted criminal. Just because it had been about a year since the Mirygale police had last seen him didn’t mean they weren’t still searching.

But, as it had been the last few times, there was no immediate reaction from anyone in the front hall. Jackie walked up to check-in—a booth protected by thick glass—and cleared his throat.

“Hello, how can I help you?” asked the woman behind the glass.

“I’m here to visit Chase Brody,” he said.

“Reason?”

“Social.” Jackie knew how this went. He’d done it dozens of times before.

“Right.” The woman swiveled over to a computer and began typing into it. Normally, this would only take a minute or two, and then the receptionist would say to sit down and wait. And five to twenty minutes later, a prison guard would appear and say he could come on back. But this time, the woman frowned. She turned back to look at him. “I’m sorry, he’s been transferred to a different facility.”

Jackie blinked. “What? Why?”

She glanced at the computer monitor. The screen was reflected in her glasses, and Jackie tried to read what she was reading. “It seems it was for security reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to divulge prisoner information to a civilian.”

“Okay...” Jackie said slowly. “Can I at least know where he is now?”

“Hmm.” The woman paused. “North Point Prison. However, sir, it says here that they don’t allow visitors.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with their system. You’ll have to contact them for any future questions.”

“...Right.” Jackie nodded slowly. “Ah... thanks anyway.” And with that, he turned and left.

This didn’t make any sense. He’d never heard of North Point Prison before, and Jackie used to be very careful about knowing all the nearby prisons—as well as courthouses and police stations. And why didn’t it allow visitors? If Chase had been transferred somewhere else “for security reasons,” Jackie would have assumed his security was being downgraded for good behavior. But a place with no visitors allowed implied a higher security level.

He was quiet as he got back into the car. Frederick looked at him, concerned. “You’re back quick. Is everything alright?”

“They transferred Chase somewhere else,” Jackie said.

“What? Why? Where?”

“Said it was ‘for security reasons,’ but I don’t know if that adds up,” Jackie says. “Chase has been nothing but cooperative since the arrest. He admitted to everything and doesn’t cause trouble. Why would they move him somewhere with higher security?”

Frederick shook his head. “I don’t know. Are you sure it was a place with higher security?”

“That’s what was implied when the receptionist lady said the place didn’t allow visitors.” Jackie frowned. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. “I’m looking it up. Hey, by any chance, have you ever heard of North Point Prison?”

He didn’t expect a reaction, but Frederick gasped and went pale.

“What?” Jackie looked at him. “Is it... bad?” he asked worriedly.

“I think... i-if this is all correct, then it’s really bad,” Frederick said.

“Why?!”

“North Point is the old prison that IRIS converted to their headquarters.”

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #chase brody #antisepticeye #dr schneepleste #jackieboy man #brigid writes fanfiction #septics inverted au #invertedau

5 notes · View notes

secretwhumplair · 1 year

Text

Another garden

801 words | Royal arms (after Reunion)

Content | Captivity, discussion of: forced marriage, pregnancy of a trans man, implied: gender dysphoria

Notes | "I don't want your man I don't even know why you want your man" - Arracen

Still not sure I'm best equipped to write this but here we gooo

Taglist | @whumpy-writings @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @newbornwhumperfly @nicolepascaline @thegreatwhodini @wolfeyedwitch @onlybadendings @quietshae @whumpcreations @whumpydaydreams @whumpsy-daisy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @kixngiggles @tears-and-lilies @melancholy-in-the-morning @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-cravings @annablogsposts

»Come, walk with me.«

Arracen had been given leave to move around the castle grounds, and promptly Cassio had caught him off guard as he went for a walk into the gardens, trying to distract himself from everything, for however short.

Arracen could feel his insides squirm uncomfortably. It was only too easy to imagine what Cassio wanted to talk to him about, and the last thing he needed was for Cassio to treat him as a rival. The thought he might have to contend with the jealousy of such an influential person so close to Idalis, when he hardly even wanted this marriage himself, sickened Arracen. No doubt Cassio could make his life a living hell, as if matters weren’t already going to be bad enough.

Cassio remained silent for a long while as they walked through the orchard. The castle gardens were practical over pretty, but for Arracen, they had a charm. They helped feed and care for the people around them, just like he always wanted.

Finally Cassio said, »I wanted to talk to you about your upcoming marriage. I thought it might be worth clarifying some matters.« He paused to look straight at him, and there wasn’t any of the hostility Arracen had feared in his face; he couldn’t pinpoint what there was, either, though, and that was bad enough.

»Of course,« Arracen replied, determined to stay polite, stay on Cassio’s good side as long as he could.

Cassio continued walking. »I’m sure you’ve heard rumours about the King and I.«

»Yes.« There it was. Maybe he should be subtler, but he needed to make this unambiguously clear. »And I have no desire to come between you.«

»I know,« Cassio replied instantly and took Arracen aback. »That is one thing I wanted to… perhaps put your mind at ease about. I do not want you as my rival, and if you do not want that either, then we will have no issue.« He even gave him a small smile, and Arracen managed a smile back, even if he didn’t believe it looked half-genuine.

»The king is not a bad man,« Cassio continued, more quietly. »I know he came to you as a conqueror, but… you have nothing to fear from him as a husband. He will treat you well, he has a kind heart.«

A kind heart. The sort of kindness that would allow him to take and kill and conquer if only he wanted. »Why are you telling me this?«

»I figured you must be nervous. Going into a marriage with a man you know nothing but the worst of.«

It was so accurate it hit Arracen straight in the heart. He had been too worked up about too many things in the past days and weeks, and the tears came far too easily. Cassio didn’t push as Arracen turned away in a desperate attempt to compose himself.

»There’s another thing I feel you ought to know, if you haven’t already heard.« Cassio stopped again, and Arracen turned back towards him, not at all confident but hopeful he didn’t look like a crying wreck. »I am like you.«

Arracen didn’t need to ask what he meant - something about Cassio’s tone made it clear he was revealing something deeply personal. But he couldn’t think of a response. He hadn’t expected it at all, and it only brought another factor into the chaos of his feelings.

Thankfully, Cassio continued on. »When I told my parents I was a boy… Idalis and I were already quite close, and they had wanted me to become his queen. It didn’t change their mind. When I told Idalis,« he smiled at the memory, »he got me my first moondew behind everyone’s back. We were only foolish youths then, but…«

As his voice trailed off, Arracen found his speech again. »You - could have born his heir.« It was a stupid thing to say - why would Cassio want it any more than Arracen himself? And clearly, Idalis cared enough about one of them to not push him into it.

Cassio chuckled. »The court already thinks I hold too much sway with Idalis. If I were to bear his heir, no doubt I would find myself with a dagger in my back sooner rather than later. And,« he added more quietly, »I don’t want to. I’ve never wanted to.« He reached out for a moment, almost as if to take Arracen’s hand, but didn’t touch him. »I know you don’t want to either. And he knows it, too. If he gives you grief about it - I mean, additional grief… speak to me. I’ll set him straight.« There was that small smile on his lips again. »He won’t. But just in case.«

Arracen didn’t trust his voice. He barely managed to choke out a »Thank you.«

#whump #whump writing #my writing #forced marriage #royal arms #arracen #cassio

16 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 2 years

Text

CSSNS Fic: “Believing Impossible Things” {Part One}

Whew! I’m here (sorry for pushing this so close to the wire on my posting date!) Anyway, this is Part One of an intended three part fic, my entry for this year’s @cssns event. I apologize if there are any typos or other such errors as I was working on this right up to the last minute. I also have to thank my lovely artist @o-wild-west-wind for the gorgeous fic cover art she has created for this piece. It’s so lovely, but in an effort not to give too much away, we’re just posting a teaser section of the art with this first chapter, and the full work with Part Two soon.

My beta @romanceapologist was kind enough to give me early feedback, which I very much appreciated, and @zaharadessert and my friend Jessica (who isn’t on Tumblr, but is a lovely sounding board for me as a writer all the same) helped me come up with a title. I also have to thank @pirate-owl for the prompt and picset she created some years ago now, which first sparked the idea for this story. She gave me her generous blessing to go ahead and try to make it my own and write a full story for it, and I’m truly grateful.

Summary: Miss Emma Nolan needed the governess job badly enough to ignore the gossip about the old mansion and the chilly reception she got about the lady of the manor. And when she met young Alice Jones, she knew she had made the right choice. But some rumors are rumors for a reason, and maybe the little girl who drew her there isn’t the only person on the estate in need...

“Believing Impossible Things”

by: @snowbellewells

part one ~ the house at the top of the hill

Even as she reached the crest of the gentle rise she had been climbing, the petite blonde nearing the old rambling mansion in the early morning light was scanning from the tall spires and gables of the imposing gray house before her at the top of the hill. More than a bit awestruck as her eyes trailed down to the solid front door and gingerbread railing of the wraparound porch, she was both intimidated and impressed. Smoothing her skirts and tugging down the sleeves of her slightly too-small and a season out of fashion dress and jacket, also the best and most professional-looking she owned, the young woman blew out a breath, vowing once more to make a calm, competent impression. She might be more than desperate for a job, she reminded herself, but she could not let her need and fear show through.

Miss Emma Nolan squared her deceptively slight shoulders, gathering reserves of inner strength which most would not recognize upon first glance, and then stepped onto the wide, stately veranda of the rambling home where she was set to interview for the position of governess. Granted, she probably shouldn’t have told the assistant manager at her previous place of employ to ‘sod off’ before assuring this worked out, but she wasn’t making nearly enough to deal with a frightfully overbearing manager attempting to put his fingers on her whenever others weren’t looking. If he had a bit of a sore jaw to remind him to pay a little more respect to his next underling, Emma couldn’t say she was sorry.

Those who didn’t know her - and they would be many; she had grown up an orphan, was guarded and largely kept to herself in early-learned self-sufficience - would see a slim, neat but modestly dressed young woman, quite attractive with blonde hair and sparkling green eyes in a fetchingly lovely face. In short, she might not appear formidable, until one learned she was tougher than her appearance would suggest. She was slow to trust until another person proved worthy, but those few who genuinely knew her could understand the stubborn determination in her small frame, the spine of steel which held Ms. Emma Nolan upright against the cold, cruel would and the bravery that bolstered her soul. And those people knew not to underestimate her.

Yet, determined or not, she would need a bit of luck and a fair chance on her side to come out of this situation as she needed. What she had reluctantly come to accept was that she was a single young woman, basically alone in the world when it came to supporting herself and making her way. She needed another job, one she could count on to be reliable and stable - and she needed it soon. This monstrosity of a house might look daunting, and she had heard all the local whispers of gossip which were more daunting still, but she set her jaw, tilted her chin up and reminded herself it must be this one. She might not need much for herself alone, but she did have to eat.

Nearing the heavy front door, Emma hopefully admired the lovely scrolling accents to the beams and railings, painted a clean, bright white against the duller gray of the outer walls. Forcing herself to move slowly and with a calm she didn’t feel, Emma raised a mostly steady hand to knock upon the heavy front door.

She was startled however, into jerking her hand back quickly to clasp before her when the door abruptly opened without warning. Making her rather more uneasy still, it at first seemed to Emma that no one stood on the other side, as if the sturdy portal had opened of its own independent power, or by some supernatural magic. Yet, given a few more moments, a light, airy giggle sounded, causing Emma to look down and see a head of riotously curling light nutmeg-brown hair belonging to a little girl, peering up at her curiously, a perusing look to her tilted head and squinting eyes, and mischievous grin curling her rosebud mouth. “Hullo there,” she chirped. “Who are you?”

Almost without thought, Emma found her own head tilting in intrigued study as well, mirroring the playful sprite still gazing at her from the doorway, childishly chubby hand still clutching the elegant doorknob, with fingertips that appeared slightly sticky with lingering jam or marmalade. This must be her potential charge - and the very first one upon whom she ought to make a good impression.

“Hello indeed,” Emma greeted, offering a hand to shake cautiously. “My name is Emma Nolan. And you are?”

Twinkling wide eyes crinkled with guileless welcome as the little girl’s grin broadened to beam at her fully. “I’m Alice Lianna Jones, Miss Emma. How lovely to meet you! Though it is rather curious… I didn’t know anyone was coming to see us today.”

Stunned by her well-spoken forthrightness, Emma was speechless for a moment. Though this was almost certainly the child she was interviewing to govern, she hesitated to say so and speak out of turn, not wanting to ruin her chances before she had even begun. The world was still running (though not as well as Emma privately figured it might) on the idea that women were better served to speak as little as possible and at least appear to think or see even less - traits that she found particularly chafing more often than she’d like to admit. Despite those concerns, the little girl staring up at her intently as though trying to decipher her motives from the features of her face, seemed so jovial and friendly, Emma hardly wanted to upset or distance her. Perhaps she did not yet know she was gaining a governess? Or that the one she might already have was being replaced?

Shaking away the scattered thoughts ricocheting within her, Emma hoped that her smile appeared unconcerned as she offered her hand for the bright-eyed child to shake just as she would have if the girl were mistress of the house. “In that case, I must apologize for my unannounced arrival,” she offered politely, her green gaze returning the mischievous twinkle of the youngster’s own mirth, “though I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Alice giggled in delight, her cornflower blue eyes crinkling up at the corners and the sweet sound warming Emma’s heart in a sort of instant camaraderie that she had found all too rarely in her life thus far. Her left hand still gripping the doorknob for balance, the child dipped into an only slightly off-kilter curtsy, her merriment still obvious as she shook Emma’s hand in return. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Milady,” she returned in what Emma assumed she found an approximate imitation of a stuffy upper class woman greeting visitors to her home. Feeling utterly charmed, Emma merely nodded in response and concentrated on pressing her lips together tightly so as not to laugh at the rather incongruous effect.

Mere moments later, the lighthearted mood was shattered abruptly by the strident shout of Alice’s name from inside the huge house, followed by the quick clip of high heeled shoes on marble growing louder as they drew ever closer. Alice’s little hand jerked out of Emma’s grip and the curly head dipped to stare at her shoes as she withdrew slightly before the unseen speaker scolded. “What do you think you are doing, answering the door to a stranger?”

Emma’s startled and more than a bit concerned gaze shifted hurriedly from the child she had been pleasantly engaged in talking with to see that a tall, stone faced woman had now appeared at the young girl’s side, seeming to fill the whole of the doorway with an unsettling presence that could not be ignored. She had not missed the way Alice had immediately withdrawn; seeming to shrink in on herself protectively, that sparkle which had shown from her cherubic face instantaneously dimmed. Given the opportunity, she would want to get to the bottom of that; she felt a deep concern for Alice already, regardless of having known her for only moments. There was enough in her own past to turn Emma’s stomach at the possibilities for why such a vivacious child would recoil so suddenly from one meant to be a caretaker, none of them pleasant to dwell on. That also served to galvanize her resolve in the face of the nerves she had been battling. Not only did she fervently need this job; it would seem this child needed her here as well.

Holding her tongue - just barely - the strong-willed side of Emma’s nature inwardly cheered to see that though her new little friend had gone wary and still, she hadn’t fled and was still watching hopefully from behind the door. Realizing that now was the moment to employ every scrap of the poise and charm she often struggled to muster, knowing too much hard reality and harsh fact to trifle with fancy sensibilities, Emma redirected her attention to the ramrod straight and unsmiling matron before her, frighteningly pale with wildly storming eyes burning from her wan face and hair vividly, shockingly, red in contrast to the rest of her.

Ignoring her disconcertion, Emma held out her hand, feigning polite obliviousness in what she hoped seemed proper respect and propriety. “Pardon me, Ma’am. It would seem to me that you are the person I had hoped to see. I’ve come in response to your advertisement.” Again she hesitated to be specific in front of young Alice, not sure what she knew, but with every tense minute that passed, she wanted to reach out to the children more and more. Any sane, average person might have decided this was highly tense and uncomfortable silence was not to be borne and turned to flee, but Emma’s innate stubbornness rooted her to the spot in waiting. The immediate warmth and affinity she’d felt for young Alice Jones becoming a sixth sense which allowed her no other recourse.

Just when it seemed she might not get any further than the front stoop, nor any answer at all, the other woman did look down her nose at Emma for another moment before clearing her throat, flicking her wrist impatiently as if to gesture her forward, then stepping back just barely to allow emma passage. “Very well. Come in we shall get down to business.”

Emma’s brows rose in startled surprise, not expecting the abrupt change in bearing from the stern scrutiny which had preceded it. Deciding not to question the development that suited her or hesitate before the winds changed, Emma nodded smartly and slipped into the stately home before the door was slammed in her face. The fact that a shiver ran down her spine as she stood in the hall, awaiting further direction, was something she forced her mind to chalk up to a perverse flight of fancy. Nevermind too that the high-ceilinged space seemed more dark and shadowed than one would normally expect on a bright, clear morning, or that the temperature seemed too cool and chill for the temperate balminess she had just experienced outdoors. Such nonsense was surely her own nerves spinning out of control.

The woman who was no doubt Mistress of the house closed the door behind them, the sound of the latch locking back into place making Emma’s heart lurch in her chest in a way she couldn’t well explain. “This way, if you please,” the formidable matron intoned coolly. She stood what seemed easily half a head taller than Emma, and her voice was short, sharp, and not to be argued with. “I have been conducting interviews in the study.”

Emma surreptitiously attempted to gather her skirts slightly as she moved to follow in the dim and unfamiliar space. The last thing she needed was to trip on her own hemline and go sprawling to the floor, disgracing herself and showing just how far she was from being trained to carry herself around fancy ballrooms and stately mansions. Though governesses themselves were of course employees like maids or cooks, they were part of rearing and training proper young men and women in the ways of society they would someday navigate. They should therefore carry themselves with the decorum they would be expected to convey to their charges. Emma had grown up much to rough and tumble for such frivolities, gathering most of what she knew of manners and bearing from her friends who worked in fine homes and had tried to help her prepare as best she could between jobs on the assembly lines and in the linen works. Though this odd prospective employer had allowed her entrance, Emma got the distinct impression she was seeking out a flaw to send her packing once more.

She offered a sidelong wink and smile to Alice who still followed them closely, like a silent shadow. Upon reaching a room wherein Emma could see a crackling fireplace, largely mahogany desk with two handsomely appointed chairs before it, her hostess turned abruptly to calmly order, “Alice, go to your room, please. Our business does not concern you at present, and no one likes a little snoop who lingers in doorways.”

An argument rose up Emma’s throat, wanting to scold the woman for being so cold and dismissive. If nothing else, she wished she could at least caught the little girl’s hand as she darted quickly from the room, the hurt devastatingly clear on her elfin face as she vanished without a word. Fighting her natural instincts, Emma did neither, knowing that if she wished a chance to truly help the girl, to console her for more than just a moment, she had to be hired by this imperious woman. There was no doubt now she was seeing herself and her own past pain played out in the youngster now; it was no longer simply about needing employment. But Alice was not the one doing the hiring, so Emma wordlessly dug her fingernails into her palms to remain silent and bided her time.

“Right. Now then,” the flame-haired lady of the house spoke crisply as she snapped the door closed, assuring they would remain alone and uninterrupted, and turned to search Emma’s expression. “You’ve come to apply as governess, have you? And what makes you think you should be considered?”

There was a smug, doubting look on her interviewer’s face that made Emma’s blood boil. Already well on her way to disliking the woman for her hurtful treatment of the child in her care, Emma was further incensed by the same snobbish, condescending attitude she encountered from so many in polite society whenever she sought more fulfilling employment. As if finer clothes and more cultured speech determined either the work ethic or character of a person. If anything, people like the haughty ghoul before her only made emma more certain that breeding and money often made people worse rather than better.

“That is correct, Ms. - ah - Mrs. Jones?” she tried, realizing as she floundered briefly that the other woman had not actually introduced herself or provided her preferred title. As Emma paused, swallowing and trying to still her rising temper, the lighted lamps and candles in the room flickered fitfully, as if some unseen butler tried to extinguish them all at once. Pressing on, Emma tried to ignore the oddity, and added, “I have quite a bit of experience looking after children of various ages, as well as affidavits of my characters from others who know me well.”

Emma handed her recommendations across the desk to the woman, even as she sniffed and snatched at them as if she barely wanted to touch or look at the offending items. “Very well, let’s check them over, shall we?” she snipped.

Not know quite how she had gotten herself into the other woman’s bade grace so quickly, Emma held herself in check rather remarkably she thought, under the circumstances. At this point, it was only the memory of those sweet, hopeful little eyes looking up at her in greeting that kept her from taking her leave.

“And it isn’t Mrs. Jones, either,” the frosty voice corrected with a level of disgust that suggested Emma had called her some unforgivable epithet. “Alice is a Jones, yes, but though I have found myself guardian to the little waif, I am not her mother.”

“Oh,” Emma tried, very little else seeming possible to say, and her mind wanting to shout that she should be lucky enough to have a lovely child like that to call her own. “I didn't realize,” she finally settled on.

“Clearly,” the other sniffed again, chin held high. “My name is Eloise Gardiner. My family were some of the founders of this community; this home part of our legacy for generations. When the child’s shiftless father deserted her on my doorstep and disappeared, well I couldn’t very well leave her on the street, could I?”

Polite veneer completely forgotten, Emma’s mouth fairly hung open at the baldly hurtful way this Ms. Gardiner explained coming to have Alice in her home. Though Emma did not remember a storm or even strong wind outside the manor before she had entered, at Eloise’s harsh words, a howl of wind whipped up outside, rattling the window panes as if in response to the callous statements the woman made. Even without the unsettling sound effects, something rang false in the explanation, at least to Emma’s ears, and she had always trusted herself as a rather astute judge of such things - her life and livelihood often depended upon it.

“Why would her father leave her here?” Emma finally asked, knowing it might not be proper, but at last unable to help herself. Ms. Gardiner seemed far from a maternal or loving choice the girl’s parent had been seeking a fitting guardian. “Did you know him?”

Eloise Gardiner leaned forward with a knowing smirk, conveying the sort of acquaintance it had been with an arched brow and curl of the lip that no true demure lady of class would suggest. “In a way I did, at one time,” she answered vaguely. “He was a handsome devil, charming too, but it had been some time since I’d seen him, when I gained Alice as my ward.” A stack of books which had been sitting on a shelf nearby suddenly toppled and crashed to the floor violently, though no one had moved to jostle them. One, inexplicably, went sailing through the air, nearly hitting the mansion’s proprietress squarely.

Emma flinched backward as the tome flew past, but Eloise barely blinked, catching the volume in a firm grip and giving Emma a stiff grimace of a smile. “He never was one who could be held down. Apparently even his own child did not prove to be enough to do so.”

Heart burning in her chest, Emma felt the line within her statement even more strongly than before, but she couldn’t be sure what part or how much of the story was untrue. What she did know was that she wanted to be Alice Jones’ governess more than ever.

Dropping the offending book to the floor at her feet, Eloise Gardiner made a show of glancing at Emma’s experience and references with little interest before seemingly making up her mind in an abrupt, unconcerned sort of way. “I suppose you’ll do,” she stated, standing quickly and handing the papers back to Emma impatiently. “You do at least have some prior knowledge and some sense, unlike the last couple of applicants I’ve seen. I have important matters to attend and cannot be doing with Alice underfoot any longer. You’ll start tomorrow if you accept. Room and board is included. You stay in the tower room, the attic really, but it’s furnished and private.”

Shocked by how quickly the mater seemed to have been decided, and feeling she really had no choice but to accept - for a variety of reasons - Emma agreed to the terms almost numbly, not ready to celebrate yet that she had food and a roof over her head secured once more. Suddenly, she was almost as troubled as she was relieved, and she could not shake the sensation, even as they shook hands, signed a contract for the first six months, and Ms. Gardiner showed her back to the door with a directive to return at eight the next morning. Back out on the cobbled walk, Emma turned to look back up at the structure where she would soon be living and working, biting her lower lip and wondering if she had done the right thing.

Then, from an upstairs window, she saw Alice Jones appear, waving at her briefly with a wide smile before flitting from view once more. Holding that image in mind, Emma Nolan comforted herself that she had made the best choice after all, and left resolved to wait and see what the morrow might bring.

~~~*~~~

That evening found Emma seated in a cramped but warm and welcoming corner of the kitchen in the home of the fine family where her friend Ashleigh Hermann had just been promoted to head cook. Hoping not to add any extra bother or difficulty to Ash’s workload, Emma had pulled a tall stool into the corner by the hearth and was keeping her hands busy breaking beans that would be prepared as a side dish for the evening meal her friend was preparing. Emma was glad to help in return for a couple of the cinnamon buns Ashleigh made from scratch, and to have a little company as she mulled over the strange interview she’d had that day and sought a spot of her friend’s advice on how she should proceed when reporting for her first day of work in the morning.

Ashleigh and Emma had met in school years ago, both often arriving in patched or threadbare clothing and dealing with being shunned by the more outgoing and well-to-do students. They had bonded early and the friendship had lasted well into their young adulthood, even now that Ashleigh was married to a handsome young lamplighter named Sean and first time mother to an adorable babe named Alexandra.

Though not a true orphan as Emma was, Ash’s family had treated her as more servant than cherished offspring, and so she had grown up self-sufficient and knowledgeable in all manner of work. Since she toiled more than hard enough to support herself by the time she was a teen, Ashleigh had struck out on her own early, and had been able to advise Emma in various types of employment from her own experience as soon as Emma followed her into the work force a few years later.

Unlike Ashleigh’s selfish relations, Granny, the doting elderly woman who had been a friend and mentor of Emma’s deceased parents and taken her in to raise as her own, had been doting and attentive, giving Emma all the attention she could spare while working hard to run a quaint country inn. Granny had not possessed much in the way of money and material objects, nor had she much spare time to dally and relax but she had provided the best she could for the lonely child left in her charge and loved her like family. Emma adored Granny for it, but though she still functioned quite well, she was getting up in years, and Emma hated to see her still working so hard to support them both. It hadn’t been long after she was of age that she had set out for the city on her own, hoping to even send something back occasionally to help Granny and maybe allow the woman to finally slow down and have a moment’s rest.

Setting down the cocoa Ashleigh had offered with a knowing smile the moment she’d claimed a seat upon arrival, Emma watched her friend bustling around the kitchen, and finally sighed, coming out with the question still troubling her mind. “So, do you think I’m crazy for taking this on? I can’t imagine that woman will be at all pleasant to work for, and you know as well as I do the stories about that old mansion, but… if you could have seen this little girl… She is so bright, so curious and sweet. She must be stifling, locked in there all alone. I couldn’t turn my back on her…” She trailed off, her teeth digging into her lower lip anxiously as she awaited her oldest friend’s trusted opinion. The large bowl of beans were finished, and she rose to dump the vegetables from the container in her lap into the rapidly boiling pot on the stove, needing to move to calm her impatient nerves.

Despite the numerous other chores she had on her hands, Ashleigh came to stand at Emma’s side, offering her a wooden ladle to stir with, but also pausing her constant motion to wrap an arm around Emma’s shoulders and peer into her face. “Of course you couldn’t,” she acknowledged softly, her eyes full of gentle understanding. “With the way you grew up, without your parents, really pretty lost until I adopted you,” here she winked playfully to let Emma know she was teasing. “You saw a bit of yourself in her, which is completely understandable. You needed a job, the old crone will likely be away or otherwise occupied most of the time, and I think you and little Alice will be good for each other.”

“You really think so?” Emma debated, returning her eyes to the rolling surface of the water before her. She wasn’t even half the cook her friend was, and she hardly wanted to ruin one of the side dishes for the dinner. Still, despite her reluctance to let too much relief creep in, it did her heart good to know her friend felt just as she had about the situation. “That was my conclusion as well, but I feared I might be too close to see it clearly.”

Shaking her blonde head and nearly undoing the kerchief she held it back with for kitchen work, Ashleigh chuckled, “Would I lie to you, Emma?” Bustling off again to take the fresh baked buns from the large oven as gracefully as if it were a dance around her working quarters, she added, “And if you’re worrying about al the gossip and old wives’ tales about the place, I’m sure that’s all they are. I’ve never known you to let rumors and nonsense stop you before.”

Emma agreed aloud, but continued to leave unspoken the strange drop in temperature, the howling wind on a calm day, and the books flying as if cast through the air by an unseen, malevolent hand. Not as frightening as the lady of the house herself, but unsettling to be sure. Still, Emma did not like to be thought of as easily daunted, and when it came down to it, she would return regardless; that innocent child deserved someone who cared for her, and Emma had already become attached, whether she fully understood it or not.

She lingered a bit longer, helping Ashleigh see to the rest of the meal preparation and then catching up on her friend’s life as they cleaned up afterwards. When Ashleigh left for the evening to return to her little family, and Emma back to her boardinghouse room for one last night, she felt much more certain of her course. Maybe odd things did happen on an estate that old, and having now met Ms. Eloise Gardiner, Emma would concede she might indeed be a witch, though doubtfully the kind local legend suggested. The sillier flights of fancy she had heard over the years - that the ghosts of ancient sailors roamed the halls seeking revenge, or that once one entered the place they became trapped and couldn’t leave - were the work of overzealous imaginations and bored people starved for excitement, nothing more.

~~~*~~~

The next morning dawned pleasantly warm and bright with sunlight as Emma made her way to the estate at the top of the hill once more, reporting for her first day as Alice Jones’ governess. If she were completely honest, Emma was hardly looking forward to a second conversation with the lady of the house, but she had steeled herself as best she could, and she was able to overlook that in her anxiousness to see and talk once more to the little sprite who had charmed her from the moment she’d opened the door and looked up into Emma’s face with such trusting openness. Her focus was on making young Alice’s life better, on seeing that the child had someone on whom she could depend. Anything else was secondary, and she intended to keep that focus in mind, whatever other obstacles or distractions might present themselves.

Clutched in her hand, she carried a valise packed with her meager clothes and other belongings, and in the crook of her other arms her heavy winter coat which would not fit in the case and a snow white knitted baby blanket which she could never leave behind wherever she traveled. It was the one family heirloom she possessed. It had been made for her and given to her parents by Granny herself before Emma was even born, her named stitched in purple at the edge by the capable older woman. Emma was far from sentimental; her no-nonsense practical upbringing cementing that tendency well. She didn’t hand onto trinkets or collect many things. She had the bare minimum of a wardrobe and shoes necessary and a few pictures and pieces of jewelry, but she traveled light, and so she pressed the blanket, the one exception, to her side all the more tightly as she again reached the solid front door of the mansion where she would live and work.

Pressing her lips together tightly, Emma once more steadied herself, intending to appear capable and prepared for anything, then knocked on the sturdy portal. She waited only moments before hearing quickly, lightly scuffling footsteps within, and her heart leapt in happy relief, hoping it was Alice and not Eloise Gardiner, even as she didn’t wish for the child to be scolded again on her behalf.

The door swung open widely to reveal the youngster beaming at her brightly in greeting. “Miss Emma, you’re really here!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together with delight and giving a little hop right where she stood in the grand entryway. “I’ve been ever so anxious for you to arrive!”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Emma felt a smile of her own spreading across her face in response to Alice’s greeting. Considering that she was no longer a stranger and arriving for the job she had been hired to perform, Emma stepped forward into the house gladly and chuckled indulgently when Alice took her hand and excitedly pulled her further into the ornate, high-ceilinged hall. Their voices and footsteps echoed massively in the large, open space, but though still dimly lit and overly ostentatious, her surroundings seemed much less oppressive and foreboding than they had during her interview the day before.

All the same, before letting her guard down, Emma couldn’t help glancing about cautiously to make certain Ms. Gardiner was not lurking anywhere, watching unobserved for her to make some sort of disastrous slip that would see her thrown back out of the place on her ear. Seeing no one else anywhere nearby, Emma released a breath and let her shoulders ease slightly, not sure where her employer was, but at least reasonably assured the woman was not about to leap from some hidden corner and fire her on the spot.

Cleverly seeming to read her new caretaker’s thoughts, Alice tugged gently on Emma’s hand, regaining her attention and giggling at her wariness. “You don’t have to worry,” she broke into Emma’s thoughts with her sweetly endearing young voice. “If you’re wondering about Ms. Eloise, she isn’t her right now. She left again early this morning.”

Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion. “She did?” she queried, puzzled. “Without making sure I’d arrived or giving any final instructions? Wouldn’t it have been better to wait and be certain you weren’t left alone?”

Alice tilted her head to study Emma for a moment, looking as though she were giving serious adult consideration to Emma’s questions, even if they weren’t truly directed at her or even more than musing out loud. Finally, she straightened again and wrapped Emma’s hand in both her smaller ones before clutching them to her chest. “You really did come here for me, didn’t you?” she seemed to reflect, sounding awed at the realization. “I could sense it, you know,” the girl continued, holding Emma’s gaze with her own wide eyes brimming with emotion. “That you were sincere, I mean. That you cared. I wanted so much to believe it, but I’ve been wrong before.”

Her confession felt troublingly cryptic to Emma, who was still trying to digest Alice’s words, even while being grateful the child could read her genuine hope to be friends, to help, to make her life better and keep her safe. Still… “Wait, what did you mean by that, Alice?” she pressed. “Of course I’m here for you. I mean, I need a job naturally - one has to work in order to get by - but I agreed to be your governess because I care about you. Shouldn’t that be the case?”

Alice nodded sagely at Emma’s words, those large, guileless eyes in her pale, innocent face wiser than they out to have had to be. “You’re right, Miss Emma. Naturally that would be the best way of it, but you would be shocked at how many people come here for the money alone, or hoping to gain Ms. Eloise’s favor and her standing and power to help themselves. Or even just to see if the place is haunted or cursed by a witch the rumors claim.”

As she was speaking, Alice had turned to move further into the house, pulling Emma along behind her through a gloomy formal parlor, an empty sitting room, and to what would likely classify as a sunroom squeezed in along the back wall near a flight of stairs up to the second floor. Emma followed numbly, realizing that Alice Jones was no fool, nor was she as blissfully childishly ignorant of what went on around her as Emma would have hoped. Clearly love - as all children deserved - had been all too rare in her life, just as it had been in Emma’s.

“I’m sorry that has been the case in the past,” Emma managed shakily, placing steadying hands on Alice’s shoulders as she turned to look up into Emma’s face after stopping once more. Finally they had found a space in the ancient structure where light could get through, and it came streaming through the bank of windows, illuminating Alice’s pixie features and highlighting her hair in a way that resembled a bright halo resting atop her head. “You didn’t deserve to be overlooked in such a way… and that won’t be the case this time. I can promise you that much.”

Once again, Emma had the brief impression that Alice was weighing the words she had spoken, gauging them for truth. It might not strike her so clearly if it weren’t something she also did, but nonetheless, she understood the need behind it, and forced herself to be still and submit to the inquisitive scrutiny. As quickly as the moment had begun, it ended, and Alice lunged forward, wrapping her think arms around Emma’s waist in a tight hug. “Then you’re just the one I’ve been praying for,” she exhaled in breathless exclamation against the material of Emma’s dress, holding tight for some minutes before letting go and stepping back, friendly exuberance lighting her eyes again, despite the glassy appearance of tears that hadn’t actually fallen. “Would you like to see your room?” Alice asked, passing the more fervent swell of emotion that had overtaken her and obviously now attempting to be a proper young hostess. “I can show it to you and help you put away your things.”

“That sounds perfect,” Emma replied with a matching grin.

Alice whirled quickly, now assured in her purpose and cheerfully urging her governess to follow her as she slipped from the room and back toward the stairs. Her tread was light on each as she tripped along merrily, prattling on about the tower, her own room, her favorite toys and games - anything her young mind seemed to think her newfound friend should know.

When they reached the second floor landing, Alice looked back over her shoulder at Emma coming up behind her, an impish expression on her face and an eyebrow cocked up on her forehead playfully at the slightly more labored sound of Emma’s breathing after the steep climb with baggage in hand. “Alright there, Miss Emma?” she questioned solicitously, but with a teasing smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.

Narrowing her eyes in false sternness at the jibing, Emma nodded and let the girl know that she would manage, while admitting to herself that so many stairs might take some getting used to. “My room is just there,” Alice pointed to her left toward a room with the door opened just enough to show walls painted a light robin’s egg blue in contrast to the dark colors which seemed to dominate the rest of the house, and the velvety ear of a stuffed white rabbit hanging off the side of a canopy bed. “And Ms. Gardiner’s room is that way,” she gestured to the other end of the hall. “But don’t ever go in there. It’s off limits,” she advised solemnly with the voice of one who had been informed of the information in no uncertain terms. She wrinkled her nose in the next instant, her irrepressible nature taking over once again. “Not that you would wish to bother her moldy old room anyway.”

By this time, Emma had caught her breath and did laugh at the girl’s affronted expression. “Right you are,” she agreed with a wink, then a reassurance that she understood the warning, “but duly noted all the same.”

The winding steps up to the tower were much narrower as they ascended, not leading to an entire third floor this time, but a single room in what must be one of the gables Emma remembered seeing from the outside. Alice pushed the door open at the top with the air of a ringmaster unveiling the final act of his circus, turning eager eyes to see what her governess will make of her new lodgings. “Here it is,” she crowed, “the tower!”

Brushing an escaped tendril of hair back behind her ear, Emma gratefully dropped her valise to the floor and tossed her coat and blanket onto the worn quilt covering the bed just off to her right. The room is sparse: bed, dresser, closet, mirror, but thankfully clean and more than sufficient for her needs. There have been many times she has been in danger of having to do with much less. Moving over to the window in the wall facing the door, Emma looked out briefly, seeing the lawn running back down the hill alongside the path she had trod when she arrived that morning, thinking how lovely and peaceful the grounds truly were, despite the heavy chill that had seemed to surround them only yesterday.

Perhaps it was only the sullen mistress and not the old place itself at all?

“What do you think?” Alice’s voice piped up, sounding a bit more hesitant, perhaps even nervous as she awaited the verdict. “It isn’t fancy, but the tower has always seemed interesting to me. Up here, tucked away all by itself and quiet. I’ve always figured its hiding its own mysteries.”

She was rambling a bit, though it endeared her to Emma all the more as she turned back into the room and made her way back to the bed where Alice had plopped down and took a seat beside her. The poor thing seemed almost anxious that Emma might dislike her accomodations and leave. Reaching out to take the child’s hand and press it reassuringly in her own, Emma marveled again at the bits of her own psyche that she saw surfacing time and again in this sweet girl trusted to her care. Peering into Alice’s face, she whispered with conspiratorial warmth, “It doesn seem to have a story, doesn’t it?”

~~~*~~~

That night, long after Alice had been tucked into bed and Emma had retired to her own room, she ran her mind back over the day fondly. She and Alice had toured the rest of the house, made a brunch of toast, marmalade and tea, and then explored the wonderfully overgrown backyard, where Alice had shown her the climbing tree in which she sometimes to naps in the wide branches in the afternoon sun and the long untended garden where she often caught glimpses of a stray cat and her young, and even once a fox. Alice’s curious, intelligent mind shone through as she continued to share all the things she had studied and discovered ont he property while left largely to her own devices. It seemed almost miraculous that she was neither bitter nor spoiled, but pleasant and kind, eager to her treasures, as she called the simple things she had gathered in her solitude.

Vowing the the precocious young woman would no longer have to spend her days alone - not ever again if she could help it - Emma had found herself physically tired from the day’s activity, but her mind not yet ready for sleep. Noticing a slight draft in the room, Emma picked her blanket up from where she had tossed it on the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders as most would a dressing gown. Moving toward an alcove in the back corner of the room, she discovered where the cool air was streaming in; it seemed that where the two walls met was not quite snug, and as she pressed and prodded searchingly, she discovered that there was actually a hidden door in the wall that she hadn’t seen. She wondered that Alice had never done so either, and bit back a smile at how thrilled Alice would be when shown it tomorrow.

It was a bit stuck, no doubt from neglect, but putting her shoulder to the task, Emma finally forced open the wooden panel to discover that it led out onto a high widow’s walk overlooking the back of the property. Her sense of adventure momentarily overriding her good sense, Emma stepped out onto the narrow walkway into the night air, exhilaration flooding her veins. The breeze was stronger so high up, above the trees even in her secret perch, and Emma’s hair, loose and flowing for the night, whipped around her face wildly.

There was railing along the structure clearly meant as a handhold for anyone venturing out to use it as a vantage point, but it wasn’t tall - not even waist high - and she made a mental note to be careful not to get to close to the edge, and to warn Alice of it too, if she even decided it wise to show the child at all. She was just debating the wisdom of such action along with her responsibility to keep Alice safe, when the strident wind seemed to take on renewed vigor; almost a life of its own. The shingles of the roof at her back rattled as if about to be pulled free and the door out to the walk knocked against the side of the tower. Unnerved by the almost sentient reaction of its force, Emma got the distinct impression it was somehow upset with her.

An impossibly strong gust snatched suddenly at the blanket draped loosely over her shoulders, nearly ripping it away from her and carried it off. Without thinking, Emma dove forward to keep hold of the blanket, her one tie to the parents she had never gotten to know and couldn’t even remember, and lost her footing. She slammed into the guard rail rather than slipping over the edge, but it caught at mid thigh not the waist, and she nearly toppled over it headfirst.

A strong grip caught her around the waist and yanked her back from a fall that would have surely been the end of her. For a moment Emma was frozen, stunned, her blanket clutched to her chest as her startled lungs struggled to breath again after the shock. It took a few minutes for her to regain her senses and realize that she hadn’t averted disaster on her own; someone had caught her.

Turning slowly, she came face to face with a man equally wide-eyed and panting, looking just as surprised to see her standing there as she was to see him. He was a half a head taller than her, his eyes a wild, stormy blue like the sea and his disheveled dark hair fluttering across his forehead in the breeze still sweeping around them. His shirt was scandalously half-buttoned down his heaving chest under an expensive and old-fashioned looking waistcoat, allowing think dark hair to tantalizingly show in a way Emma had never seen on the high collared and cravat wearing gentleman of her previous acquaintance.

Before she could force any words out however, his voice, shaking with some intense burst of feeling broke out in clear agitation. “What were you thinking, Lass? Are you mad? You nearly threw yourself over the edge for a mass of thread and ribbon!”

Spluttering indignantly, Emma wanted to set him straight and defend herself, but she was still too overcome by the fright she’d weathered and the sudden precious of an overwhelming intense and masculine stranger pressed quite close to her in such a small space. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly without her forcing out any sort of explanation.

As he raised his hand to brusquely shove a thick forelock of hair out of his eyes, Emma gaped even more at the sight. Where his left hand would have been, the man who had just pulled her from the ledge instead had a hook in its place. She blinked mutely, even trying to rub her eyes as if the fog would lift and what she saw would turn sensible once again. Instead, it only led her to realize that something about the man’s form was not fully solid; she could still see the door back into her room, the shingles on the roof, and the stars above through him. It shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t possible…

Reaching out a tentative finger, she intended to just barely touch her rescuer, to prove to her own eyes that she must be mistaken, but instead she gasped as her hand passed right through him to the wall beyond. Her gaze snapped back up to meet his; deep, fathomless pools lined strikingly with dark kohl but someone just as fearful in that moment as she knew hers must be.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, looking almost pained, “will I never learn?” And then, before Emma could stop him, he vanished from sight.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89 @thejollyroger-writer @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @cosette141 @apiratewhopines @the-darkdragonfly @darkcolinodonorgasm @justanother-unluckysoul @drowned-dreamer @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @scientificapricot

#cssns22 #cs Victorian ghost au #cs three part fic #knightrook au fic #believing impossible things #part one

35 notes · View notes