sharp objects, stoker, thoroughbreds, heavenly creatures, jennifer’s body

truth or dare

All Rosie wants to do is work on her journals. All Butch wants to do is play Truth or Dare. The truth? Rosie’s never been kissed. Do either dare to make the first move? 

Unprompted, but I needed some self-indulgence in these uncertain times. Also, Rosie needed a smooch. Stealth edit: this is my lucky #99 story on Ao3 !!!

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

 2885 words | [read on Ao3]

Finding a quiet place to hideaway in Rivet City was one of the most difficult tasks Rosie faced every time she visited the repurposed warship—even in the privacy of her rented room, she was distracted by the constant creaking of metal and the echoing footsteps of the guard patrol. By comparison, it made her long to be under the rusted rooftop in Megaton, the closest thing she had to call home nowadays. But beggars and wanderers couldn’t be choosers, even if all she wanted to do that evening was concentrate on her journal and travel notes.

Rosie tried to focus on the stack of reports she had received from Scribe Rothchild, wanting to better understand the different vaults in the area but all she could hear was the repetitive sounds of somebody pacing outside her door. It didn’t match the usual rotation of the Rivet City guards and she had only one guess as to who it could be. Just as she thought to move and secure the lock on the bulkhead it creaked open to reveal her traveling companion—Butch—just as she thought.

He was in a chipper mood, holding a half-empty Nuka-Cola bottle, though his swagger told her that he had been partaking in a different kind of beverage. Rosie frowned, hiding her disappointment in her palm as she diverted her gaze back to her work. She had better things to do than babysit or worry about his drinking habits.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder to peer at her journal. Butch rested one hand on the desk, effectively boxing her in as he bent at the waist for a closer look. Beneath his usual musk of cologne and hair product, she could smell the booze and cigarette ash. She clenched her jaw, more annoyed with him than usual.  

Even though the two had taken remarkable strides in creating a friendship from the ground up, Rosie was still in turmoil over the feelings she had for him. No matter what she did to convince herself otherwise, or how much time she believed would need to pass, the stupid little crush had developed into something much stronger. Matters were only made worse when Butch would do something uncharacteristically kind, fueling the flame in her heart. Stranger still, she found herself equally attracted to his tantrums—the little bouts of pouting that resulted from their petty arguments.

Worst of all, she became jealous of any attention he gave to other girls and envious of how easy it was for others to chat him up. Rosie knew she wasn’t the most charismatic person, but now that she was saddled with the weight of those emotions, her insecurities had skyrocketed. It all circled back to her frustration with Butch and how he seemed so carefree and unaware of how his presence affected her.  She wondered if his actioned were done intentionally to frustrate her. He wasn’t her childhood bully anymore—this was a completely new form of torture.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” she deflected, avoiding his stare as he looked at her profile. She hadn’t meant to sound so rude but hoped her tone would send him back on his way. Instead, Butch took it as an invitation to linger, testing her patience. Why couldn’t he have slipped back into his old, stubborn ways and taken offense? Had he grown too soft in traveling with her?  

“Marketplace is closed,” he explained, straightening. He took a long sip of his soda. “What’s wrong with hangin’ with my best gal?”

Rosie shifted in her seat, the term of endearment had lost its touch lately, even with the affectionate gestures. She would’ve preferred any other nickname if he was going to be sarcastic with her. Rothchild’s notes became a scrambled blur as she crafted a good enough response, one that was sure to dismiss him.

“Wouldn’t you rather be at the Muddy Rudder, getting drunk with Trinnie?” she asked, this time tilting her chin up to steal a quick glance. “Or have you exhausted that option?”

Trinnie reminded Rosie a lot of Susie Mack in the way the girl hung off his every word and became excited when she saw him visiting the city. Rosie rolled her eyes at the irony of it all, that she had ended up in a similar position. At least she was better at hiding how she felt—she hoped.

Butch’s brows furrowed in frustration as he scowled. “I don’t—” he stomped away but didn’t leave the room. “I didn’t.”

Rosie turned in her chair to watch as he deposited himself right on the edge of her bed, leaning back on one elbow. The pose was too suggestive for her and she shot her eyes to the ceiling, pressing her lips into a flat line. “Oh?”

“What’s gotten into you lately?” he questioned in stark tone reminiscent of their earlier traveling days. “You’re pickin’ fights and pouting all the time at me like I did something wrong.”

He looked at her, steely blue eyes trained on her as he emptied the last drops of cola from the bottle, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the glass. “What’d I do this time? I didn’t get wasted like that one time, ya see?” He waved his free hand over his body, but she wasn’t going to look at his appearance and how he was practically draped across her bed. “Or ya’ still finding ways to be mad about all the teasing and bullying?”

In the quiet, she reluctantly flicked her eyes to find him looking like a neglected and kicked puppy. Worse than when she forgot to give Dogmeat a bath after a bout with raiders (usually the dog was happy to be covered in blood and guts). Butch sat there, picking at the Nuka-Cola label with a pout, bottom lip sticking out.

“I said I was sorry,” he mumbled, sounding more dejected than ever.  

Rosie chewed on her bottom lip—she hated that the appearance of him crestfallen and perched on her bedsheets was very alluring, especially when he glanced up at her from under his lashes—no way he hadn’t done that on purpose. She sighed, knowing it was wrong of her to lash out when everything that was wrong had to do with her. He didn’t deserve that, especially when yes—they had made their amends and started fresh when first joining up. She was just a young, foolish teenager with emotions she wasn’t ready to face.

“I uh—” she twisted her hands in her lap, darting her eyes from the books spread across the desk and back towards the ceiling. She wanted to have a valid, believable excuse for her outlandish behavior so that maybe he would forgive her. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Yeah,” Butch softly chuckled. “I can tell.”

He titled his head back and forth in thought, pointing the bottle to her. “Take a break, Stitches. You could use a little fun.”

She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, irritated by the suggestion—it wasn’t the first time he had pointed out her boring disposition, but she couldn’t help her inner nature. Rosie was quiet, reserved and her idea of a good time was reading medical textbooks and solving math problems. Butch’s idea of entertainment usually involved some kind of risk that bordered on illegal, scheming up ways to break his boredom. He was stubborn, steadfast in his ways to get her to take life a little less seriously, to smile and laugh more if only so he could see it.

“You’re cute when you smile, Stitches.”

He had told her one evening, a little too tipsy on beer at Moriarty’s, a statement that had her red in the face for hours. Reminiscing on it had her blushing then and there too, something that Butch noticed quickly. He snickered, stretching a little further across her bed—it was certainly large enough for the two of them, but she had refused to share the space, resigning him to the common rooms.

“Rosie, your face is rosy,” he teased, barely able to get the words out as he continued to laugh. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “What kind of fun are you thinkin’ about?”

She scoffed, clutching the back of the chair to ground herself. “Unlike you, my thoughts aren’t permanently in the gutter.”

Butch shrugged, clearly not believing her—she wouldn’t either, with the way her face was burning. He placed the empty Nuka-Cola bottle on the bedsheets beside him and spun the glass, though the fabric prevented it from moving effectively. “Spin the bottle?”

Rosie glanced to see the open end was facing her and sharply turned her head away, focusing on a dark, rusted spot in the corner. She didn’t even want to think about how playing the game would work with just two people. “No!”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” he whined. She heard him shift abruptly. “Hey, wait—you never played, have you?”

Those types of games in the vault were usually reserved for the parties she wasn’t invited to—the same kind of parties in which Amata was dared to spend seven minutes in heaven in the utility closet with Freddie Gomez. Rosie had a wealth of information, but lacked firsthand experience leaving her woefully embarrassed. What she wouldn’t have given to have a normal teenaged life growing up in Vault 101.

“Think back to those circles you sat in, Butch,” she replied, not meaning to sound so despondent. “Ever remember seeing Nosebleed as the bottle spun around?”

Her frown increased as a fleeting thought crossed her mind that he must have kissed every girl in the vault—the rumors certainly had painted him as a player, as a Casanova—yet there she was, still unable to get over how she felt.

“Fine then,” he finally replied. “Truth or dare?”

Rosie whipped her head at him, wide eyed. “I am not playing that game with you either.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, resting his head in his palm. “’Fraid you might reveal something to the Butch-man?”

Her patience was wearing thin, but she knew there would be no getting rid of him unless she humored him. Baring the risk of him escalating the games or wagers, she relented with a sigh, shaking her head. “Do not dare me to do anything gross or illegal.”

“You’re no fun,” he muttered, but regarded her with a low smile. “Okay. Truth or dare.”

She was reluctant to go first but still answered. “Truth.”

Butch’s grin increased and her stomach tightened—somehow, she had chosen something worse than dare. His question was very direct. “Have you ever been kissed?”

Rosie stiffened, and blinked at him silently. Her mind had gone blank at the sheer horror of what was happening—Butch DeLoria was confirming that she was the hopeless nerd he always thought she was. She scrambled to think of a passable lie, of a close call she could claim was really her first kiss but all she could think about were all the times they had managed to get close without anything occurring. Too much time passed without her answering, and his eyebrow quirked up as he let out a breathless laugh.

“Oh, I knew it,” he pushed himself, so he was sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Explains everything!”

“You—you asked that on purpose!” she yelped, turning away from him and hiding her face in her hands out of mortification. Knowing Butch, even with his somewhat changed ways, she’d never hear the end of his teasing over this learned information. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Come on now, Rosie,” he encouraged. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just—”

Something in the tone of his voice had her alarmed. Apprehensively, she glanced back to find him anxiously rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding her stare. That, she didn’t expect. He seemed to be mulling over his next move, the next right thing to say to make the situation right. His eyes met hers and slowly, he smiled.

“Ya’ know, if you want, I could kiss you,” Butch said it like it made perfect sense in his mind. “Get that first kiss out of the way so you know what you’re doin’”

She stared at him, half in disbelief, half in a daze, but mostly in shock. Was he suggesting that…they kiss? Rosie considered that the person she was staring at wasn’t Butch DeLoria at all and the man Amata had released from the vault was some kind of replacement. No way would the bully she had grown up with for nineteen years switch from being repressed by her presence to suddenly wanting to lock lips. It didn’t matter that they were friends now, it still didn’t make any logical sense in her brain. Even if he sounded sincere, even if it was secretly what she wanted, Rosie couldn’t agree—not like this.

“I don’t want to kiss you under some ridiculous circumstances,” she shook her head, busying her hands in hair. “Not when we’ve been playing a stupid game, or—or when you’ve been drinking.”

“I’m not drunk,” he flatly reassured. “Maybe it’s you that needs the liquid courage.”

Rosie disagreed. “I don’t need alcohol to kiss you.”

“Oh yeah?” Butch smirked, mood perking up. “So, you’re saying you do want to kiss me?”

“Don’t—” she huffed, unhappy he was twisting her words. He was the one that brought up the subject in the first place. “You seem eager to do the same!”

He furrowed his brows, laugh a little forced. If anything, it looked like he was blushing. “I dare you to do it right now. Lay one on me, Stitches.”

“I didn’t pick dare. It isn’t my turn, it’s yours!” she argued, once again feeling red in the face. Butch nodded at her, egging her on. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare!”

She had never felt so emboldened. “Kiss me.”

It was Butch’s turn to look shell-shocked as he stared at her, wide blue eyes hazy as his thoughts caught up to the moment. A boy who usually had a snappy remark for everything and everybody was dead silent, unmoving before her. Unsurprisingly, she was disappointed, but hid her emotions well. Abruptly, she stood, determined to remove herself from the room and situation if nothing was going to happen. Rosie would need to be alone to decompress and deal with the ache in her chest. Behind her she heard his feet meet the ground as he scrambled to follow.

“Hey, wait—”

Despite her frustration, she turned half-way to meet him and was surprised when his hand pulled on her wrist, dragging her closer to him. His other hand quickly found her chin, angling her head up just in time for his lips to crash into hers. The first contact was rough—propelled forward by the movement of their bodies—but slowly, Rosie relaxed, daring to reach out and rest her hand against his chest. Reflexively, she clutched at his leather jacket, softly humming her approval. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, too focused on the way Butch’s lips molded around hers the longer they kissed.

When they did sperate, she felt her entire body radiating warmth, embarrassment for a completely different reason now. She had just been kissed—her first kiss—by Butch DeLoria. Instead of even trying to run away she stared up at him sheepishly, amazed to find a similar, dazed look in his eyes. His lips quirked up to the side in a smirk as he slid his hand to cup her cheek, tangling his fingers into her dark hair. The second time he kissed her was far more chaste, at least for the first few moments before he dared to run his tongue along the seam of her mouth, a little sound echoing from his throat when she gradually parted for him. He didn’t rush her, the kiss remaining slow yet far more fervent than the first—his other hand moving from her hand to her waist to slide her closer to his body.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, in need of air. Again, the two gazed at each other, this time far more fascinated by the situation as reality sunk in, but they didn’t separate. Rather, they stayed closely nestled together, mimicking each other’s goofy smiles.

“Your turn,” he breathed.

“Truth,” she answered, quietly. She almost forgot that they had been playing a silly game.

Butch combed his fingers through her hair, eyes darting down to her lips before locking with hers again. “Now that you’ve got some experience, whadd’ya you think about kissing?”

“More research will need to occur for me to make a determination,” she answered, knowing full well of how she sounded.

“God Rosie, you’re such a nerd,” he laughed against her mouth, moving away if only to flash a wink. “I’ll be your test subject.”

She giggled, feeling more alive and normal than she had in weeks. She didn’t realize it was possible to feel so energetic, the way her heart was racing. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Butch smiled, already leaning closer.

Rosie met him halfway, unable to contain her excitement. She would never tire of asking him now that she could. “Kiss me again.”

Sunshower 4

Our unlikely trio find themselves sitting on a patio with umbrellas blocking the afternoon sunset. A table seperates Neptune from Sun and Ilia who sit on the other side with menus in their hand. It isn’t long before a teenaged boy in a casual waiter uniform approaches them. He waves with one hand as his rat tail grabs the notepad and paper out of apron pocket.

Neptune:*whispers* I’m not the only one who thinks a rat faunus working in a restaurant is in poor taste?

Ilia*kicks him* Are you assuming he’s dirty? What’s next, a faunus with mosquitos features can’t grow up and be a veterinary?

Sun:Shut up, he’s getting closer... What’s up dude!!

Dan:Nothing much, my name is Dan and I’ll be your server. Anything you need just ask me and I’ll let our head chef Remi know; you guys ready to order?

Neptune:Uhhh I think we all need a few more minutes.

Dan:That’s fine, I can get your drinks now.

Sun:Iced Peach Tea

Neptune:Blueberry lemonade

Ilia:Is it happy hour yet?

Sun and Neptune:*stare at her*...........

Ilia:Ugh fine, iced mango tea.

Dan:Done and done! *walks off*

Ilia:Can you scoot over? I’m practically falling out the seat and I want to rest my arm.

Sun:We could switch spots!

Ilia:I’m using you to block the sunlight so there’s no glare on the menu.

Neptune:*snorts* Are you to short for the umbrella to-

Ilia:I’ll kick you again....

Sun:*slides over*be nice you two.

Neptune:I can’t believe you asked if it was happy hour. What even is the drinking age here?

Ilia:Honestly as long as you’re not a kid and you’ve seen some stuff, people don’t mind letting you get a drink or two.

Neptune:No offense but you look like you’d get carded for the rest of your life. I can imagine people think you’re pretty young.

Ilia:That looks bad on you since you’ve flirted with me. “Super tall dude flirts unapologetically to any girl in his sight knows no limits.” I can see the headline now.

Neptune:.......*gets a chill* Yeah I don’t need that kind of attention in my life.

Sun:You flirted with Weiss, another short girl that makes her look younger than she is. Maybe you have a type.

Neptune:Everyone knows my type is beautiful women. Tall, short, big, small, if I’m into you then I’m into you. *chuckles* which means I probably also want to get into you.

Ilia:Please don’t ruin my appetite. *reading* food is the only thing I’m looking forward to today now.

Neptune:Uhhh this entire Island is gonna be a giant party the moment that sunlight is gone and those dust infused flags you put up start shining.

Ilia:My part mood is ruined.......

Neptune:*looks at Sun* Can you help me out here?

Sun:Actually, I’m not really feeling-

Neptune:Wrong answer! Blake is expecting to have a grand time with the two people who helped her topple an organization filled with blood thirsty terroist.

Ilia:Ahem......

Neptune:What? You stabbed Sun with no hesitation right?

Ilia:I have half a mind to-

Dan:Here are the drinks! *hands them out* Ready to order?

Neptune:Fish and Chips Platter with steak fries.

Sun:Shrimp basket, also replace the fries with more shrimp, but then give me an extra order of fries.

Everyone:.........

Sun:*red* I like shrimp.....

Ilia:Double Cheeseburger, seasoned fries, and double the fries.

Dan:Got it! *walks away*

Neptune:You know eating because your sad is-

Sun and Ilia:*Glare......*

Neptune:.........

Neptune:*sips drink* Gee all that decorating made you both really hungry. Hehehehe this lemonade is great. In all seriousness however, This party should have nothing but happy faces from everyone; especially the guest of honor.

Ilia:I’m sure her new girlfriend won’t have a problem managing that. *folds her arms*

No one spoke for a minute after that. Neptune didn’t look like it but he was in fact treading lightly with this conversation in his own way. Sun wasn’t hard to read when it came to his feelings over this thanks to their friendship; watching Ilia’s not so subtle body reactions was pretty was almost too easy. It didn’t help her that these reactions were being caused by Blake as well. Finding the write words to break the silence was tricky, but fortunately he didn’t have to. The moment Ilia took a sip of tea her face scrunched up slid it away.

Neptune:Uhhhh are you okay?

Ilia:Blegh!!! That isn’t mango....

Sun:*sips his* This one definitely is. Honest mistake getting them crisscrossed. *switches drinks around*

Neptune:Who has that type of reaction over peach tea?

Ilia:Someone who was ready for the taste of mango. They put way too much syrup in there.

Sun:*about to sip* That’s why you stir your drink before-

Ilia:Wait.....

Sun:Hmmm?

Ilia:*swaps their straws* that’s better....

Sun:Really? Was it gonna bother you that much.

Ilia:I’m not using the same straw as you. Who knows where your mouth has bee-

Sun:.............

Ilia:Okay that’s a weak response at the moment. It’s still gross; I don’t need your germs.

Neptune:💡!!!! But Ilia aren’t you planning on cutting loose tonight?

Dan:Food is done! Enjoy....*passes it out*

Ilia:What is rattling in that head of yours? *eating fries*

Neptune:Oh nothing, I just thought a single and awesome women such as yourself would love a giant event like this. Music, tons of prettt girls, good drinks that everyone will probably be passing around for free, dancing, and you know... a chance to show Blake- no....to show Yang and Blake that you’re the shit.

Ilia:Are you telling me to make them jealous or something? *grabbing burger*

Neptune:Not specifically; just show them how much fun and happy you are without having to constantly be around them. Walk up and be all friendly of course but let Blake see you’re not here for her. It’s a party and you both just happen to be there.

Sun:The party is for Blake.......

Neptune:Shut up! You know what I mean. Don’t let her be the center of your attention you two. Walk up to her with other friends and stuff. That shouldn’t be hard right Ili- what the what?

Ilia:What?

Neptune:What happened to all your food?

Ilia:*looking at an empty plate* I ate all the food on it obviously. Should’ve gotten more fries....

Sun:.......*dumps half his fries on her plate*

Ilia:*happily eating*

Neptune and Sun:(Geez where does all that go?)

Sun:Anyways..... I don’t think that’s a good idea. Alcohol and romantic rivalry plans sound like a poor combination. Especially when one of us still isn’t seen in the best light.

He had a pretty good point. Even with all the help Ilia is doing for Menagerie, some citizens are still put off by her. Especially the captain of the police she regularly still has to touch base with just for the sake of keeping up appearances. Yet, the idea of cutting loss was something that was really interesting to say the least.

Ilia:I’ll just do all the meet and greet stuff before I actually start drinking. Also it’s not like I’ll have an empty stomach by tonight; actually that might be bad....

Dan:Would any of you like dessert?

Neptune:I think we’re-

Sun:A vanilla milkshake please.

Dan:*thumps up*

Neptune:I’m starting to think we should split the bill by who how much we actually ate.

Ilia:Nice try but no.

Sun:Just worry about the tip and I’ll handle the rest Neptune.

Ilia:*snickers* Wow I didn’t know you two were that close.

Neptune:I always have Sun’s tip covered.

Sun:Yeah it’s how this relationship works.

Ilia:.......You two are no fun to tease.

Neptune:You are not the first and won’t be the last to make those jokes. Scarlet would love meeting you.

Sun:Sage would probably love meeting her too if she eats this much. So is all your weight going to your hair or....?

Ilia:You’re just jealous I can eat what I want when I want.

Neptune:Except for Blake *sips lemonade*

Ilia:..........

Neptune:Too soon? That was too soon. *stands up. Well I gotta go get ready for tonight. I don’t have the luxury of still having a guest room in Blake’s house or jumping from roof to roof to reach the inn I barely remember the shape of. *tosses money down* seriously you two, make the most of tonight and don’t stress this whole thing too much. From what Kali told me, this celebration already looks like it could last a month. People really party here like uhhhh.... ummm

Ilia:Stop being scared, no one is gonna best you up for saying party animals.

Sun:Ghira might, please do not say that too loud or at all just to be safe.

Neptune:Noted......*leaves*

Ilia:Stop ruining my fun. Watching him trying not to offend anyone is great.

Sun:Be nice, he’s my best friend. He could be yours too.

Ilia:Gross...

Sun:Oh come on, he’s actually a great guy. Don’t let all the dumb things he says fool you. *smiles* his heart is in the right place.

There was something about that smile that was a little familiar to Ilia. The way he spoke so highly of his friend felt like there was a genuine since of admiration or bond between the two. Neptune was actually a big help to her finding Sun and the boy did seem to try to help both of them in earnest. There wasn’t even a single time he actually attempted to flirt with her just now. Maybe she should ease up on him if only just a little.

Ilia:If you say so, I’ll keep that in mind.

Dan:Here’s the milkshake and receipt. Do you both need one straw or two?

Ilia???........Oh! No we’re not a.....this is all him right here. I’m just here on business.

Dan:My mistake you two just sort of seemed.... yeah. *walks away*

Ilia:Sort of seemed what?

Sun:This is what happens when you want more room on the bench. People make assumptions.

Ilia:Oh whatever, you just hate being my personal sun blocker. You gonna follow Neptune’s advice.

Sun:*shrugs* I’m sure when the time comes I’ll find a way to not be awkward; definitely don’t want to ruin her night and I know you don’t either.

Ilia:*groans* Maybe, maybe not. We don’t have an obligation to keep her happy.

Sun:No but it’s the right thing to do as her friend.

Ilia:A friend wouldn’t have strung you along or mislead you when it comes to emotions. Aren’t you upset at her even in the slightest? It’s like she.........*holds her tongue*

For a moment her skin turns red before her whole body turns gray. Her lip is slightly quivering and she starts slouching.

Sun:What does gray mean? This like the third time I’ve seen it.

Ilia:It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.

Sun:You know you can open up to me right? We’re in the same-

Ilia:Don’t say we’re in the same boat because we’re not okay!?

Sun:......

Ilia:*changes back* I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry I keep yelling at you. This is just something that I’m not too comfortable talking with.

Sun:No need to explain yourself to me. Just trying to be friend is all. *puts money the table* Honestly I need walk around a bit and get into a good mindset too. I’ll see you at the party maybe?

Ilia:Yeah......probably.....

Sun:Cool, there’s still milkshake left if you want any.

She gets up so he has an easier time getting out. As she sits back he waves goodbye and his tail mimics the sway of his hand. It got real quiet with her now just sitting there alone, staring at half a milkshake. Now would’ve been a good time to call Dan over and get that second straw but he was busy with other customers. Honestly germs and little things like that were the least of her worries right now. Still it bothered just the tiniest piece of her and the tea straw wasn’t big enough to deal with the dense dessert. Drinking right out the cup was bound to end in with whipped cream and frozen milk all over her face.

Ilia:.........Oh to hell with it. *sips milkshake* Huh, this is pretty good.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

and this one is for @mikexxwheeler who asked for something with mike and villanelle, who were a BLAST to go back and write for since it’s been a while since we rped them together

merry christmas jace!!!  consistently our friendship is one of the things that brightens up my life the most, and i wanted to tell you how much i appreciate you just... reaching out to me and maintaining that even during the times when we’re not actively writing together or anything. even if it’s just one of our silly memes or a joke about whatever crazy thing a politician did recently (or linking the star wars holiday special in its entirety, which of course we then proceed to drop everything and watch.) it always just. instantly lifts my mood to get a message from you, and being friends with you is one of the things i’ve treasured most over the years. as carrie fisher would say... [weird emotional musical number set to the tune of the star wars theme]

She’s not the kind of person who drops ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ into her internal monologue without actually preparing for the worst that could happen. She isn’t stupid.

“Are you sure you do not want to be seeing Star Wars, or something boys your age should like?” Villanelle asks conversationally as she and Mike wait in the concessions line outside the movie theater. “Apparently there’s a new one out.”

“Yeah, but I heard it sucks,” Mike tells her with thinly veiled disdain. “They made the main character, like, the granddaughter of Palpatine, or something.”

“Which one is Palpatine?” asks Villanelle, who hasn’t seen a Star Wars movie since she was about twelve.  “Wait -- is he -- ?”

Mike nods grimly, and Villanelle throws back her head and cackles in abject disgust. 

“It’s not funny. It’s gross.”

“It is really gross. I’m laughing as a coping mechanism.”  Shaking off any unwanted thoughts of crusty old men fucking, Villanelle squints down at the ticket she’s holding.  “So what is this movie we’re seeing? ‘Demons’?”

“Yeah, it’s a re-release of an old one. A horror movie, I think. It actually came out in like, 1985, I think, so I just missed it.”

Villanelle cocks her head thoughtfully to one side. “The horror movies that came out in the 80′s were the best. They were so campy and stupid.”

Mike laughs.  “Yeah, I figured it’d be fun.”   And then his smirk turns into a more genuine smile.  “Thanks for coming with me.”

Villanelle shrugs and takes a sip of her soda.  “This is what friends do, right?”

It isn’t as rhetorical a question as it sounds, but Villanelle is pretty sure of the answer, at least. Movie nights are nice, normal things that people do. Even she isn’t compelled to mess this up too badly in the course of only a couple of hours. So her aside, what could possibly go wrong?

They enter the theater together, snacks and drinks in hand, and Villanelle barely pays attention to the woman in the shiny silver mask who hisses “Ow!” as she accidentally cuts the side of her face.

---

Really, it’s no wonder that Mike barely had to bribe her to tag along. Villanelle likes movies. She’s always liked movies. And this one is the perfect combination of campy and gory, so she is comfortably enjoying herself right up until the scene where one of their characters cuts their face on a weird looking demon mask -- and proceeds to begin to turn into a demon themselves.

“You know, this is basically just a zombie movie,” Villanelle leans over to murmur to Mike. “They probably just called it ‘Demons’ because Italians are so Catholic.”

But Mike is busy frowning at the screen, surprisingly unimpressed by the gnarly display of body horror taking place in front of him.  “Wasn’t there a lady out in the lobby who cut her face on a mask like that?”

“Was there?” Villanelle raises her eyebrows in surprise. She does vaguely remember it now that Mike has brought it up, but she shrugs. “Probably just part of the immersive experience.”

Teenagers. So easily spooked by movies like these.

“Hey. What the hell happened to Rosemary?” A guy in the row in front of them growls, stoking the fires of Mike’s unease.

“I’m pretty sure that was where she was sitting, too. She’s missing!”

It is a slightly... strange coincidence, but Villanelle only twists around in her seat briefly to make sure they’re not attracting any attention.  “She probably just went to the bathroom. Relax.”

“Go check.”

“What?”

“Villanelle, if we’re about to get stuck in the middle of a demonic apocalypse, we’d better get a jump on it.”

Villanelle grimaces in irritation, but reminds herself that Mike has survived the odd supernatural possibly-apocalyptic scenario on occasion before. She needs a refill, anyway. “Fine. But you are coming with me.”

“I can’t go into the girls’ restroom,” Mike protests.

“You can wait outside. Just in case I get turned into a demon, and it’s up to you to warn the rest of the world.” Villanelle gets up and starts inching her way out of the aisle without waiting for an answer. It isn’t long before she hears Mike shuffling behind her, following as she knew he would, ever incapable of resisting a taste of adventure even if it is under completely ridiculous circumstances. 

Villanelle never would have imagined she’d have anything in common with Mike Wheeler, of all people.  But sometimes she thinks he’s been through so much that at the end of the day - even if he hasn’t yet admitted it to himself - he wouldn’t ever be able to settle for a normal life again either. So in that way, they are the same.

“Arm yourself,” Villanelle tells him as they reach the lobby, only half-joking. She gets a flat look in return, but then Mike does pick up a broom a janitor left propped up against the side of the wall, raising his eyebrows at her as if to say ‘happy?’

Villanelle gives him a cheeky little thumbs up before she steps into the women’s restroom.  There is no need for her to arm herself, because - as always - she has come prepared, a knife strapped to her ankle, a tiny hand-sized pistol tucked into her jacket lining.

(She’s not the kind of person who drops ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ into her internal monologue without actually preparing for the worst that could happen. She isn’t stupid.)

But when she steps into restroom, everything seems calm, almost to her vague disappointment. What has she become, if she is very nearly craving the unlikely possibility of demonic mass hysteria? She misses the good old, simple days. When she was content to get her adrenaline rush by slashing a few throats, and never stretched her imagination unreasonable lengths beyond that.

There is a woman standing in front of one of the sink mirrors. Villanelle assumes she must be Rosemary, if the way she is dabbing at her face is any indication. The cut on the side of her cheek looks normal, and Villanelle decides she’ll just get a quick closer look before delivering the all-clear to Mike.

“Do you need a band-aid for that?” Villanelle asks, sidling up and quickly slipping into Girl Talk Mode.  “I think I have one in my purse...”

“That’d be great,” Rosemary says with a relieved smile, and now that Villanelle is closer she notices... there’s an unusual amount of blood dripping down her jaw, for a wound that seems comparatively shallow.   “It’s weird, I just can’t get it to stop bleeding.”

Fortunately, Villanelle hadn’t been bluffing, and really does have a bandage in her purse. She fishes it out and offers it to the other woman, watching closely as Rosemary uses it to cover the wound and...

...Within seconds, it bleeds right through.

Okay. That is definitely not normal.

“Mike?” Villanelle calls back out into the lobby.  “I thiiink we have a problem.”

“What’s happening?” Mike calls back to her, but Villanelle doesn’t answer him right away.  She’s too busy watching in growing, morbid fascination and disgust as the wound starts to pulse and throb, like there is something under Rosemary’s skin burrowing its way to the surface to get out.

“Mike,” she calls more insistently. 

“What! I can’t come in there!”

“Oh my god, it’s not like there is a force field, or something --” But Villanelle’s retort breaks off into a horrified shriek as the wound on the side of Rosemary’s face explodes.

“Villanelle!” 

This time, throwing all caution to the winds and evidently deciding that his dignity is not as important as Villanelle’s life, Mike comes rushing into the restroom just as Villanelle is flattening herself against the wall to avoid the worst of the oozing... pus... no, she does not want to even describe it internally.

“What’s happening to her?! Is she --” 

Rosemary’s screams turn feral, and Villanelle has to interrupt Mike’s question to pull him out of the way as she slashes at him with... are those claws?

“It’s the movie! I fucking told you it was just like the movie!”  Mike shouts. Rosemary rounds on them again with wild, animalistic yellow eyes, and Mike... promptly smacks her right in the face with the broom handle.  Her neck snaps back at an unnatural angle.

“Ha!” Villanelle laughs, recovering in the midst of all this chaos. “Nice hit.”

“Thanks. Wait, I mean -- what do we do?!” 

“Run?” Villanelle guesses, unsure if there is any way to actually kill this thing. Rosemary’s seems to be snapping her neck back to its normal position, and neither of them stayed in the theater long enough to know if the demons had any significant weaknesses. 

Mike spares a moment to shoot her a frantic look.  “But she’ll get out and spread the virus to other people!”

That sounds like their problem, Villanelle wants to say, although she supposes she can easily enough see how a supernatural pandemic might eventually become her problem as well.

Rosemary lets out an unearthly snarl and lunges forward again. It is not so much the threat of being scratched and turned, or at least dismembered, that makes Villanelle react (although that alone is obviously enough) -- as does the sight of her wide, gaping jaws. And all that slimy pus stuff she’s drooling everywhere.

“That is fucking disgusting,” Villanelle tells her, before pulling out her pistol and firing three close range shots into the woman’s head.

It... works. Effectively. As one might expect.

Rosemary stumbles back and falls into a pool of her own blood, twitching unpleasantly in what seems to be a round of dying spasms. Villanelle fires one more head shot, just to make sure.

“O-okay. I think you got her.” Mike sounds slightly shaken, and it’s only then that she remembers that she just brutally shot a person right in front of him. Then again, she is not really sure Rosemary counted as a ‘person’ at time time. Never the less, Villanelle lowers her gun and turns so that she’s at least half-obscuring Mike’s view of the body.

“That was kind of easy.”  She scrunches her nose up a bit.

Mike takes another steadying breath, but he’s doing a better job of composing himself than she might have expected.  “...Yeah. Uh. I think we maybe just... prevented an apocalypse?”

Villanelle considers that for a couple of seconds. It almost feels kind of anticlimactic. “Huh,” she finally says with a shrug.  “Guess I will add it to my resume. Stop it at patient zero, that’s what I always say.” Or what she would always say, if she’d ever been involved in any humanity-threatening spread of disease before now.

“Is now a good time to say ‘I told you so?’” Mike quips in return, and Villanelle gives him a passive-aggressive (but also sort of playful) shoulder check as she passes on her way to the restroom’s exit.

“I guess we call the police. And they can call in Hazmat people to clean up the body, or something.” Already, she’s kind of wondering how exactly they’re going to explain the weird, meta experience of watching a movie and then having that movie repeat itself in real life. Then again, it’s probably par for the course for the cops around here, by now.

“Wait,” Mike says suddenly.  “What about the mask?”

Ah. He’s right, she realizes, following his gaze over to the lobby display where the mask still sits. The apparent source of the virus, if the movie lore holds up.

“Well, we have gotten this far by being genre savvy, so I don’t think we should have it over to the police,” she muses.

“Yeah, no way.  One of them’ll cut themselves while they’re joking around, or something, and infect the whole police station. Always happens.”

“So... we keep it?” Villanelle tries to run through some other, smarter possibilities in her head.  “Burn it? Bury it? Throw it into a volcano? We could do that. There’s one out in the Prehistoric Wilds.”

Mike starts to grin, and Villanelle squints at him suspiciously.  “What is so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head.  “Just... the volcano thing. It’s just like in Lord of the Rings.”

Villanelle pulls up short as their very first conversation comes ebbing back to her. Unexpectedly, what accompanies it is a trace of amused warmth. And she grins back at him briefly.  “Guess we’ve come full circle.”

“We really have.”

Villanelle makes a note to get out of there before he remembers to make a communism joke. 

Blossoming Souls Ch. 3

Relationship(s): Romantic Logince, Moxiety; Platonic every other relationship

“Tags” for the whole story: morally grey!deceit, Deceit, Remus, Thomas as a character, Romance, Minor violence, someone’s potty mouth, Foul language, Minor homophobia (it’s not that bad), Miscommunication (this one is though), Friendship

Chapter Summary: Prince Logan of Aowhea and his trusted guard and friend, Patton, are journeying to Eiehde. Along the way, they run into some trouble. Also bandits.

Logan scribbled in his journal furiously, back hunched over and glaring when the carriage bumped and he had to pause his writing.

Patton watched in worry as Logan’s back and shoulders tensed as every minute passed. He tapped his fingers idly on his thighs, eyes glancing between Logan and the window every other second.

A few more moments passed by before Logan looked up in annoyance. He snapped his journal closed with a finality that Patton was impressed by, “What is it, Patton?”

“Well, Highness-”

“How many times have I told you, Patton, alone with the two of us you may call me Logan,” he interrupted with an irritated but fond smile. His pen tapped lightly on his leather journal, and his leg bounced restlessly up and down.

“Logan,” Patton conceded with a smile. “I just wanted to know how you were taking this. You were not in the right state of mind before….”

Patton trailed off when Logan sighed resignedly, “Yes, well, I have come to terms with it, at the very least. I have no other choice, Patton, and I fear I never will again.”

Patton frowned, reaching forward to grab Logan’s hand in comfort, “Logan, of course you’ll still have a choice. Whatever made you think otherwise?”

Logan looked out the window, biting his lip in thought, “It is of no serious matter, Patton. It is just- I fear that Father does not know what to do with me and sent me here as proof of that.”

“Your Father does care for you, there is no doubt about that.”

“Except I do doubt,” Logan countered, ripping his lip bloody in worry. “Father has never looked at my accomplishments toward the pursuit of knowledge. He barely glanced at them. I can only assume that this is his way of getting rid of me.”

“Logan, no-”

The carriage skidded to a harsh stop, and Patton barely held his own as he tried not to fall on top of Logan. He squeezed Logan’s hand before letting go, a hand on his hip.

“What was that?” Logan asked, a tremble of fear in his voice. “The Kingdom of Eiehde is three days away inward, and it has only been two. We should be riding for another few hours at least.”

Loud shrieks tore through the air, and Logan gasped, putting a hand over his mouth. Patton squeezed his eyes shut in sorrow before he forced them open. Distantly, the horses reared, neighing loudly, hooves thundering away against the ground.

He took out his sword, the sharp glint of the weapon barely fitting inside the carriage. Pulling out a small dagger, he handed it to Logan, “Highness, should something happen, take this and run. Run as fast as you can away from here and show no mercy.”

Pointing to a small hatch through the side of the carriage, he said quickly, central Aowhean accent thickening, “There’s a hatch there. If you hear something bad, or someone’s tryin’ ta come in, pull it open, go through there and run. The door’ll be locked when it shuts. For now, hide.”

Logan swallowed, “Patton-”

“Highness, promise me,” Patton’s face was serious as he stared into Logan’s blue eyes.

“Y-yes, I promise,” Logan stuttered, curling his trembling fingers over the dagger’s hilt.

“Until we meet again, Highness,” Patton tried to give him a reassuring smile that only came off more as a grimace.

Logan nodded, and Patton gave him one last nod before cautiously exiting the carriage with sword at the ready.

-----------------------------------------------------

Patton was cautious as he stepped out of the carriage, sword drawn and held between him and his supposed enemy.

A rough hand shoved him against the side of the carriage, the door slamming closed automatically, and had a tip of a sword against his neck. Patton grimaced against the hot, heavy huffs of air breathing down his face.

A yellowed sneer greeted his face, and a hard twist against his wrist made him drop his sword. “‘Lo, there, Pretty Boy, what’s a boy like you ridin’ ‘round in this ‘ere fancy v’icles?”

“Why should I tell you?” Patton grunted out, he wrenched his wrist out of the woman’s grip, only for it to be pinned against the carriage as well.

“Just going for a quiet ride,” he panted out where her grip on the sword pinched some skin on his neck.

“A quiet ride in the royal carriage,” she scoffed, her scar popped into view as her eyebrows scrunched together.

He spread his legs quietly, his boots grinding into the gravel nearly inaudible. His feet positioned itself firmly, heels and toes on the ground.

“Now,” the blonde woman unsheathed a small knife, bringing the tip to his left cheek. Patton barely held back a flinch, wrinkling his nose at her yellow-stained teeth grin. “Why don’t you go on an’ tell me what it is, you’re really doin’ ‘ere.”

“Nothing much, kiddo,” Patton grunted, “but it’s a real kick to knee nature up close.” He didn’t give her a chance to be confused by his words, and quickly kneed her away from him.

She doubled over with a groan, dropping her knife and cutting him slightly. Her arm fell to wrap around her stomach, and her head was down.

The dirty blonde recovered quickly, pinning him with a glare and growling audibly. She was tall, Patton noticed, taller than him by a few centimeters.

She straightened slightly before her back stooped toward an offensive stance. Patton got a good look at her.

Her hair was pinned up with some sticks, leather jacket and riding pants thick and defensive, perfect for ready made armor, a purple bandana tied over her mouth.

Her arms were spread and two long daggers quickly made their way into her hands.

Patton’s jaw clenched, mirroring her stance, one hand with a small dagger. He didn't give a warning before lunging at her, swiping quickly.

She blocked him easily with crossed daggers, an easy sneer on her lips. He grunted, stepping back and huffing.

She took that as her opportunity, reaching out with one arm. He dodged instinctively before narrowly dodging her other arm, getting nicked on his arm.

He wiped away a trickle of blood, growling at her.

Her eyes were bright with glee, infuriating, “Wanna give it up, doll? Just give me your money, and we'll call it even split.”

“I should've known.” Patton’s eyes narrowed. “You're a bandit.”

“And?” her smile spread slowly across her face. “Girl's gotta eat, don't I? I'm doin’ ya a favour anyhows. Those damned royals don't do shit for us penny-folk.”

“The Kingdom of Aowhea is doing-”

“Its best?” she interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Please, I'm sure I could reform the country within a week at most.”

“Well, kiddo, the King is under a lot of stress-” Patton tried with a frown.

She rolled her eyes again, “So am I, wonderin’ ‘bout my next meal, doll face. C'mon out boys.”

Whistling high and shrill, three men dropped out of the trees, flanking her right, left and back.

The one on her right was decked in leather, pants, jacket, shirt, and not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. Even his face was covered in the material, only brown eyes and mouth showing. His smile was glinting in the sun, yellow and rotting with one shining gleam of gold.

The one on her left seemed like a normal teenager, if not for the malicious grin and tattoos covering his forearms and neck. Patton shivered, the apathy of the boy revolting.

The last man was a tall, sturdy tree against the wind, quiet and looming over everyone's head. His beard and impassive face seemed to be his only stint features beside his tallness. Though his eyes held a lack of... emotion.

Patton shifted uneasily, keeping a steady smile on his face. “More kiddos! How fun! Guess we aren't monkeying around anymore, just goes ta show ya how to app-tree-iate a good thyme!”

The blonde woman only scowled, green eyes darkening, taking up her position again, “Alright rich boy, let's dance.”

“Ooh!” Patton wiggled in mock excitement, though he was sure the others thought otherwise. “Tango? Or Rumba? I have to admit though, I'm not a good waltzer.”

She growled, giving up any other pretense and lunged at him, but he easily sidestepped her.

As she tumbled forward, he smiled innocently at the leather man who had stood to the right of the woman before balling his fist and punching his face.

He went back, head flying backwards in pain and shock. Patton took that distraction to knee him between the legs, and he easily doubled over, tears streaming out of his eyes.

The other three stared at him in shock, and he shrugged noncommittally.

The blonde shook her head, slightly dazed, but growled, “Get him!”

She rushed toward him, and he pulled her arm forward, allowing the momentum to pull her back.

She ran into the tattooed man, stumbling together. Her bandana had come loose, and they untangled themselves quickly, rushing back to try and get to Patton.

The leathered man was still incapacitated, and the tall giant didn't seem to mind too much as he gingerly stepped over him and faced Patton.

Patton gave him an apologetic smile, shrugging as he stood defensively.

The man mirrored his smile, shrugging and bending his knees. He moved first, and Patton struck, aiming for his knees.

The tall one capitulated, sinking to the ground. He didn't seem to mind all that much, sitting defeated.

“Oh, it's on, rich boy,” the blonde woman's face was screwed up in an ugly sneer, her face red in extortion.

“Ho there!”

Galloping crunched against the gravel road, and all looked up to see two men and four horses riding up to them.

Patton looked to the front of the carriage, finally noting that there weren't any horses hitched up to it.

A man with a neat bun and simple riding attire pulled up to the five of them, raising an eyebrow, “Is there a problem here?”

“Yes!” the woman said suddenly, pointing at Patton. “This man is a bandit, and he tried to steal from this carriage ‘ere. We were only tryin’ ta stop ‘im-”

“Of course,” the man with a shocking head of blond hair interrupted with a bored drawl, “but seeing as how he's wearing a royal insignia on his shoulders, I'm gonna have to call bullshit on that accusation.”

“Well!” the woman stammered, trying to save face, almost pleading with the bored blond. “He could've easily stolen that.”

The blond with the sunglasses didn't even deign that with a response, quirking his eyebrow in amusement.

The other man with the reddish-brown hair said calmly from high on his horse, “We can easily find out. There's a sheriff's outpost not-”

“That's unnecessary,” the tall giant said deeply. “We'll be on our way.”

The woman looked as if to say something before a stern look from the tall man caused her to deflate. He picked up the doubled over man and steered the tattoo one away.

Patton waved cheerily to them as they stomped past, the woman scowling fiercely at him.

“Well, wasn't that a bandit-full experience.” Patton said, breaking the tension. He took in the two strangers’ appearances, guard up.

The two were still on their horses, and the brown tanned one dismounted first. His boots dug into the gravel, and his horse neighed slightly in discomfort.

“Are you alright?” he asked in concern, his brown eyes were bright in concern. He stretched his hand out toward Patton, but Patton didn’t take it.

They had distinctive Eiehden accents, sharp even speaking in the common tongue.

Patton smiled benevolently, “Oh shucks, no need for any concern, kiddo! I’m perfectly fine, you two can just go on your way now!”

“I insist upon at least chaperoning you towards your destination,” he said firmly.

Patton let his smile fade away into a small frown, “Really, I don’t need it. And since you returned our horses, we’ll be fine.”

“Well- wait. ‘Our’? Who else is here?” the blond man asked, dismounting. He looked at Patton over his sunglasses in slight suspicion.

He winced, “Nobody of consequence. Please go on your way.”

“Let us at least accompany you,” the tanned man insisted again, reddish-brown eyes burrowing into Patton who didn’t waver.

“No-”

“Are you knights from the kingdom of Eiehde?” Logan’s voice cut Patton off.

“Highness!” Patton exclaimed, rushing to him.

Logan seemed physically unharmed, visibly shaken but fine. His hands clutched tightly at his journal, the dagger nowhere to be seen. Patton could see the imperceptible tremble of his shoulders.

The two men exchanged looks, and the blond one shook his head firmly before the redheaded one rolled his eyes and looked toward them.

“Yes, we are. Why do you ask?” the tanned one looked curiously at Logan.

Patton shifted to stand in front of Logan, guarding him from view. Logan, for his sake, didn’t say anything about the change in position, only staring firmly at the two strangers.

“We are on our way towards the Kingdom of Aowhea, and well-” he winced. “Our coachman has been disposed of awfully. We’ve no idea where to go, and while following the path seems the most advisable action, should there be a fork in the road we’ve no idea of which way to go. It is inadvisable for our journey to deviate from its current course.”

“Well, we were just on our way back home,” the tanned man said slowly. “We’d be glad to help guide you two on your way!”

“Excellent,” Logan’s glasses flashed in satisfaction. “Now may we exchange our names to be familiar with each other?”

The blond blinked, “You could’ve asked us what our names was.”

“Is that not what I did?” Logan asked, uncomprehending.

Patton shook his head with a small smile, “Well, hi there! I’m Patton! It’s nice to meet’cha!”

“Remy,” the blond said in reply, taking a sip from a canister that came out of nowhere.

“R- Thomas,” the other stuttered. He looked nervously between Patton and Logan, seeming to search for a reaction before relaxing when there was none.

“It’s brilliant to meet you all! Thanks so much for coming in when you did! You all deserve a patt-on the back!” Patton said gleefully.

Logan sighed insufferably, “I am Logan. Now that that is done, may we get on our journey?”

“Well, hold on there, eager beaver,” Thomas protested to Logan’s suffering. “What if we needed to go somewhere first?”

“Well, did you?” Logan asked, ready with a counter. “Just moments before, you were insistent on escorting Patton to his destination without mentioning an alternate route. I would assume that that would mean that you need not go anywhere else.”

“Well-” Thomas broke off, face conflicted. “No- we aren’t going anywhere else. Where are you headed?”

“The two of us are going to the Kingdom of Eiehde,” Logan replied promptly. “We’ve business to attend to there. That is all I shall say about that.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, “Remy, we can take a detour, yeah?”

“Oh, if the two of you need to go somewhere-” Remy cut Patton’s worry off with a lift of a finger. Remy took a prolonged sip of his drink as he looked at the two from Aowhea.

“No need, babes, we should’ve been on our way home anyways,” Remy flicked up his sunglasses and smirked. “Now will y’all tell us where in Eiehde you’re going? It’s a big place.”

“The castle,” Logan said plainly.

Thomas stared at him searchingly, and Patton tittered about nervously, chuckling, “Er- we should get goin’ now, don't cha think kiddos?”

Logan nodded stiffly, turning on his heel and going back to the carriage. Patton breathed out a sigh of relief before noticing how Thomas was still staring at Logan’s retreating back.

He took the reins out of his hands, hitching the two horses back to the carriage. “We best be gettin’ on our way, boys. Dark’s gonna be coming soon. We’ve got a few hours at best.”

Remy nodded, mounting the saddle of his horse again, “The next inn is a couple of miles away. If we leave now, then we’d get there just as the sun sets.”

Patton mustered up a smile, his nerves warning him of possible danger. He repressed it for now, soothing his worries with a placating thought of being more on guard.

“Well, let’s be off then,” Patton said.

Thomas looked at him worryingly, “Are you alright, Patton? Is there something bothering you?”

“No,” Patton immediately shook his head, “just- I don’t like those bandits creeping up on the path earlier, seems like they were banding up against me and my young charge.”

“Young?” Remy asked looking down at him with a raised brow, “Seems to be the same age as the rest of us.”

“Ah well,” Patton brushed it off with a smile, “I’m a Fatherly sort, anyone even the slightest bit younger than me are my kiddos! And well,” his voice softened, “we sorta grew up together. I can’t help but be protective.”

“How… sweet,” Thomas said with a smile, head tilted and eyes gentle.

Patton beamed at the two before climbing back up on the carriage. He grabbed the reins, looking expectantly at the other, “Well? Are we going yet?”

Remy responded by kicking the sides of his horse and speeding off. Thomas winced, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry about that, Remy’s a bit… impatient.”

“I’ll say,” Patton grinned. “Let’s go.”

A/N: Thanks for reading

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The Lucy Wilson Mysteries: Avatars of the Intelligence + Free Download

Latest from the news site: Candy Jar Books have released details about the history of the first book in their forthcoming spin-off series from Lethbridge-Stewart, The Lucy Wilson Mysteries Independent publisher Candy Jar Books is tackling prejudice against differences and promoting diversity, self-confidence and acceptance for young people, in publishing their latest sci-fi adventure series for children. The series begins with The Lucy Wilson Mysteries: Avatars of the Intelligence. The action-packed adventure story is set in the sleepy Welsh town of Ogmore-by-Sea and features the young, sharp-as-a-tack Lucy Wilson, a London-bred pre-teen with mixed-race parentage, and her perennial side-kick Hobo, a highly intelligent boy with alopecia. The book is written by author Sue Hampton, who was diagnosed with the condition alopecia universalis in 1981 and has since become an ambassador for the charity Alopecia UK. With Sue’s first book, The Waterhouse Girl, inspired by her own experience of learning to live with the sometimes overwhelming condition, Sue feels that it’s incredibly important that young people who feel “different” are positively represented in mainstream fiction, in ways that don’t portray them as “other”. She says: Writing The Waterhouse Girl changed my life, and changed the way I saw my alopecia. I began to feel braver, because my character was dealing with alopecia better than I was. Since then I’ve wanted to write stories where the characters are not defined by their condition, because that’s not what defines me. In Avatars of the Intelligence, Hobo does have alopecia, yes, but he is also loyal, brave and intelligent – all the qualities that Lucy needs in a friend. Through her work with Alopecia UK, Sue visits schools across the UK offering education and support to those in need, and this experience has taught her how big a difference having friends can make to somebody living with a condition like alopecia. A representative for Alopecia UK says: At this time it’s very difficult to say with any certainty just how many children are affected by alopecia, however it’s likely to be thousands rather than hundreds. The Lucy Wilson series acts as a spin-off from Candy Jar’s existing science fiction range of Lethbridge-Stewart novels starring the character from the 1960s classic era of Doctor Who Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, created by Henry Lincoln and Mervyn Haisman and portrayed by Nicholas Courtney in the television series. New protagonist Lucy Wilson is the granddaughter of the Brigadier, and carries the formidable legacy of the Lethbridge-Stewart name along with her. Sue says: Lucy is dauntless, loyal and whip-smart. She’s a modern girl with strong values and opinions, which means that she feels the injustices in the world even more strongly than most and always stands up for what’s right. Avatars of the Intelligence deals with themes that affect many young people, such as feeling like an outsider and being bullied, in a way that Sue hopes will empower and inspire readers. Recent statistics from Childline show that as many as one in six young people experience anxiety-related problems, and in the top five concerns raised in counselling sessions over twelve months were low self esteem, feeling sad, low or lonely and bullying. Lucy Wilson: Avatars of the Intelligence is a celebration of characters who boldly refuse to become victims of their circumstances. Despite the fact that both Hobo and Lucy are initially viewed as outsiders, they find courage and friendship in each other and, together, take on an unseen evil force tormenting their school – the Great Intelligence. Themes of self-acceptance and confidence are further reflected in the cover artwork, created by Beano artist Steve Beckett. Shaun Russell, head of publishing at Candy Jar Books, says: We felt that it was really important that we didn’t have Hobo hidden in any way on the cover – no hats or hoods. This is a character who is totally unashamed, and we felt it wouldn’t be right to present him otherwise. We want this to inspire other children who might feel like they’re different, if they feel lonely or left out, that it’s our differences that make us who we are. The Lucy Wilson Mysteries: Avatars of the Intelligence is now available to order. Sue Hampton responds to children’s questions about Avatars of the Intelligence. Firstly, I’m delighted that so many of you enjoyed Avatars of the Intelligence very much. “This is one of the only books I have been interested in for a while. I used to hate reading but ever since I read this book I have loved reading.” “I don’t think it could be any better.” Most of all I’m happy that you like my characters. People said some positive and perceptive things about Lucy – “I love Lucy’s character because she is strong-willed and determined (although a bit stubborn)” – but on the whole Hobo seems to be the favourite. “Hobo is a unique and original character who teaches us loads about alopecia and people who might not look like other people but are still really interesting and do good things.” “I particularly like Hobo. He is a character that shows how you can face bullies with a smile. Instead of shying away from comments about his alopecia he faces them head-on which makes him a really strong character in the book.” A lot of you are interested in alopecia and the way I used my own experience of hair loss. “I really like how Sue takes something that happened in her life and turns it into something great.” I never thought of it that way when I was writing it but I’m happy for anyone to see the book in that light. Here, having already written two novels in which alopecia is the story, I wanted to introduce a clever, funny and individual character who just happens to have no hair. I also wanted to show that alopecia has made him stronger, kinder and wiser. As Ambassador for Alopecia UK I’ve met many young people with alopecia and that’s what it seems to do. Like all challenges it teaches people a lot about themselves and being human. “The book demonstrates how outcasts face challenges. Hobo is an extremely interesting character because he doesn’t fit into society’s expectations.” A few people said the book starts slowly. The beginning of a novel is always the hardest part because there’s a lot to establish, especially in the kind of book that’s driven by character. It takes a while to get to know characters well enough to care, and it’s REALLY important to me that readers do care about mine. The first mysterious, creepy action is on page 13 but there are lots of sci-fi references before that to hint at what’s to come, and the emotional action starts on page one. Two of you added that it’s a bit confusing at first with various characters named in the first few pages. That’s because, in this book which begins a series, we start with Lucy, but being a Lethbridge-Stewart she’s really the next in line: it’s in her blood. So unusually, I was handed a central character with a family tree, ready-made. I gave Lucy a personality, interests, strengths and weaknesses, but the Lethbridge-Stewart legacy is already established. There are many novels and short story collections published by Candy Jar about her grandfather, who even has a Wikipedia page! For the fans of that legacy, I had to acknowledge her family from the start; they’ll know at once who Conall is, and Nick, and all the family members. The book is meant to appeal to existing Whovians and fans of Lethbridge-Stewart, and some of its biggest fans so far are adult, like the guys who praised my book on a podcast for Doctor Who fans. But it’s also meant to appeal to readers from Y6 up, some of whom will come to it completely fresh, with none of this background. As a reader I’m always happy to wonder and deduce for a few pages before a relationship structure firms up, and by the end of chapter one those characters should all be clear. Using close third person means that I follow Lucy’s thoughts and perspective so people can’t be identified with labels, because she would think of Conall and Dean by name, not as her eldest, gay brother and his husband. I’ve written it so that readers can work all that out pretty quickly. The colourful cover, which is the work of a Beano artist called Steve Beckett, really does appeal to Y5/6 readers – you should see them drawn to it in primary schools when I visit – and I hear that they enjoy the story, while teenage and adult readers will be more aware of the emotional dynamics and issues of diversity that some of you mentioned. I’ve been contacted by a father and daughter and a father and son who reported that both generations thought it was great. I came across a division into hard’ and ‘soft’ science fiction, and this book is definitely soft in the sense that it’s driven by character and its ‘science’ (in this author’s head, at any rate) is psychology rather than physics. I’d say this generally applies to Doctor Who, too, but some fans might like to challenge me on that. You may have noticed that there’s plenty of imagery. It’s a playfulness with words and can give energy to a story, be fun or funny, crank up the excitement – sometimes in a horrifying way – and create an atmosphere. Sci-fi has its own vocabulary, of course, and like the action the language can be highly dramatic. It’s my thirty-first book but my first venture into this genre. --- Candy Jar has produced a 95-page free ebook The Lucy Wilson Collection. This contains The Two Brigadiers by Jonathan Macho, Lucy Wilson by Sue Hampton, an extract of Avatars of the Intelligence by Sue Hampton, an extract of Curse of the Mirror Clowns by Chris Lynch, and a non-fiction chapter about the Brigadier written by Andy Frankham-Allen. The e-book is available to download via our website. Related Articles: The Lucy Wilson Mysteries (26 Aug 2017) Doctor Who News http://www.doctorwhonews.net/2018/03/lucy-wilson-280318100008.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr