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tacticaldiary · 1 year

Text

Taken

Pairing: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

When she gets taken, kidnapped right under his nose, Soap knows that he’ll do anything to get her back. All hell breaks loose as the search begins and a tearful reunion ensues.

A/N: First COD fanfic! Request box is open, please send through anything you’d wanna see written from Modern Warfare 1 and 2!

Masterlist

“Where is she?” Soap snarls, roughly slamming the soldier against the nearest metal beam. Gunshots ring around them, pinging off the warehouse as the rest of the Task Force clears out the remaining grunts. When the man says nothing, scowling up at him instead, Soap slams his against the metal again, a sickening crack cutting through the air as the soldier’s head cracks against the surface.

“Not gonna ask you again, ya hear me?” Soap hisses, accent thick and rough with furious urgency. “If the next thing I hear isn’t a location, there’ll be a bullet between your eyes.” The man goes clammy as the hot barrel of Soap’s gun digs into his forehead.

She was gone.

The love of his life, the one person who was the best at keeping him afloat. The one person he swore he’d protect throughout the shitshow that his life was, had been targeting.

Because of him.

The thought sends another wave of fresh fury through him.

The moment he’d found out that she’d been plucked right out of their apartment, Soap had grabbed his gear and was fully ready to storm off to do whatever it took to find her. The only reason he had backup was because Price had physically ordered him to stop and cool his head. The others were just as fond of her as he was, so Soap knew that their intentions were level-headed but with just as much urgency as his.

She worked as a strategist on their team, an integral part of the foundations of their missions. Well liked amongst the team, even by people as notoriously cold as Ghost, she’d caught his eye the moment he saw her.

It hadn’t taken long for Soap to take the chance to ask her out and here they were now. 5 years later, engaged and going strong.

And now she was gone.

When Soap cocks the gun, finger placed on the trigger with the intention to shoot this bastard and move on to the next, he’d slaughter this entire warehouse until he wrung out the information from their corpses if he had to, the man finally stutters out what he’s looking for.

“S-safe house three miles west.” He blurts out.

“Good lad.” Soap spits out, venomous and jarring. It’s so unlike him to be this intense, the easy-going fellow nowhere to be seen. Knocking the man unconscious and shoving him unceremoniously to the ground, he makes his way to the exit of the warehouse, tapping on his comms and relaying the location to his team.

“Copy.” Comes Ghost’s gruff voice over the comms. “Rendezvous at the vehicle in 5.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She can’t move without some part of her body spiking with pain.

For the past 12 hours, she’s been tied down to a chair upright, the wood digging into her back, her wrists raw and bloody from rope burn.

The organisation wanted to know about Johnny, about the Task Force, about their safehouses, and future plans. Knowing the consequences of blabbering, she’d kept her mouth shut and her glare sharp, disclosing nothing even after being beaten bloody and touched in ways that made her skin crawl.

Bruises mar her skin, and she wonders how long it’ll take before her team find her.

Because they would find her. She had no doubt about that. As loyal as a pack of dogs, the team had grown close to something akin to a family for her. they would find her, she was sure of it.

She just wasn’t sure she’d last until then.

Johnny. Her heart aches as she thinks about what she would give to see him right now. Capable as she was, he always brought about a sense of safety with him. She always felt like nothing could touch her when he was with her, making her laugh, flirting, throwing her over his shoulder, and making her squeal.

Letting her body sag forward when the two men interrogating her finally, leave the room is a painful relief. Admittedly she’s not sure if she can take many more rounds of their cruelty. Which is exactly why she needs to escape as soon as she can.

One of them had been standing behind her, yanking her head back by her hair earlier, and she’d taken the chance to blindly swipe at a small pocket knife tucked into his pocket. She draws it out of her tattered sleeve where it had been concealed and slowly, clumsily saws at the ropes around her wrists with it.

the blade nicks her a few times, but eventually the ropes drop loose. Sighing in relief, quickly undoing the ones around her ankles, she stands unsteadily, looking around the room for anything she could use to assist her.

A metal table bolted to the ground near one of the corners and a cupboard pushed towards the back of the room. Aside from those, the room is barren.

Limping over, she pulls the cupboard open, groaning in frustration when she finds it empty, save for a few cobwebs. What the hell was the point in having it here if-

There’s a bang from outside, a door slamming. Footsteps thundering down the hall.

Her heart races.

Angry. It sounded so angry.

They’d had enough of her silence, she guesses. Those footsteps would only sound that angry if they decided she was worthless to keep around. They were coming to kill her, or worse, put her through something that would make her wish they’d kill her.

She scrambles into the cupboard, clicking it shut and submerging herself in darkness. The beating of her heart was too loud, her shaky exhale too audible.

She slaps a hand over her mouth as the door to the room slams open, voices barking clearer, footsteps louder. She can’t make out what they’re saying, just that it’s loud and aggressive and tight.

They were going to find her any moment, throw open the cupboard and shoot her there and then. God, she wished she could see the others one last time. Tease Ghost with Gaz, and spend her evenings with Price going over maps and plans.

Be in Johnny’s arms one last time. See that smile that made her warm and hear that deep voice whisper in her ear.

Tears prick the corners of her eyes, burning hot as she readies herself. Clutching the knife in tightly, she resigns herself to her demise. If she was going out, she was going out fighting.

‘I’m sorry, Johnny.’ She thinks, holding her breath as footsteps approach the cupboard. ‘I hope you’re not the one that finds my body’ With that one last morbid thought, she throws open the door and yells, barrelling into the first person in her way, swinging the knife.

She hears a curse as it nicks someone’s shoulder, and then someone’s got her by the wrists, prying the knife out of her hands.

“Let me go!” She yells, kicking and scratching, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her body aches but she refuses to die on their terms, she-

“-me, It’s alright!” The voice filters into her mind, ebbing into coherency. She realises that the grip on her wrists is not bruising, the hold her captor has on her is not painful.

A deep voice, Scottish drawl, familiar hands holding her firmly in place.

Her knees buckle with relief at the realisation.

“I’ve got ya, baby. You’re safe, I’ve got ya.” Soap says frantically, catching her, and lowering her to the floor gently. He goes down with her, kneeling and releasing her wrists to cup her cheeks. “Shit, your freezing.” He breathes, wild eyes looking her up and down, charting her injuries and wounds.

“Johnny?” Her voice breaks, hands coming up to clutch at his arms.

“Yeah, it’s me, darling. It’s me.” He pulls her in fiercely, pressing her against himself. His arms winding around her waist, his hand in her hair...it all cracks the knot of tension in her chest and draws out a terrible sob.

“I didn’t- I couldn’t-” She trails out into a sob, crying out her exhaustion and terror into his strong shoulder. “They wanted to know-”

Soap hushes her, tells her not to talk, to not worry, that he’s here now, and all of it just makes her sob harder.

He was here. He was here and real and she was in his arms and safe.

Safe.

She was safe.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The relief of having her again, of seeing her not unharmed, but alive...it has him praying to whoever the hell was up there.

Soap holds her while she cries, reassuring himself that they had made it in time.

The way she had lunged at him, how she’d attacked with such a wild, instinctual fear had anger igniting his blood. There was so much blood, her clothes half in tatters. Bruises, gashes, cuts, and injuries everywhere.

The fact that her hair was damp and tangled gave him a sneaking suspicion that waterboarding had not been off the table.

Once she’s calmed down- hell, once he’s calmed down- Soap pulls away slightly, brushes some of the tears off of her cheeks. “I’m gonna get ya outta here, alright? The boys have cleared this place out, nobody else is gonna hurt ya.” He assures her, gently helping her stand. The second he catches her limp, he disregards all plans of helping her walk, picking her up easily in his arms instead.

The fact that she’s too tired to protest otherwise only makes him more worried.

“I didn’t-...I didn’t tell them anything.” She whispers after a few seconds of silence. Soap was walking them out to the medic tent they had set up outside the safehouse.

“I know.” He nods, offering her the smallest of smiles. “You’re a stubborn one, we know.” He had no doubt she wouldn’t comply. Always been a strong one, that girl.

“Thank you.” She closes her eyes, breathing through the ache in her body. “I didn’t know if I could...you know,” she admits quietly. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. Any of you.” Her breath hitches at the last part, a testament to how close he’d gotten to losing the best thing in his life.

His heart twists painfully, his grip tightening on her as they enter the tent.

“I’ll always find ya, baby.” He says, laying her down, watching people crowd around her immediately. “This’ll never happen again, I swear it.”

He sure as hell would make sure of it. Soap can tell she won’t cling to consciousness much longer, not when the adrenaline is fading out of her systems and those injuries, so he sits himself down next to her, clutches onto her hand until she drifts away, his name on her lips.

“I’m right here.” He whispers, bringing her bloody palm up to press a kiss onto it. “Always will be.”

Requests Are Open!

(13/06/2023)

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assortedseaglass · 9 months

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🌟Wassail | Yuletide🌟

Tom Bennett x Fem!Reader

Summary: A minor indiscretion leads you to chaperoning the yearly children's wassail with none other than Tom Bennett.

Content: Fluff, Language.

Yuletide Masterlist

Spending the evening with a handful of excitable children and Tom Bennett wasn’t too bad, as far as punishment went.

You supposed your father thought the children, full of a night’s sugar after years of rationing, would tire you out with their boundless energy. Perhaps he also thought that Tom Bennett would scare you. A petty criminal that good, honest girls should be frightened of. Well, your father should know that you were far from good or honest. That’s why you needed punishing in the first place.

Word got to your father that you were seen in a compromising position behind the Capital Club with Willie Murphy on New Year’s Eve. You traced the source easily. Your father heard it from that busy-body, Mrs Browning, who heard it from her neighbour. The neighbour’s daughter just happened to be Minnie Goodman, Willie’s on-again-off-again girlfriend. The tale was a tall one, for in truth Willie Murphy snuck his hand up your skirt and you’d given him a smack. If Gossip Goodman wanted that creep all to herself, she was welcome to him.

“Hurry up you!” One of the little lads shouted at you as he made his way to the next house.

“Watch your mouth, Harry Tollet,” you said, coming to stand beside him and the other children. “You won’t be wassailing next year if your mother hears you talking like that to a lady.”

“My mum says you aren’t a lady,” Harry said, knocking on the door. A little girl beside him gasped. Before you could speak, Tom Bennett, who had been silent on the evening’s walk, stepped forward.

“You’ll get a clip round the ear an’ all if you keep on.”

Harry had no time to cower for the red door opened and the children sang a chorus of We Three Kings. Their tin cups were filled with mulled cider by the old lady at the door, and Tom ushered Harry away before his could be filled.

“That’s not fair-”

“Shoulda thought about that before you ran your mouth,” Tom shoved the little boy towards the rest of the group. “Best behaviour.”

One of the little girls whispered in Harry’s ear and gave Tom a wary glance. She smiled awkwardly at you and turned around as the next door of the street opened and the children began their singing once more. The house belonged to old Mr Preston, a widower who lived alone. His only son died in the war. He had no grandchildren. You watched, heart growing as the old man gave the children their cup of mulled apple and presented them each with a mince pie.

Silenced for a while by their full mouths, the children listen to old man Preston telling them tales of Christmases long ago. Enraptured, they forgot all about you and Tom. Thank Christ.

You smiled at Mr Preston and showed him your cigarettes, indicating the pavement on the other side of the street. He nodded knowingly and continued his tale.

Leant against the lamppost, you clicked your lighter and inhaled the heady smoke of the cigarette. Tom Bennett took out his own packets of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth. With his hands safely back inside his pockets, he swaggered slowly towards you, looking over his shoulder in a half-arsed attempt and chaperoneship. You snorted.

He came to a stop before you, clicking his heels together as though he were still in the navy. He looked down his long nose at you a moment, smirking. You weren’t rattled. He brought his long fingers to take the cigarette from your mouth and light his own with it. The end sparkled into life, the tobacco crackling. The low, orange flare of light illuminated his sapphire eyes, which were fixed on yours. That rattled you, just a bit. This was a man who made flirting an artform. He looked at your cigarette as he passed it back to you.

“Lucky Strikes? Very posh,” he drawled in his Manchester burr.

“Got ‘em from a Yank. Better than your filthy Marlboros. Bloody stink,” you took a drag and exhaled the smoke in his face. He didn’t budge, the smoke dissipating to reveal a fully born grin.

“Lucky Strike for a lucky strike?” Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t be jealous,”

Tom puffed out his chest and sniffed the night air. He glanced over his shoulder. You smiled to yourself; you never knew it was so easy to hurt Tom Bennett’s pride.

Across the road, Mr Preston had finished his story and gone inside. The children were walking to the next house, some hand in hand.

“They don’t need us,” you nodded towards them.

“Nah,” Tom said. “War made them different. Self-reliant.”

You hummed in agreement.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

You stared at him, amusement tugging the corners of your mouth. Tom Bennett always thought so highly of himself.

“What for?”

“Harry.” He stated simply.

“But you didn’t do anything,” you laughed brightly.

Despite himself, Tom smiled. “Hold on-”

“Don’t think I could have handled a ten-year-old myself?”

Tom took a step up onto the pavement and, in doing so, brought himself closer to you. “Oh no,” his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “I heard you can handle yourself very well,” One of his hands slipped inside your coat to rest against the slope of your hip.

It wasn’t his hand that made you bristle. It was the assumption that you were easy. Sure, you’d had your fair share of flings, but you didn’t drop your knickers for any fella with a sly grin and foreign cigarettes.

You took his hand in yours, moving it from your waist and dropping it back at his own side.

“I’m only here ‘cause Dadda believed in a load of old hearsay,” You flicked your cigarette to the ground and stamped it out under your heel. Tom didn’t hide the way he stared up the length of your stockinged leg. “I wouldn’t touch Willie Murphy with a ten-foot barge pole-”

“I know,” Tom said simply, idle hands tucked back into the pockets of his jacket.

You stared at him, lost for words. No-one ever believed you. Seemed to think because you’d had three or four Longsight lads, you’d had the whole lot. “Really?”

“Yeah, course I do. He’s an ugly little bastard with more spots than I’ve had hot dinners.” You laughed. Towards the end of the road, the children were singing again, and the lamplights began flickering into life. “I didn’t try it on ‘cause I think you’re easy,” with another step, Tom was pressed flush against you. “I tried it on ‘cause I like you.”

Your smile of genuine happiness turned to one of mischief. “Tom Bennett, are you going soft?”

In the dim light, his blue eyes twinkled. With a wink, he stepped back and began his slow walk towards the gaggle of children. Falling into step beside him, you walked in silence but for the chorus of We Wish You a Merry Christmas and clack of your heels on the cobbles.

Gently, boldy, you tucked your hand into his. “Not so bad, is it, this punishment?”

“Not a punishment for me. Not a petty criminal anymore.” Tom said, smiling down at you and tugging you closer so that the kids wouldn’t see your entwined hands. “Nah, I volunteered.”

You stood still, mouth agape with amused shock.

“What?” Tom tugged your hand and you kept walking.

“You really have gone soft!”

“War’ll do that to you.” You bowed your head solemnly. “And the prospect of an evening with you.”

“Even with a headache’s worth of kids?”

“Even so.”

Finally back with decent internet! The last few days of Christmas are going to be heavy with uploads!

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

#tom bennett #ewan mitchell #tom bennett x reader #world on fire #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan nation #hilde's twelve days of christmas

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cloud-kaiju · 3 months

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Teething Problems 7.

Luc climbed upright as the bell rang, nose perked at the scent of meat laden pizza as her stomach growled. For a moment her mind wandered from her hunger- there’d be drama if people thought she was a werewolf or vampire right, let alone both?

With a bit of tension to her vast hips, her wings retracted and she grinned at her skill, before bounding over to the door, ears virtually scraping the ceiling. Oh, right, the door was barely chest level- she bent low to open it, balancing herself on her knees as she leaned outwards with an eager grin.

The delivery guy was there as expected, holding a glorious stack of boxes, the source of that scent!

“Aw, fantastic, dinner is here!” Luc cheered, surprised at how well her husky warm tones boomed forth. Yet the human, a bearded lad, didn’t move, his mouth agape, eyes wide, staring at…

Oh yeah, she was still a giant wolf girl in the buff wasn’t she? Luc glanced down, feeling a little colour at how her vast bosom bounced, her hips scraping against either edge of the door frame, she’d probably stare too. But he had already seen, what was the problem with a little fun?

“Oh, you ok there buddy? Hope I didn’t scare you,” She purred, daring to stand a little more upright, crossing her arms under her girls. The man blinked and tried to look down, but there was no way for him to look up at her without his eyes being drawn. “I just got soooo excited for pizza that I rushed to the door- can you imagine, if you brought me them again, I’d probably do the same thing? So silly!”

“Ah… ah, no, it’s uh, no problem.” He finally stuttered, hefting the pile he was struggling with, “You… you order often?”

“Ooh, well it’s a bit steep isn’t it? But I’d never turn down a delivery if you have spares,” She winked, and barely contained her laughter as the man coloured bright red, stumbling as she took her feast from him with ease.

“Right, uh, y’know, sometimes that happens- uh, gotta go, nice to… meet you,” He blabbered, and Luc grinned and slammed the door shut, almost tumbling backwards as her ears brushed the ceiling again. After a solid twenty seconds she broke into proper laughter and slumped down by the couch again, hefting the box open.

Maybe this could be fun- after all, she was nocturnal, why not enjoy this a little bit?

Food first, then try out her wings and powers

#teethingproblems #monstergirl #furry tf #size tumblr #werewolf #vamwolf #furry artwork #furry art #posttf #furry oc #hipswiderthantheaveragedoorway

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 1 year

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Can you please tell me some wholesome facts about the revolutionaries? 😊

In his notes on Robespierre (written somewhere right after thermidor) Fréron claims that, at least while at college, ”one cannot remember to have seen him laugh once.” But then later he writes that ”the witty naiveties of Camille Desmoulins made Robespierre laugh until he cried.”

On January 23 1793, Lucile Desmoulins writes in her diary about witnessing the funeral procession of Louis-Michel le Peletier, a deputy murdered on the 20th after having voted for death during the king’s trial. She was very touched by what she saw and couldn’t stop her tears for a while. After all her guests have left that evening she can’t stand to be alone with her thoughts, so ”I ran to D(anton’s). He was moved to see me still pale and defeated. We drank tea, I supped there.”

In his memoirs, Barras reports the following about Augustin Robespierre:

[Napoleon] informed me that a woman of the lower classes, who had been assisted by Robespierre the Younger, had been arraigned before the Revolutionary Tribunal and sentenced to death during his absence from Paris, and that on his return he had expressed disapproval of the sentence, sent for the twelve-year-old son of that woman, clothed him, and admitted him to his table; the boy feeling sad, Ricord commanded him to drink to the health of the Republic, but the lad refused; thereupon Robespierre the Younger, addressing Ricord, said to him: ”Respect such a character. You would not do as much under similar circumstances."

On October 20 Couthon wrote a very clingy letter to Saint-Just while away on a mission to Lyon — ”You haven't written me a line, my friend, since we parted; I blame you for it, because you promised me that in any case of absence, you would give me your news. […] You know, my dear friend, that I need, to console myself for the evils that overwhelm me, testimonies of interest from those I esteem; tell me then that you exist, that you are well, that you have not forgotten me, and I will be happy.”

Le Bas also wrote quite warmly about SJ in a letter to his wife dated November 28 1793:

We went this morning, Saint-Just and I, to visit one of the highest mountains at the top of which is an old fort in ruins, placed on an immense rock. We both felt, looking around, a delicious feeling. This is the first day that we have had a break. […] Saint-Just is almost as eager as I to see Paris again. I promised him dinner from your hand. I’m glad you don’t hold it against him; he is an excellent man; I love and esteem him more and more by every passing day. The Republic has no more ardent, more intelligent defender. The most perfect agreement, the most constant harmony reigned among us. What makes him even dearer to me is that he often talks to me about you and consoles me as much as he can. He sets a high value, it seems to me, on our friendship, and he says things to me from time to time with a very good heart.

Élisabeth Le Bas confirms her husband’s feelings for Saint-Just in her memoirs, when describing the relationship between the three while on a mission together:

Saint-Just had the most delicate attentions for me en route and the considerations of a tender brother. At each relay station, he descended from the coach to see if anything was missing, for fear of an accident. He saw me suffering so much that he feared for me. He was, at last, so good and so attentive to my sister-in-law and me that the trip did not seem long to us. My beloved was very sensitive to all his kindnesses and gave him all his recognition. To pass the time, these messieurs would read us Molière plays or some passages from Rabelais, and sang Italian airs; they made every effort to distract us and make me forget my suffering.

When Camille on December 11 1790 was finally given permission by Lucile’s parents to marry their daughter, he described his reaction the following way: ”When her mother told me a moment ago, she brought me to her room; I threw myself on Lucile’s lap; surprised at hearing her laugh I open my eyes, hers were in no better state than mine, she was all in tears, she was even crying profusely and yet she was still laughing. I have never seen such a delightful spectacle, and I would not have imagined that nature and sensibility could unite these two contrasts to such an extent.”

In February 1793 Camille and Lucile went on a short trip to Essonne, where they lived alone in an old castle and amused themselves with going for walks, riding donkeys, fishing and boating. In a letter to her mother Lucile reports: ”You would laugh if you saw C(amille) as a boatman, rowing as hard as he can and at any moment flanking the boat against the first point of land that it meets. What a pity that it isn’t summer! […] Write to me as soon as possible to let is know the day you have chosen for us to pick you up at Essonne in a cabriolet and me on my donkey.”

On August 9 1793, Madame Roland was joined in prison by Pétion’s wife Anne Madeleine Françoise and ten year old son Louis Étienne Jérôme. Judging by what she wrote in her memoirs and letters (1, 2, 3), it would appear like she took them both under her wing:

I suffered for my poor companion beyond words. It was I who undertook the sad task of preparing her for the blow she hardly expected, and of announcing it to her (Most likely a reference to the death of Anne’s mother, executed in Paris on September 24 1793). I was sure to bring to it the alleviations that another would perhaps have found with difficulty, because it is only my position that could make me share her pain so well. This circumstance caused her to be sent to me; we eat together, and she likes to spend most of the days near me; I work much less, but I am useful, and this feeling makes me taste a kind of charm that the tyrants do not know. […] I receive Lady B's letters with gratitude. I do not know them, I intend to make them useful for two people, I will have little P(étion) read them; I had only Thompson which he could not yet understand.

Éléonore Duplay also appears to have been a huge support to her little sister Élisabeth and two month old nephew Philippe while the three sat in prison together after thermidor. In her memoirs, Élisabeth writes — ”Oh! I will not in a lifetime forget you! For without you I would have succumbed; but, with your courage, you revived my strength and made me see that I had a great task to fulfill, that I had a son, that I needed to live for him. […] No, good dear sister Éléonore, I will not forget your devotion to me and your poor little nephew in a lifetime; my recognition will be eternal!”

Lucile Desmoulins and Hébert’s wife Marie Marguerite Françoise they too seem to have been rather inseparable both while in prison together and on their way to the scaffold.

After the death of Phillippeaux and Desmoulins, the former’s wife Marguerite became friends with the latter’s mother-in-law Annette. The two processed their grief together and also let their children, Auguste Phillippeaux (1787) and Horace Desmoulins (1792) get to know and play with each other. Five letters from Marguerite to Annette have been published, and they really are quite wholesome.

Other posts I’ve already made that contain wholesome stuff:

Cute animals compilation

Horace Desmoulins

Robespierre with children

#ok most of these are perhaps more bittersweet than wholesome #but that’s how it goes in the french revolution #if anyone has more feel free to add!#maximilien robespierre #augustin robespierre #camille desmoulins #lucile desmoulins #philippe lebas #élisabeth lebas #louis antoine saint just #manon roland

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flyinghome-againstthewind · 2 years

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Beside the Seaside: Ch 7

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Jamie might have called Murtagh in a desperate panic when he asked him to locate Murtagh’s cousin, Mrs. Fitz, and bring her to the inn, but he had done so knowing Murtagh was equal to the task. Still, when they arrived at The Fairy Hill’s doorstep in just a matter of days, Jamie couldn’t say he wasn’t startled by the haste at which Murtagh had brought her there.

“Mrs. Fitz!” he hailed in greeting, feeling his heart lift unexpectedly at the sight of the older woman’s beaming face. It had been nearly eight years since he’d seen her, but it felt like memories of another lifetime when they had both been at Leoch. “Welcome!”

“Och, Jamie lad, it’s good to see ye!”

He came around the front desk to embrace her and felt his throat swell when she uttered joyously, “You haven’t changed a bit.” He knew he had changed from the nineteen-year-old lad that she had known working at his uncle’s hotel. He was a father, for one, and… well, as much as he’d wished it hadn’t, the war had left him permanently marked in more ways than one.

“It’s good to see ye, Mrs. Fitz. Thank you for coming.” He met his godfather’s gaze over the woman’s shoulder, and while Murtagh did not look particularly pleased at the moment, the man had still shown up when Jamie had called. He had always counted on that with Murtagh.

“And who’s this wee yin?”

Jamie looked back to see Faith peering curiously at the three of them. He smiled and held out a hand to her, beckoning. “This is my wee Faith.” His hand rested lightly on her head once she was near. “Come say hello to our new cook, Mrs. Fitzgibbons. She’s an old friend of mine.”

“Ye can call me Mrs. Fitz — or Grannie Fitz if it suits ye.”

Jamie watched any hesitancy in his daughter melt at that. For all that she was a puir motherless thing, she had a habit of collecting parental figures, and he could practically see the moment she decided she would keep Mrs. Fitz held in her heart. “D’ye want to see the kitchen?” Faith asked her.

“Faith, I’m sure Mrs. Fitz wants to get settled first—”

“I can get settled after I see the kitchen,” Mrs. Fitz insisted, taking Faith’s hand in her own. “I’ll need to know what I’m working with, after all.”

He watched Faith lead the woman past the stairs to the doors they had always kept closed to the guests — but wouldn’t need to for much longer. The kitchen was modest, he knew, but he didn’t doubt Mrs. Fitz would be able to make it work, and there was a dining area for the guests, with small round tables and chairs. He’d already seen Mrs. Fitz in charge of a kitchen before, and he’d promised her the freedom to run this one as she saw fit.

Murtagh’s hand clapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. “Are ye gonna tell me why I had to race here wi’ Mrs. Fitz because yer business depended on it?” his godfather asked, parroting Jamie’s own words from their telephone call back at him. Murtagh’s arm swept out in front of him, gesturing to the space around them. “The place doesnae seem to be on the verge of collapse.”

Jamie let out a measured breath, and patted Murtagh’s upper arm. “Thank ye for bringing Mrs. Fitz,” he said, ignoring that last comment. “I was having a devil of a time trying to sort out where she went and which grandchild she had gone to visit.”

“She was wi’ Laoghaire in Inverness,” Murtagh answered baldly and, seeing Jamie’s momentary puzzlement, added, “the blonde wee lassie ye met at Leoch.”

“Oh aye,” Jamie murmured, remembering vaguely the young girl who helped Mrs. Fitz in the kitchen and sometimes worked as a maid at the hotel as well. “She won’t still be a wee lassie now though, I suppose.”

“That girl will be a lassie until she's fifty,” Murtagh muttered dryly. “Now are ye going to tell me why I rushed the woman here, or do I have to beat it out of ye.”

Jamie arched one brow at that. Murtagh was scrappy in a fight, to be sure, but Jamie had the stronger build. But Murtagh had known him since he was wee and was immune to any of the natural intimidation that came with Jamie’s size. “The inn is doing well enough, I suppose, but I’m losing business every day when my own guests cannae even eat here.”

Murtagh grunted at that, but still eyed Jamie a little too keenly. “I’ll stay for a bit. Just a few days. Ye owe me that at least.”

Perhaps he did, and there was a chance Murtagh truly needed the respite, but Jamie suspected the time would be used to keep an eye on him. None of his family had come to stay since he and Faith had moved here, but Jamie hadn’t exactly extended an invitation either.

“Aye, alright, I have an extra bed in the spare room next to Faith’s. It’s all yours.”

----------

Claire had been hoping to find Jamie alone when she descended the stairs, but she instead found him behind the front desk with a tall and lean dour-faced man.

“Sassenach,” he called to her before she had much of a chance to decide if she should change course or not. He was grinning broadly and she felt the pull to go to him, to bask in that light for a bit. “This is my godfather, Murtagh. Murtagh, this is Claire.”

Claire extended her hand to the man, wondering if Jamie realized he hadn’t said anything further as to who she was — no this is Claire, one of my guests here, or this is Claire, she stays on the third floor and occasionally patches me up. Just Claire, as if she needed no further introduction.

Murtagh shook her hand, eyeing her acutely. “Wee Faith had a lot to say about ye when she was at Lallybroch.”

And apparently, she hadn’t needed any further introduction. That revelation not only startled Claire, but Jamie as well, she noticed. “Oh,” she said, “All good things, I hope?”

“Oh aye,” Murtagh said immediately, but something in his tone seemed to indicate a layer of… was it curiosity? Claire glossed a smile over her face and looked at Jamie, unsure how to proceed from there.

“Go and check on Mrs. Fitz, will ye? See if she needs anything?”

Murtagh’s expression changed to something even more surly, realizing he was being dismissed. “Just to remind ye, in case ye’ve fallen on yer heid lately, I’m no’ yer errand boy,” he said, but still turned and went out of the room.

Claire turned wide eyes to Jamie.

“Aye, that’s just Murtagh for ye. A wee bit rough around the edges, but more loyal than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“He, uh—” she stopped herself from saying that the man seemed lovely, because in the few moments that she’d known him, she couldn’t say that was exactly true, but she could tell, even with just a glimpse of it, that Murtagh was protective of Jamie, and that was certainly a credit to him. “Is he staying?” she asked instead.

“Aye, for a few days.” Jamie grinned then and leaned forward against the counter, inching closer to her. “He brought my cook here — Mrs. Fitz. I cannae wait for ye to meet her.”

“Oh, Jamie, that’s wonderful!”

“Faith is giving her the tour just now, we can go and introduce ye now, if ye’d like.”

“Yes, but first,” she said, suddenly feeling a breathless flutter in her chest to seize the moment while it was just the two of them. “I’d like to extend our stay here. That is, if you still have room,” she added quickly, and hoped her nervousness that he might already be booked didn’t show as plainly as she felt it.

“Aye, I do have room,” Jamie said immediately, without so much as a glance at his booking calendar, though he did fumble for it after giving his answer. “For how long?”

“For three more weeks.” It was impossible to miss the unrestrained smile that those words brought to Jamie, and Claire felt her heart flutter again in her chest. “If you can bear the sight of us for that much longer,” she teased. “It’s been… so good for Fergus here. I was actually thinking—”

“Miss Claire!” Faith’s voice rang out from the other side of the room, and Claire turned to see the girl followed by Murtagh and the woman she supposed was Mrs. Fitz. Jamie came around the desk to join them.

“This is Claire Beauchamp, she’s staying here for a few more weeks wi’ her son Fergus.” Jamie’s smile was rapturous as he said this, never taking his gaze from her face even as he spoke to Mrs. Fitz. “So I’m sure you’ll get to see them plenty.”

----------

The days of their summer in Nairn began to change shape by inches, first with the arrival of Mrs. Fitz and the opening of the kitchen at Fairy Hill. Unsurprisingly, Fergus was quickly charmed by the inn’s grandmotherly cook almost as much as he was by her cooking. And though she didn’t speak a word of French, Claire watched with her heart in her throat as Mrs. Fitz fussed over the two of them and was never put off by Fergus’s silence.

It was during this time that Fergus had decided he wanted to return to the beach. Claire had begun inviting Faith to join them in their afternoon excursions, at first to be a playfellow for Fergus, and then because something had begun to resonate with Claire where young Faith was concerned; there was no doubt that Jamie loved the child with everything he had, but there was still a hunger — a longing — in that small girl that Claire knew all too well.

So on a bright day in late June, Claire took both children to the beach. Fergus sighed and squirmed while Claire covered him in sun lotion, but he didn’t slip out of her grasp until she pressed a kiss to his greasy forehead in silent permission to go. “You too, Faith,” she called as both children moved toward the water. When the girl looked back at her, brows drawn together in confusion, Claire crooked a finger at her.

“My da never puts that stuff on me,” Faith said bluntly, even as she flopped down onto the blanket in front of Claire and sat perfectly still.

“Most people don’t put it on, unfortunately,” Claire sighed. “But you are even more fair-skinned than Fergus, and I don’t want you to burn.” She carefully rubbed in the lotion over the smattering of freckles along Faith’s nose and cheeks. Where Fergus behaved as though Claire was torturing him, Faith seemed to relish the attention and care. Poor love-starved little thing, Claire thought, with no ire directed towards Jamie. She knew, after all. She’d had Uncle Lamb and loved him dearly, but there was nothing to be done to fix the yawning emptiness where one or both parents had been. Driven by sudden impulse when she was finished, Claire took the girl’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Now go and play.”

----------

“You know that you could speak English here, if you wanted to… don’t you?” She said this in French when Fergus had collapsed onto the blanket in the shade of a beach umbrella. Claire had watched him and Faith run ragged in the water and then work side-by-side on a sandcastle, and it was during that latter activity that the language barrier between the two had indeed turned into a barrier, with Fergus giving instructions in French to a blank-faced Faith and none of the work truly being done together.

Claire reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his face. Faith was nearby, still working steadily on a moat around their castle, but even if she heard them, there was a sense of privacy in speaking in French. “Frank was wrong for what he said to you. And none of our friends here would mock you for having an accent or saying the wrong words. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do know, Maman.” His voice was soft and unconvincing.

“I am happy to speak with you in whatever language you prefer, but even I know my French is atrocious.” That got a smile out of Fergus — yes, she did know her pronunciations were that terrible. “But you’ve never belittled me for it, and you still know what I’m saying to you just the same. And I don’t want you to… to not have certain friendships in your life because of something that a very selfish person said to you.”

Fergus’s gaze turned contemplative, and he tilted his face up, staring at the underside of the umbrella, fingers laced together over his bare stomach. She brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers and struggled to tamp down on the sudden swell of guilt that still had a foothold in her.

----------

“—Ye could hire more workers here is all I’m saying. The place seems to be doing just fine.”

Claire looked up from her breakfast as Jamie entered the dining room, Murtagh hot on his heels. Fergus had scarfed his food down already and gone out to the front with Faith and her chalk — some things didn’t require the ability to communicate, and the children were finding those spaces all on their own, in a way that made Claire’s tender heart ache to see.

“I don’t recall sharing the inn’s finances with ye,” Jamie shot back.

“I just mean that ye never take a moment’s rest for yerself, and ye dinnae need to be doing it all by yerself. I suspect ye can afford at least another staff person.”

“I have another staff person already — Hugh Monroe.”

Murtagh grunted at that, though what the noise was supposed to imply, Claire wasn’t sure. She dropped her gaze to her meal, unable to give them the privacy of not eavesdropping while they were conversing right in front of her, but the least she could do was make it seem like she wasn’t trying to listen in. “And what if ye wanted to take a day off every now and then, huh? Ye could go home and see yer family then.”

It was Jamie’s turn for a Scottish noise of displeasure, though Claire had far less trouble interpreting his frustration from that. “I’m no’ going to take time away from the inn in the middle of my busy season. Also, I dinnae recall ye being this much of a mother hen with either Willie or Rob,” Jamie said pointedly.

“Aye well I wasnae their godfather, was I? Just yours. Lot o’ good having Colum and Dougal for their godfathers did them, though, god rest their souls.” Claire couldn’t help looking up at that, and caught Murtagh crossing himself.

Jamie was stone-faced, and turned for the kitchen, disappearing through the swinging door that separated it from the dining area.

“Who are Willie and Rob?” she asked, and found Murtagh’s surprised gaze on her. She was rather sure her own surprise reflected back at him, that she had even asked the question out loud.

“He doesn’t talk about them?”

She shook her head.

Murtagh considered that with a quiet sigh. “His brothers. Willie was the oldest, then their sister Janet, then Jamie, and wee Rob was the youngest.” She had a suspicion, from seeing Jamie, that “Wee Rob” was more of an affectionate family name for the youngest, for surely any brother of Jamie couldn’t be small in stature.

“That’s a big family,” she murmured, a little dazed by the thought. It was only ever just her growing up.

“Aye,” Murtagh sighed, his expression darkening. “Then the three o’ them went to war, and only Jamie came back. Now it’s just him and Jenny.”

She sat with that news, feeling a cold damp fist around her heart. After all he went through at the hands of Jack Randall, and losing his entire unit, and then… his brothers, too. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’s no’ doing well, and I ken ye’re the only other person besides me who sees that.” Murtagh cleared his throat and straightened. “I’m his godfather, so I’ll always have his back, but he pushed everyone away when he came home, except for Faith. He willnae let me help him. But I think…” the older man raised one eyebrow, “he might let you.”

“And… you trust me to help him? You don’t even really know me.”

“Trust is a bit of a stretch, aye, but it’s plain on yer face that ye want to help him. So.”

Claire felt her face flush at those words, at being so thoroughly seen by someone who’d only been here a few days. “Jamie has been incredibly kind to me and my son. He’s… he’s been a very good friend.”

Murtagh grunted at that, though she couldn’t for the life of her sort out what he meant by that, either. “So, that’s why I told ye. And I have to go, he doesn’t want me hanging about much longer, but I trust… ye’ll keep an eye on him for me, aye?”

“Of course,” she found herself saying. Perhaps more startling to her was the realization that she had meant it.

He studied her intently for a moment and, finding something there in her face that reassured him, he nodded once and followed Jamie through the swinging door.

Murtagh left the next day, returning to Lallybroch, but their brief conversation in the dining room stayed with Claire long after the man had gone.

----------

“Claire!”

Someone pounded on her door, making her heart jump to her throat. She had just been to Fergus’s room to tuck him in for the night and was halfway out of her blouse, which she quickly began to shrug back into, trying to button it as fast as she could.

“Claire!”

More pounding.

It was Jamie’s urgent voice, and she swore under her breath as her fingers fumbled with the last two buttons. “Yes, I’m coming! I’m—”

She yanked open the door and took in the sight of Jamie looking more unraveled than she’d ever seen him before.

“Faith is sick. Please—She’s—she has a fever. Please come.”

She turned for her medical kit without a word, and by the time she returned to the threshold, Fergus stood in the doorway of his own room, peeking out in mild concern.

“Go back to bed. Stay in your room,” she told him, and followed a panic-stricken Jamie down the stairs.

#outlander #jamie x claire #fergus fraser #faith fraser #outlander fic #beside the seaside #my fic

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doctorhouse5343 · 7 months

Text

Fields Of Dandelions (Chapter 1)

The door slammed open as a teary eyed Dream ran into his room, throwing all of his clothes and belongings in a suitcase while trying to calm his racing heart as he glanced nervously behind himself. His hands kept shaking as he tried to steady his breathing, giving up on trying to fold his trousers and shirts. There would be plenty of time for it later, right now the main priority was to make sure that he had everything necessary. Dream shut his suitcase closed with a shaky sigh, taking a look at his surroundings one last time before discreetly walking out of the room, making sure to not make a sound as he made his way down the hall. The laughter that came out of the study made him clench his teeth in rage as he walked at a faster pace, determined to get out of this hell that he once called a home.

The minute that he was outside of the family estate, he ran for the train station, not once stopping until he had arrived at his destination. It was only after after purchasing his ticket and , after waiting, sitting in the train that would take him to a safer haven that the ravenette allowed himself to cry. Dream Endless' life was perfect stable, until Roderick Burgess came along and twisted it with his machinations and schemes

From the first encounter the older gentleman seemed sinister, always trying to get too close for comfort to the third eldest of the Endless siblings, going as far as to feel him up a few times. Dream had to refrain from backhanding him during those times, afterall he was an 'esteemed guest and therefore must be treated with respect' so he held his tongue and remained courteous towards the man. Burgess' visits then started to happen more frequently and soon he began to ask a lot of questions about the younger man's love life, which raised a lot of red flags about the nature of the cordial relationship his parents had with Roderick (his parents weren't great so it wasn't out of the ordinary for them to get along with bad folks but he sensed that there had to be an ulterior motive). Dream's hands shook as he tried to still them by holding on to his knees, remembering what he overheard in Time's study. "Your son Dream is quite a lovely lad, it's a shame that he has such a...fierce temperament" Roderick Burgess said, with that sickening smile on his face as he took a sip of his wine. The hum of appreciation that he did after brought a nod from Time as he folded his arms "He always was like this, refusing to behave correctly and abide to the simplest rules. Every suitor we introduced to, he lashed them with his sharp tongue, reducing them to pathetic worms" He gritted his teeth, a scowl on his face as he went on "He is nothing but a disappointment to the noble Endless name"

Night chuckled in amusement as she stroked her husband's arm to ease his fury, giving the gentleman seated in front of them a sugary smile "I heard that your eldest son Randall is doing quite well for himself, does he have any suitors throwing themselves at his feet?" She asked, leaning forward as she cradled the wine glass in her hand. Roderick smiled "No, he is quite single. Which is precisely why I am here" He pulled out an envelope out of his suit-jacket and placed it on the table "This is payment in exchange for your son to marry my Randall. I am quite sure that he'd adore him plenty, I know I do". Time and Night both looked at eachother, pondering for a moment the money was tempting but the possibility of getting rid of the ungrateful son that had been a thorn in their sides since the day that he was born was what made them say "We accept your proposal, Roderick. We will have Dream prepared for his wedding very soon" They then celebrated with more wine, not aware that their son heard everything and was making his escape. The pretty goth took a deep breath and shook his head to shake the thoughts of what happened, turning his attention to the window to admire the view outside. The landscape soon calmed him down and he soon drifted into a well needed, dreamless sleep.

It was a beautiful sunny day at The White Horse farm, the sheep were bleating happily, the chickens were pecking away at the ground while the farmer that took care of them was sipping a glass of lemonade with an axe at his side. He wiped off the sweat from his brow, a relaxed smile on his face as he stared at the sky. Hobo Heart had been a farmer since the day he reached the tender age of 18, it was a life that he loved dearly : he'd wake up early to the sound of Ricardo, his beloved rooster, croaking at the sun to start up his morning of tending to every chore and tasks, sometimes he'd go in the town for a bit to buy seeds for his farm. His presence there was rarely a welcome one, his appearance scared many of the locals due to how dead he seemed : his skin was blackish grey with a white full-body tattoo of a skeleton that started as a half skull on his face before going all down his neck, fingers, chest, legs and toes (yes, he went full-body with it), white hair that kept going into his eyes that were a shade of blue that unsettled them the most. They swore that the minute that the farmer looked at them, they could feel their souls being forced out of them and only when he turned away did it stop. He paid no mind to them, preferring the company of a lovely old lady named Hettie, who always made jam out of the berries he'd give her on his trips. She also would give a lot of casseroles and the likes, insisting that he needed 'more meat on those bones of yours boy, you are about to be a real corpse!'. An amused smile tugged at his lips as he thought about her, she truly was a lovely woman "I should visit her more often..What do you think, Mathilda?" He asked the sheep, who was walking past him. She only gave a bleat in response as she went on her merry way, getting a chuckle out of the farmer as he grabbed a stool and went over to the barn were his special someone resided in "Sugar plum!" He called out "It's time for yo-" He didn't have the time to finish his sentence until he was tackled to the ground by his cow, who soon covered his neck with kisses

"Hello, Hob" The white haired male said fondly as he ran his fingers through the cow's soft brown hair, kissing his floppy ears a bit before smiling at the sight of those gorgeous brown eyes peering at him "Missed you" Hob whined, rubbing his face in the crook of his beloved's neck. He took a deep inhale, he loved the way his love smelled : lavender and sunlight, he smiled more as he felt the cold lips of the farmer press a kiss between his horns "I know Hob, I know..I am sorry that I didn't came sooner" He muttered as he continued to press gentle kisses until the cow got off of him and sat down on his own stool, face flushed as he waited for the milking to begin. His chest felt so full and heavy, it was getting uncomfortable but he refused to do it himself. Hobo Heart soon sat down in front of Hob, his hand gently touching the bovine hybrid's chest, earning a stifled whimper out of the latter "I'm here, I'm here" He soothed as he began to milk the cow's chest, pressing and rubbing while balancing a bucket on his thighs, muttering sweet words as he looked at his sweet cow's flushed face. After it was done, Hob brought Hobo Heart in a passionate kiss, holding the farmer very close to him as if he was afraid that he'd turn into dust if he didn't. "I wonder if we will get an applicant for the job soon" The white haired farmer's comment brought a frown to the cow's face, prompting him to nibble at his neck "Do we really need a farm hand? Can't we just ask Mervyn to help out?" He whined, despite already knowing why it wasn't possible : the gardener's back wasn't doing so well lately and he knew how much his lover would blame himself if something happened so he went on "What about Johanna?" The suggestion brought a laugh out of Hobo Heart, a sound that the brown haired beauty fell in love with the day that he first heard it "She had a croaky voice for a week after challenging Ricardo to a death metal match, she won't take care of the farm even if we paid her a lot of money. Besides", he pressed a kiss on Hob's stubbly chin,"We need all the help we can get" He ran his hands through the cow's chest hair, earning a blush from him as he finally agreed. The farmer pressed another kiss to his forehead before heading off to the wheat field to see the ravens that frequently visited that spot.

Meanwhile Dream was getting settled in his new place in the country side, the place was small and cozy, it was just what he needed. The only thing that he needed now was to ask question's about the location mentioned in the job advert he saw in the newspaper, it caught his eye immediately due to how he was looking for a job to sustain himself in his new life. So he began to ask the locals but to no avail : no one wanted to give him directions to the location of the farm. Just as he was about to get annoyed at someone that kept asking him to reconsider, a small old lady walked up to him "So you are looking for The White Horse farm, heh? Go down the dirt path to your right, turn left and you will see it, boy" She then leaned in "Don't believe all the nonsense that they say, boy. They're all a bunch of ninnies". He thanked her and soon went down the direction that she pointed to, he soon arrived at the location :the farm was quite charming in it's simplicity and seemed well maintained, the animals were quite happy and well fed. He took in his surroundings before walking around in the hopes of finding the farmer so far it seemed like he wasn't there. The dark haired male frowned as he stopped in the wheat field, staring at what seemed to be a scarecrow with ravens perched on it's shoulders. Just as he was about to take a closer look, the 'scarecrow' lifted up it's head to look at him "Can I help you with anything?" The not scarecrow asked, startling Dream as he stared at the half-skull tattoo on the male's face. He took a bit to calm down before answering "Yes, I was looking for the farmer. It's about the farm hand job, I would like to apply for it"

The farmer tilted his head to the side as the ravens flew away "I am the farmer. My name is Hobo Heart, pleased to meet you" He extended his hand for a shake, which Dream did but to his surprise the hand felt cold and bony. After the introductions were made, the farmer took the city boy on a tour around the farm, explaining each of his tasks as they went along. "This is Gertrude, the nicest chicken of the bunch" He pointed at a brown chicken, clucking near the coop. He then introduced him to the sheep, pointed out the one named Mathilda before moving on to the rooster named Ricardo "I put death metal music for him a lot, it calms him down and makes him quite happy" Dream nodded, giving up on trying to decipher anything over the guttural screaming of the lyrics "Are there any cows?" He asked after a moment as they stopped walking. Hobo Heart looked at him "We do have one" He then turned around and called out as loud as he could "Sugar cube!". Not long after, the clattering of a bell could be heard as the farmer was suddenly knocked off his feet, a rather odd laugh leaving his lips as he was kissed all over by the cow. "Hob, please!" Hobo Heart laughed in protest, lifting up the cow's head. Dream's heart fluttered at the sight of the bovine hybrid : beautiful brown eyes, soft looking hair that matched the eyes, tanned skin, the cutest floppy ears and two small white horns peeking out of his hair. The cow's smile is what doomed him, it was so soft and gentle "You must be the new farm hand, I'm Hob! "I'll be helping you from time to time" That voice turned the city boy's knees into jelly as he sputtered a reply "I am Dream Endless, it will be an honor to have you help me"

The cow smiled even more, his tail swishing happily as he got off the farmer before getting close to him "That's a beautiful name, it suits you" He said as he leaned into Dream's hand, mooing in joy as the male petted him between the horns, his hair was very soft. The pretty goth looked at him with a smile before turning his attention to the farmer, to his surprise he was also smiling. It was a smile that lit up his features, making him look less fearsome than how he first saw him "You can take the time to relax in the meantime, you'll start tomorrow" Hobo Heart explained to him before walking off, leaving the pair to enjoy eachother's company. For the first time in his life, Dream felt safe and happy, feeling right at home in this farm

#fields of dandelions au #farm hand! dream #cow hob gadling #farmer! hobo heart #farm hand! dream x cow!hob x farmer! hobo heart #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #spooky throuple #cow!hob #cw lactation #cw hybrids #cw male lactation #hobo heart

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coffeeandmagicaltales · 9 months

Text

The Auror & The Devil part 9

(FLUFF, cozy, nothing really happens, grab your tea/coffee & enjoy) MCxAESOP SHARP

The August sun has been rarely seen lately from behind the foggy curtain; most of the Highlands were shrouded in stormy clouds and mist.

Aesop wasn't sure if it was drizzling or if he had entered a tangle of fog, hiding under his umbrella as he walked slowly along the muddy road, supporting himself with a cane.

He was in an area mostly inhabited by Muggles and preferred not to attract attention with a transparent, enchanted umbrella. He stopped for a moment at a crossroads, checking which way he should turn. A black carriage passed by, pulled by horses.

"Lost, sir?" shouted the driver, an old man with a bushy beard, but Aesop denied it, cursing his pride silently. He knew where he was ten minutes ago, and in that time, much had changed.

"Just a moment!" he called, changing his mind, and the stranger stopped the horses. "I'm looking for Marcus Dimm's brewery... Do you know it?"

"Oh, certainly, it's not far. Please, have a seat next to me, I'll give you a ride, but just a short distance, as the brewery is not exactly on my way... Billy Sommerset, at your service."

"Aesop Sharp," he mumbled, grabbing the extended hand. Billy pulled him up, and Aesop clumsily climbed the steps and finally took his seat, silently thanking himself for putting pride into his colorful socks. After a moment, the whip cracked, and the horses started moving.

"It's easy to get lost here, and you, sir, seem not from around here at first glance. I don't recognize the name either... I've seen similar ones on people who recently returned from Africa, have you been there maybe?" Billy tapped his cheek with his finger and glanced at Sharp, intrigued by his scar.

"I'd rather not talk about it..." he answered wisely, having no idea what Sommerset was talking about, and lapsed into silence.

"Well, terrible what happened to our folks under Congella... My neighbor, a young lad, didn't come back. We live in strange times... I've been a witness to too many untimely deaths lately, it's a bad omen... I feel in my bones that something bad is brewing, not that I'm a pessimist... Every moment there's some trouble, they fight somewhere, and they keep inventing worse weapons for war..."

"I guess that's the price of progress..." Aesop confessed with a heavy heart, frowning. "In the wrong hands, it becomes a curse."

"True words..." the man muttered, nodding. "I see you're your own man, Sharp, and I'll tell you in secret, I don't understand this notion that someone deserves something more than someone else because they have a different skin tone or were born in a prettier house... In the end, I take them all on a ride..."

He gestured with his head towards the inside of the carriage. Sharp only now noticed that behind the black curtains, there was a coffin jumping happily on every stone. He felt very uncomfortable, and regretted looking back.

"Old Dimm has been sick lately too..." Billy confessed with sadness. "Morana, his adopted daughter, is doing her best to help him... She's a good girl, a woman to be precise, I don't believe she's 16." Sharp twitched at the sound of the familiar name and felt a pleasant warmth growing inside him. He straightened up in his seat and suppressed a smile. "...Well, she's strange, I can say, and I'm almost certain she's a witch."

"Oh, really?" Sharp pretended to be surprised, focusing all his strong will on not bursting into laughter. Billy nodded, wiped his nose with a checkered handkerchief, and continued.

"You have no idea... A real she-devil. A black cat circles around her, and lately, she brought a sick horse home... I don't know, I don't know... A peculiar beast, heh, no one believes me because no one supposedly saw it, as if it was invisible... Don't be scared when you see it... Here, have some garlic, just in case..."

Suddenly, a clove of garlic appeared in Aesop's hand. He didn't know exactly what to do with it, so he thanked and promised to use it, putting it in his pocket. The rattle of the wheels soon stopped, and they halted at a crossroads.

"I'm turning right," Billy announced and helped Sharp get down, then glanced at his pocket watch. "Almost noon... In a few minutes, Morana should be passing through here. I saw her going to town in the morning; she'll be coming back this way soon. If you tell her you have business with Marcus, she'll surely take you with her. Nice to meet you, Sharp, and I don't say see you soon!" Billy burst into a ridiculous laughter, revealing his missing teeth, nodded, grabbing the brim of his hat, and tugged the reins, signaling the horses to move.

"Likewise, Sommerset." Aesop nodded appreciatively at the gravedigger's dark humor and, leaning against a road sign, watched the carriage go. Waiting for a few minutes didn't seem like a bad prospect, especially since it had stopped drizzling... Well, at least in theory, a few minutes were bearable, but suddenly it started to feel unbearably long, and Sharp, out of impatience, limped back and forth. His thoughts circled solely around Morana... Nervously, he ran his hand through his hair and adjusted his tie. He wasn't sure if meeting her was a good idea. After all, she proposed it herself, but there was nothing stopping him from politely refusing, which he didn't. At that time, it seemed like a pretty good idea and a distraction from the lack of activity during the day... Now, however, he was afraid he might be bothering her... Visits from an acquaintance were probably the last thing the Dimms wanted now, especially her. After all, in a way, she was at work, busy with brewery matters, family...

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?"

His heart pounded harder; the sound of hooves and the rattle of wheels mixed with a singing voice he knew so well.

"Morana," he whispered, but the smile faded from his face, and each subsequent word of the refrain pierced his heart like a thorn.

"Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme..."

He remembered when he last heard those words. A small cart emerged from behind the hill with a few barrels, pulled by a Shetland pony and its accompanying thestral, its wings masked by a blanket.

"Remember me to one who lives there, for once he was a true love of..."

She fell silent upon seeing Aesop, and he could see from afar how her face lit up with a pearly smile. She raced the horses and sharply halted near him. She loved dramatic entrances.

"Hi," she said quickly, catching her breath, and the smile didn't leave her face as she jumped down and shook the mud clumps off her worn dress. Taking Aesop's umbrella and cane, she tossed them somewhere between the barrels. In the meantime, Sharp patted Hranolka's neck, who demanded affection once she recognized him. Mora grabbed his arm and helped him climb onto the seat.

"Good to see you..." He whispered, and as they set off, he began to tell her about how he got lost and encountered the gravedigger, asking Mora for details about the war Sommerset mentioned, taking every opportunity to sneak a glance at her. Her appearance was slightly different from what he was accustomed to, and he wanted to examine her and not wanting to embarrass her by his stare at the same time. The nightsky of a thousand freckles on her sun-kissed face had increased by several dozen, forming constellations unknown to him. The makeup was also a novelty; her style seemed to deviate from the fashion of subtle colors accepted in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Hmm... However, upon reflection, he immediately concluded that the dark, almost autumnal colors on her eyelids, along with the black, thick lines ending with a sharp edge, suited her excellently and reflected her character. Just like the golden earrings she didn't wear at school but now twinkled on the lobes and petals of her ears. He smiled at the sight of the golden star in her nose, which he noticed only when she rubbed it with delicate fingers adorned with numerous rings, as a stray strand escaped from her bun and tickled her. She always seemed modest to him, but here she was: earrings, a Deathly Hallows-themed necklace, jingling bracelets... He was quite surprised, but what could he expect - she was an adult woman, and she probably bought quite expensive jewelry with the money she earned selling ingredients collected during her escapades. Some of the earrings looked almost like goblin work, which immediately intrigued him, and he tried to remember to ask about them someday. Yes, she looked "different," but she was herself; every little movement and gaze of her blue eyes was familiar to him. And her terrible, charming laughter when he showed her the garlic from Billy... He understood how much he missed it... Missed her.

"You won't really satisfy yourself with garlic..." he mumbled upon hearing the rumbling in her stomach and handed her a cupcake wrapped in fabric, which was almost immediately unpacked by her and entirely stuffed into her mouth. He knew perfectly well that, as usual, she left without breakfast, and then didn't have time for it. "Slow down..." he laughed. "Thanks Salazar, I also made a few for the Dimms... Well, to be honest I feel a bit awkward coming at not the best moment..."

"Few people visit them lately; they will be happy." Mora assured him, speaking with a mouthful and placing her hand on his forearm. "Mr. Dimm feels a bit better, but he has to rest..."

"Wiggenweld potion probably did its job..." Sharp mumbled, looking at her askance, and she blushed. "I'm sure you gave it to him because, from what you wrote to me a week ago, he wasn't doing well. In a way... you did the right thing, but I don't want you to have trouble with the Ministry because of it. It believes that Muggles should be treated by doctors, not us... Ugh, don't look at me like that; I don't agree with everything they come up with, I'm just telling you the rules in the wizarding world."

"I added few drops to his tea, no one saw." she muttered, rolling her eyes and blushing.

"It would be right to ask him first if he agrees to alternative treatment. You probably wouldn't want me to dose you with my elixirs without your knowledge, even if they were supposed to help you..."

"Hmm, let me remind you the bottle of liquor they agreed to anything after one drink..." she nudged Sharp's side with her elbow, who nervously cleared his throat.

"Well... I just brewed it... Fig used it."

Morana laughed upon hearing his awkward attempt to explain himself. After a while, however, she became serious and admitted very quietly, "You're right... Next time, I'll ask for their permission, but I panicked... The fever didn't want to go away... Besides, they don't quite understand who I am; I don't want to scare them..."

"Did you talk to them about it?"

"I tried..."

Aesop raised an eyebrow.

"No, you didn't." he summed up, which deep down annoyed Mora but at the same time gave her a strange pleasure. The smirk, which slightly lifted the corners of his mouth, and the peculiar, sly look from under his dark lashes, which literally read her like an open book, disarmed and confused her. She liked the feeling caused by his intelligence and sharp wit.

It felt like she had said goodbye to him yesterday... It was over a month ago. Only a week and a half ago, she received a letter from him informing her about his small investigation and wanting to summarize what he had learned so far. She suggested a meeting, and they agreed on a date that suited both of them. Nothing special. Just a meeting. But no visit from her friends flooded her with such a sense of calm and comfort. She always stressed about someone's visits, wanted to make the best impression, and sometimes, wanting to please everyone (as was the case with Ominis, where butterflies in her stomach flew like possessed, turning her mind into jelly), she overdid it, which always ended with burnt cake or spilled drinks. Aesop Sharp made all her fears take a break, and they seemed to go for a beer to Sirona, leaving her alone with him and his extraordinary gentleness. The sun had slightly burned his nose and bony cheeks, which now had the color of beet soup. She had the impression that he must have dozed off somewhere in the shade recently, probably dreaming of fluffy nifflers, and during that time, the sun had peeked out from hiding and maliciously turned him red... Occasionally, he unconsciously rubbed the itchy skin with his hand. She found it amusing how his pale complexion quickly surrendered to the unusually warm summer. His British soul must have sighed in relief because it had been raining almost non-stop for a few days. Adorable.

"Poor, silly Aesop," she thought, smiling broadly. There was something different about him than usual. Maybe it was the grumpy grimace that had completely disappeared from his face along with the shadows under his eyes. He must have rested quite well, and it seemed to suit him, as he appeared more relaxed; his muscles weren't tense, as if he expected some apocalypse triggered by Garreth at any moment, and his sunken cheeks gained a bit more substance. At school, he ate fairly normally, and when he had too much work, Morana (not seeing him at the Faculty Table) would come to his class to remind him about dinner. Hmmm, sometimes he got so absorbed in his work, wanting to finish checking hundreds of essays on time, that he forgot about his hunger. When he told students that their papers would be returned the next week, it had to be the next week, and nothing could change that because he always kept his word, honorably, as a Slytherin... although, it often turned against him. Morana felt a bit sad, remembering how, towards the end of the semester, he panicked when he lost someone's essay and couldn't find it. They both searched for it for several hours, and only when he casted Levioso on one of the potion-making stations, and Morana crawled under it, did she find the mischievous parchment. It was supposed to be checked the next day, and her assurance that nothing would happen if he told the student to wait one more day completely failed to convince Aesop.

"Submit... not on time?..." he said with a slightly trembling, frightened voice. "No, no, no, Mora, that's a bad idea... I can handle it; there are still 3 hours left..."

"... Until 8 in the morning," she interjected, frowning, raising black eyebrows, and squinting her eyes. His eyes involuntarily closed, and every few moments, he discreetly yawned. Morana could barely stand on her feet, and her tongue seemed to produce words created by her mind with a delay when presenting arguments for him to postpone work and go to sleep. However, he insisted, sat down to read, and that was the end of it. Frightened by the prospect of breaking his promise or maybe appearing as an incompetent teacher, this fear often kept him awake at night, that something would not be done on time, that he would explain something wrong, and as an expert, he should know everything. He tried to control everything, and he took each lesson very seriously, something that practically no one except Morana seemed to notice. Maybe stress was taking its toll, and despite a good diet, it consumed him from the inside. He always looked good, dressed in an immaculate suit that smelled of his cologne (she could almost locate him in the castle by following the trail in the air), well-groomed beard, and perfectly combed hair... and now he looked almost radiant... Could anything be the reason for this other than the vacation? Someone?

Their eyes met. Aesop smiled shyly.

"I wonder what you told them about me? That person coming to them today is... who? Santa?"

Morana cleared her throat.

"A teacher."

"Hmmm, wonder which subject? Arts and Crafts?" he sneered sarcastically, thinking his joke was successful. His large hands, his height, gloomy clothes, and a menacing expression were rather the opposite of his idea of a typical artist, whether Muggle or wizard – someone dressed in colorful patterns, covered in paint, contemplative, and ethereal.

"Well, you could be one; you have extraordinary talent," Morana replied in a thoughtful voice, regretting that she hadn't thought of it before, because his drawings and sculptures spoke for themselves. Aesop blushed at the sound of the compliment and withdrew into himself, regretting bringing up the subject. "... but I said you teach chemistry; it seems to be the closest to what you do."

"Merlin..." he muttered, rolling his eyes, preparing for what was probably going to be the most abstract conversation in his life. "It will be funny."

From behind the mane of golden fields shimmering on the hill, a small farm emerged near the oak grove, surrounded by picturesque hills. Twisting, rocky paths and low walls separated the fields where sheep grazed. The barn, built of grey stone and roofed with slate, had been converted into a brewery. Between the tiles, a not-too-high, smoking chimney protruded. Wide doors, through which cows must have entered in the past, were now flanked on both sides by barrels labeled with a red emblem reading "DIMM'S BREWERY Finest beer est. 1790." They extended along the wall under a small, long, angular cottage attached to it, whose right half had been converted into a stable for a pony and a small carriage.

Aesop sniffed, sensing the intoxicatingly sweet aroma in the air, which he deduced as malt, bringing to mind something between caramel and raw bread dough that his mom often made without magic. Wait a minute... he thought. He recognized that smell. Sometimes, that's how Morana's parchment smelled when she handed it in for assessment or even her clothes when she returned to school after a weekend spent at the Dimms'.

Morana, just beyond the gate with a sign that read "DIMM'S BREWERY Finest beer est. 1790," stopped the horses and helped Aesop dismount onto the slippery cobblestone surface that covered the entire courtyard. She immediately handed him a cane and an umbrella. The stable boys, having greeted them, started unpacking barrels marked with a red label reading "BUTTER BEER." Morana quickly detached the pony and rushed Hranolka to the stable. Aesop wondered whether the men could see the thestral or if they weren't entirely aware of her presence in the brewery. The pony trotted slowly behind the winged beast, and they quickly reached the feed. Morana unhooked their bridles, hanging them on a hook, and led Sharp towards the cottage.

The modest rural dwelling was very well-kept; the windows sparkled with cleanliness, flowers bloomed in pots, and bees and bumblebees buzzed around them when it stopped raining. The cobblestone was cleared of all weeds and unwanted leaves. Aesop rarely visited the Muggle world, but the only difference he saw for now was the lack of magical pruning shears trimming the flowers in the pots. He felt completely at ease and, for safety, tucked his wand deep into his sleeve, not wanting to feel too comfortable and reach for it in the company of Morana's adoptive family.

The woman shook the dust off her patched dress and confidently entered the house, giving Aesop a wide smile and a chin nod to follow her. Sharp felt a bit uneasy, which always accompanied him during meetings with people he didn't know at all. He wiped his sweaty hands on his coat, and leaning awkwardly to avoid hitting his forehead against one of the beams, he took an uncertain step inside. In the brightly colored light from the stained glass windows, the room was very cozy. Warm colors dominated, hand-knitted tablecloths and napkins, patchwork throws on sofas and armchairs arranged around a pleasantly glowing fireplace. The floor creaked crisply with each of his steps, mixing with the clinking of a wooden spoon hitting an enamel pot, which Mrs. Dimm, standing by the stove, was stirring, as Aesop deduced from the smell, a carrot soup. The only problem was the... very low ceiling. Sharp tilted his head unnaturally, fearing a too-close encounter between his forehead and one of the beams, and removed his coat, hanging it on the hook near the door. Seeing that Morana had taken off her shoes, he cursed under his breath that he had to wear his crazy socks today, his lucky ones with nifflers chasing after coins. Leaning against the wall, he dealt with his footwear, not wanting to expose himself to anyone's disapproval by not following the rules in this household, despite the knee that had been bothering him a bit more for the past few days.

Morana approached Mrs. Dimm and, gently touching her shoulder, whispered very quietly that Professor Aesop Sharp had arrived.

"Yes, I know, I heard you laughing from afar already," she replied in a whisper and, patting Morana's hand affectionately, turned towards the guest, removing her apron.

"Well, well, what a sense of hearing she got..." Aesop thought, greeting her and bowing low, observing how the face of the gray-haired woman with rosy cheeks suddenly brightened with a broad smile.

"Please come in, have a seat wherever you're comfortable, I'll be right there!" she gestured with her hand, indicating the living room area. "Mo, fetch some water and please make tea, you must be freezing!"

"Mo, how lovely..." Aesop smiled, hearing Morana being referred to with a term of endearment he would have never thought of. For a moment, he stood still, contemplating this, and how well it suited Morana, then, the clinking of a spoon, which Mrs. Dimm dropped by accident on the floor, snapped him out of his thoughts. Morana went to fetch water from the well, and Aesop hobbled to help the elderly woman left in the kitchen by picking up the lost utensil.

"Can I help you with anything?" he offered, handing her a spoon, which the woman grabbed quite awkwardly, intriguing him instantly. She looked in a slightly different direction than his face when assuring him that she had everything under control, and at that moment, Aesop was sure she bwas blind. For a split second, he felt sorry for her, but he had no intention of asking intrusive questions. Seizing this moment, he very quietly took a shrunken cupcake tin secured with fabric from his pocket and, with the discreetest wand movement he had ever performed, enlarged and heated it. The scent immediately intrigued Mrs. Dimm.

"I brought a little treat for you..." he mumbled shyly. His legs were trembling. Damn, he could have taken a sip of Felix Felicis, but of course, Aesop Sharp from the past considered it foolish.

"Oh, you didn't have to!" she smiled and, sliding her hand over the countertop, found an empty plate. "Could you arrange them? I'm afraid I might scatter them all over the room." she chuckled. "Please don't be afraid of me; just make yourself comfortable. I hear you're a bit... hmmm... nervous."

Aesop's lips tightened into a line, so thin it practically disappeared from his face. He fidgeted, trying to string together some sentences, but Mrs. Dimm found his arm in the air and, patting it affectionately, signaled him to take a comfortable seat and let her finish the soup, which was starting to bubble dangerously. Morana squeezed into the room carrying two buckets of water, and with a mischievous smile to Aesop, she began to brew tea. He sat sunk in a chair that was too soft and small for him, looking at the cupcakes on the plate before him or nervously glancing at Morana in search of rescue, as if he were expecting a conversation with Professor Black at the very least.

Finally, both women sat on the sofa opposite him. Morana handed him a teacup, carefully observing his trembling hand.

"Is everything okay?" her concerned look asked, and Aesop nodded.

"My husband is feeling a bit unwell today and is resting upstairs, I apologize that he couldn't come down to greet you..." Mrs. Dimm said quietly, and Aesop immediately assured her that it was no problem and apologized for intruding at such a moment.

Mrs. Dimm smiled broadly. "You have a truly beautiful voice," she confessed unexpectedly, immediately met with Morana's sharp look and a stern "tsk" that came out of her mouth, that which amused Aesop. The old woman completely ignored her and continued, "Only that accent... Hmmm... London? No, no... That's not it... Oxford, yes. You come from higher spheres, don't you, Mr. Sharp? It's rare to hear someone speak in a similar way around here... but... You don't behave like one of them; you know the local customs as if you've lived in the Highlands for some time." She took a sip of tea and reached for a cupcake, and a sly smile danced on her lips.

It surprised him that he found a resemblance to Morana in her... Some words lingered when she spoke, the specific manner of talking, wise words... The list of such details was undoubtedly long, and he couldn't wait to start discovering them all.

"I see you have a detective's soul," he confessed jokingly. "Yes, my father is from Oxford, and I spent many years working in London by his side. My entire childhood, on the other hand, with Mummy, right in those areas."

"I knew it!" Mrs. Dimm exclaimed, almost spilling her tea, pleased with her deduction. "I love listening to detective novels; I have a whole little library, and I always dreamed of becoming an officer..." Aesop glanced towards a sizable bookcase, its shelves bent from an excess of literature. "Unfortunately... I was born blind, and a career at Scotland Yard was quickly knocked out of my head."

"Well..." Aesop cleared his throat, feeling that she might be impressed, even though he didn't quite know what Scotland Yard was. "I was a detective for almost fifteen years..."

Mrs. Dimm took in a large amount of air, and Aesop had the impression that she would start squeaking in delight any moment now. However, she composed herself and turned to Morana.

"Darling, why didn't you tell me about it earlier?"

"Mrs. Dimm, Professor Sharp needs some rest, and you probably wouldn't want him to come and tell stories all the time." Morana laughed, giving Aesop a meaningful look.

"Well, it probably would be like that..." she admitted with a sad smile, fidgeting with her legs like an impatient child. "Mo only told me that you ended your previous job, which you genuinely loved, earlier due to an accident. She didn't specify what happened, but I heard that you limp, and it's probably the result of what happened... It must have been a difficult decision... But well, life writes various scenarios... Unexpected... Often it takes away the dreams we want to give us what we need."

Mrs. Dimm's words touched Aesop deeply.

"I'm not surprised that Morana is so brilliant since she's under your care," he confessed quietly, with a soft voice, looking at Mora, who blushed and lowered her gaze.

"Hmmm..." Mrs. Dimm smiled, and her thoughts drifted towards memories. She adjusted herself on the sofa and took a sip of tea. "I don't know much about your past, but there's something in you that makes me think I can share our story... Morana is quite reserved towards people, but the way she speaks of you and trusts you... suggests to me that I can add a few details to the story known to everyone in the area... Many years we tried for a child with my husband, and when we finally succeeded and the baby came into the world... we only managed to give it a name before letting it go in our arms. I couldn't recover for a long time, and the fact that Marcus had to work, often traveling, did not help. But eventually, time healed our wounds... And so we immersed ourselves in everyday life, which didn't mean we weren't happy; on the contrary... But one day, the mailman brought me a letter in which Marcus chaotically wrote about a girl sleeping in a pile of hops between our barrels... We immediately decided to take her in, even though we were advised against it, told that she was a little witch, a devil, that there were many 'well-behaved' girls we could adopt... Ugh, as if adoption were a market, monstrous. We saw it as a sign, as magic. Little Mo had a spirited character and reminded me of myself from childhood." Aesop watched Morana closely, who looked in a different direction, and her face was covered in shadows. It was evident that she felt uncomfortable, as if someone were talking about someone else entirely, not about her. Suddenly, she stood up, announcing that she would take the soup to Mr. Dimm, slipped out of the room.

Mrs. Dimm, hearing the creak of the chair, gestured with her hand for Aesop not to stop her and sat down.

"Stubborn, always covered in mud, and seeking adventures." she continued in a calm voice. "We never prohibited her from doing what she loved, and even though she disappeared for a few days, she always returned to us with spruce branches in her hair, a few bruises, and sometimes even a knocked-out milk tooth. I forbade Marcus from punishing her because it worked the opposite of intentions... I know because I experienced it firsthand when my father often whipped me with a belt... And yet, I ran away even more, which might seem strange given my disability, but I always found a way to navigate the terrain and reach my goal... Anyway, my father was definitely someone I didn't want to be for Morana..."

"I know something about that..." Aesop interjected quietly. "My father didn't spare the belt and cane on me, which was one of the main reasons my mother left him. I know his raised voice and often his fist were a sign of his helplessness and stupidity... As is any violence against the weaker ones."

"Hmmm... I'm glad Morana found someone on her level... Although I've met all her friends and think they're wonderful, especially Mr. Gaunt, with whom I have a lot in common... They're still children and look at many things differently than Morana, or don't think about them at all. I knew there was something special about you because Morana didn't talk much about you, unlike practically everyone else. (Oh, dear, I even know what brush her headmaster uses to comb his beard.) Sometimes, she has many secrets, important mysteries."

"I rather doubt there's anything special about me..." Sharp shrugged. "Except that I'm one of the less liked teachers at the school."

"Hmm, yet I haven't seen those more liked here... Except for that boorish professor... what was his name... ah, Fig! He had quite the audacity." She smiled very mysteriously and beckoned him to come closer. "Can I see you?" she asked, raising her hands slightly. Aesop agreed to the request and crawled out of his seat, sitting on the edge of the sofa and allowing the old woman to touch his face. It was nothing new for him; Mr. Gaunt had also recognized his face in this manner when he started at Hogwarts, and all the teachers were asked to do so. Mrs. Dimm's wrinkled hands' touch was very delicate, maternal. "It might sound strange, but after hearing your voice somewhere near the ceiling, I assume you're quite tall."

Aesop laughed. "Thanks to my mum. We both walk with our heads in the clouds."

Mrs. Dimm chuckled and asked about the color of his hair, beard, eyes, to which he replied in detail, not hiding the fact that most of his beard was gray.

"I've never seen colors in my life, but I like their sound, like brown or blue. I don't like the word yellow or blonde..." She stopped when her fingers found his scar. She became serious, and her hands left his face. "Oh yes... True kindred spirit... I think I understand everything now..." she whispered very mysteriously.

What's on her mind? Her eyes covered with a veil seemed to see much more than others, observing. Suddenly, Aesop felt a bit like when he was with Morana, like a Muggle wanting to shout "WITCH!", feeling that she had abilities beyond his understanding...

"I think I've confused you a bit, I apologize; I can be very blunt..."

"You're definitely very mysterious." he admitted, suppressing laughter, and returned to his seat. Now he was not at all surprised that Fig had trouble gaining their trust, assuming that simple people, Muggles, would be less cunning than him.

Morana from the upper floor could barely catch snippets of their conversation, occasionally interrupted by the louder whistling of the wind dancing around the chimney. Every now and then, she tenderly handed Mr. Dimm a spoonful of carrot soup as he finished the previous one.

He looked much better. Seated in bed, propped up by several pillows, covered with a blanket, he could endure this position a bit longer than yesterday. He was still pale, but his skin was regaining color. Today, he even read for a while, which Morana considered a significant success. And he ate with appetite. When the bowl was empty, and Morana placed it on the bedside table, Mr. Dimm adjusted his cap, which he wore even indoors, fearing drafts, and took a deep breath, as if contemplating what he was about to say.

"I think it's a good time to discuss something with you, Mora," he confessed quietly. "In some time, the brewery and the farm will be yours, so I thought it would be best if you take over some of my responsibilities during the summer holidays this year... Of course, you can do whatever you want with the brewery, but even if you decide to sell everything, the merchants won't appear immediately; it might take a year or two, and it's better if everything works to generate as much income as possible... Don't look at me like that; I don't plan to die soon, but I want you to be able to handle everything in case I'm gone and not drown in debts." He grumbled in a stern tone, seeing her frightened expression, and continued, "Lyra and I decided that this year you will go abroad on your own... You can take someone trustworthy with you because we don't want you to be completely alone. Not because we doubt your abilities, but because loneliness can be quite overwhelming. We have much to catch up due to my illness, and I was planning to cancel the trip entirely, but I think it's a good time for you to explore the market on your own. You know how to haggle, and you know which hops are the best; I wouldn't trust anyone else with this task... Well... What's that sad little expression of yours, Mo?" he asked gently, seeing the corners of her mouth turned down, and lightly touched her cheek. "Next year, when I feel better, I'll go with you, but I'll be more of a companion, and you'll already be the boss. I'll be able to enjoy Czech beer without worrying that I'm at work." He joked, lifting Morana's spirits a bit. She smiled and placed her hand on his.

The silence was interrupted by a timid knock on the door, and with Mr. Dimm's permission, Aesop entered the room.

"Oh, Mr. Sharp, nice to meet you!" the old man exclaimed. "Please, come in. I secretly hoped I'd manage to come downstairs, but I'm not strong enough yet."

Aesop entered the room cautiously to shake Mr. Dimm's hand and began to scrutinize all the details, hoping to find some typically "Muggle" extraordinary objects, which immediately brought disappointment. Fireplace, bed, armchair, rug... Meh... He thought.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Marcus shyly.

"Well, thank you; my two angels take care of me." He glanced proudly at Morana. "And sometimes they are overly protective because I can eat on my own; I don't need to be fed." He smiled at Aesop and, after a moment, asked with a serious tone, concern in his voice, "How is Mora doing at school? Has she skipped any classes?"

Sharp immediatelly thought about killed trolles and poachers turned to smithereens, oh and a dragon, but shook his head, and Mr. Dimm's eyes lit up with pride.

"She passed her exams very well, although her po..." He bit his tongue before saying "potions" and quickly sought a substitute word. "Potential in chemistry is significant; she just lacks patience."

"That's interesting! Lately, Morana has been weighing the beer, and Mrs. Sirona, our best customer, hasn't complained about a change in its taste... You see, the process is quite complicated, and one errant sneeze cuould be disastrous."

"I see that you're a man of culture," Sharp said, shooing Morana out of the armchair and sitting down, listening with interest to Mr. Dimm.

"Well at least when it comes to bear! I know everything about it. My family owned a network of breweries for years, but after the crisis, we had to sell everything and focus on this small one to stay on the market without going bankrupt due to excessive expenses. We chose quality over quantity, and it paid off. I've been working in it for as long as I can remember. Lyra, on the other hand, studied at home when she was little. She has aristocratic roots, but her father quickly brought the family business to ruin. I often saw him drunk when I was a delivery boy visiting their house with orders, and Lyra would throw frogs into my bottle crates... None of us could afford a proper school, so we're determined to give Mo a better start. I won't allow her to be at the mercy and whim of a husband, like the daughters of my industry colleagues! Hell, with her knowledge already, she's becoming quite the competition! Maybe you'll show Mr. Sharp around the brewery, huh? And I'll take a nap." He suggested, subtly indicating that he needed rest. Morana nodded. "Please, come by again someday, Mr. Sharp; we'll have a chat and enjoy some fresh beer." He winked at him, and Aesop gladly accepted the invitation.

Morana didn't say much as they said their goodbyes and headed to the brewery. She felt like she was hearing Aesop's voice from under the water surface; he summarized the visit, pleased with the meeting. She was absent, contemplating Mr. Dimm's words, worrying about his health.

Aesop caught snippets of their conversation as he cautiously climbed the narrow stone stairs, so now, seeing concern on Morana's face, he completely understood her and fell silent, allowing her thoughts to drift in silence. She needed a moment of calm to sort everything in her mind, and deep down, he regretted leading her to the brewery, to show him how it worked, which didn't matter much to him now...

They walked slowly, him leaning on his cane, admiring the extraordinary machinery, the vats of malt, the pleasant aroma, and the ease with which Morana operated the complex apparatus. All of this wasn't important to him at the moment. He saw pain in her eyes, and he wanted to interrupt her, to talk somewhere private, in a quiet place, to let her calm down... On the other hand, he didn't have the heart to silence her story about the creamy beer, which she spun with such passion, answering each of his questions meticulously. Torn, he waited, enjoying her words.

"Aesop..." she said softly, unexpectedly, when they stepped outside. He supported himself with a cane, leaning slightly, listenning her. "I need to talk to you."

"Hm?" he asked, looking deep into her sad eyes, seeing through them the words that tangled in her mind. She lowered her gaze, glancing at servants.

"Not here, I'll escort you to the Castle; I haven't been there in ages." Aesop nodded, and with a discreet wave of his wand, he toppled a few barrels deep into the brewery, immediately alerting the workers. When they disappeared from Sharp's view, he extended his arm towards Morana; she took it, and they disapparated with a loud snap.

They walked arm in arm on the muddy path leading towards the Castle. Morana breathed deeply, seeing the familiar sight she had missed from the abundance of responsibilities.

"I had such a nice day that I forgot why I came here at all." Aesop chuckled. Yes, His deep chuckle was also something she missed, and before she could turn her head towards him, he slipped a small book, about the size of a prayer book, into her tiny hand. The cover was enigmatic, adorned with black, rough leather. Morana turned it a few times in her hands, but she found no title on the covers or the spine. In the yellowed pages, someone, probably Aesop, inserted small bookmarks. The first page was titled "Faces of Curses," and the foreword explained that the book dealt with a scientific analysis of scars and wounds that curses, dark magic spells, potions, and dark artifacts could leave.

"It's not the most pleasant read... Wizards use it for investigating crime scenes... My friend wrote it some time ago, you could say I also contributed to its creation... I marked a few cases that might interest you..."

Morana followed the first bookmark and encountered a rather drastic photograph of someone's arm marked with a monstrous wound... curls resembling burns and a few longer lacerations that seemed familiar to her own scar after a few moments. The title read: "Case 156: Memory-altering spells, memory-erasing spells." Other cases, similarly marked by Sharp, were related to Obliviate-like spells. Others resembled scars that a young Thestral had; they were only labeled as "dark magic."

Morana took a deep breath wanting to share her plans, the thoughts that had been swirling in her head for a long time... And now, when the opportunity presented itself... She didn't have the courage to confess them to anyone, as she knew she couldn't solve many issues with those she knew. Except for a certain former Auror, a detective.

"In a week, I'm going to Nitra. I want to know what happened that day to me, but... I need help," she wrinkled her brows, angry at herself for imposing on Aesop, afraid he might think she was using him for her purposes, and he might not be up for it. She was a young student; he had his own life and was her teacher, not a friend... She shouldn't... "Of course, I'll understand if the answer is 'no'..."

Aesop fell into thought, somewhat surprised by the proposition of a joint journey. He felt as if an angel was sitting on one of his shoulders, explaining to him that "traveling with a young, unmarried woman almost begged for scandal"; on the other shoulder, the devil chanted, "Adventure, ADVENTURE, puzzles, investigation, AESOP, I know you love investigations." He swallowed hard. The angel continued about conventions, while the devil raised the strongest argument: "You know... It's uncertain what awaits her there... To what or WHO clues might lead her to... Are you sure the emotions accompanying her search for her mother and father won't drown her vigilance? If she fell into an ambush, who knows, maybe she could even... die."

"Well... In a week, we have a meeting at school, but... But maybe a day later, I could reach the Floo flame in Vienna; from there, it's not so far to Nitra, I suppose..." he spoke with a trembling voice, nervously rubbing his hands together when he hid his cane and umbrella in case of meeting with any student. "If you wait for me one day, I'd be happy to help you... if you want help, because, in the end, I don't know what kind of help you're expecting from me, but I guess I'd be more useful on the spot than sending owls..." he babbled, not entirely sure what he was saying. Suddenly, a small hand grasped his arm, and a pair of two shiny eyes reflecting the cloudy sky gazed at him.

"Thank you," she whispered, taking him under her arm. Her hand rested on his forearm, subconsciously squeezing her fingers on a pretty hard muscle she could sense from undeerneeth his cloak, as if seeking Aesop's support. She felt more confident walking beside him in this way, as if he represented solid ground in the ocean that often flooded her mind with negative thoughts, especially when she had no contact with him. Aesop initially stiffened, wanting to assure her that he could walk quite well on his own... but... Well, after a few steps, he felt warmth spreading around his heart, and a blissful smile spread across his lips.

The devil on his shoulder kept chanting: "ADVENTURE, ADVENTURE! "

End of part 9, thanks for reading!

#professor sharp #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy meme #aesop sharp x mc #hogwarts legacy oc #professor aesop sharp #aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp smut

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ambalambs · 3 months

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I finally finished this Miko fic and its a long one lol so I honestly don't expect anyone to read this. I just like having a place I can scroll through thats dedicated to my ocs so im just adding this to my little dragon hoard.

It was near midnight when Brynstan Lockett rose from his bed and made his way to the kitchen. This was a common habit of his. Despite his need to rise early in the morning and tend to his land, he somehow always found himself getting up at some point in need of a glass of water.

Or perhaps that was just the excuse he gave himself. Truth be told this habit didn't seem to really take hold until his eldest son had joined their family all those years ago. Brynstan would wake only to find himself checking on his children sleeping securely in their rooms as he made his way to the kitchen. There he would quench his parched throat, give one passing glance out the window, then make his way back to bed.

But on most nights not all his children would be in their bed. He often would find Miko absent from his. And as he glanced out that little window in the kitchen Brynstan would always find the boy sitting there on the front porch, alone and gazing off into the distance.

It would be much the same this night as Brynstan passed over his usual checks and instead made his way straight to the sink. He yawned deep as he rubbed the back of his neck and barely watching as the water filled his glass. As he brought the glass to his lips he paused, his gaze lifting towards the window before him and training onto the young man that now sat just outside.

For a moment surprise coursed through him as he nearly forgot Miko had returned home just that day. A short visit after such a grand adventure, he had said. It had been quite some time since Brynstan expected to see his son sitting just outside. The familiarity of it was almost jarring and an emotion rose up in his chest he had not anticipated.

There had been so many nights like this of seeing the young miqo'te boy sitting outside alone. Some nights Brynstan would join him and they'd sit and chat until he'd shoo the boy off to bed. Other nights he'd leave the boy be knowing he'd come inside when he was ready. The night was, after all, a Keeper of the Moon's time. But now at this moment, as Brynstan watched his eldest son in silence, memories of specific evenings passed through his mind. Memories of evenings that sitting with his son had held such significance in his life he knew some part of him had changed with each one.

---

The first night was of course different from the others. It just so happened to be the night they first found the lad. Well, he found them to be plain. It was a harsh winter that year and the snow was deep. This evening it was pushing near blizzard winds as the snow fell so Brynstan and his wife were keeping themselves warm inside. Brystan was standing by the window as he watched the snows, his mind already forming checklists for the morning. The chocobo in the barn would be kept warm enough but this cold wouldn't do their land well if it kept up.

His wife, Fiona, sat nearest to the fireplace mending some old shirt of his and humming as she stitched. They had just put their toddler to bed and the house was blessedly silent except the crackling of the flames and the deep roar of the steady winter winds. Fiona sighed heavily and paused her stitching as she placed a hand to her belly. Brynstan glanced at her and gave her a knowing smile as she looked up and met his eye and smiled back. Fiona then resumed her stitching and Brynstan turned back towards the window when something small and dark stumbling through the snow caught his eye. Brynstan froze. It was a small thing. An animal? No its gait was too much like a person. But so small? A fiend? Seemed passing strange for anything as beastly as a voidsent to pass through so close to their farm. Brynstan watched as the staggering form hugged its way against the wall of the barn, travel to the front of it, and then discreetly enter.

"There's something in the barn," Brynstan found himself saying aloud.

Fiona nearly jumped at his sudden declaration. "What? What do you mean?"

Brynstan quickly tore himself away from the window and headed for the door and grabbing his jacket and the lance he kept propped up on the wall beside it. He wasn't well trained in the art but it was a well enough weapon to wield if the situation called for it. A situation such as this.

"I'm going to check it out. You stay here."

Fiona had put down her stitching by now and was making to stand up when Brynstan held up a hand. "No, I meant it, you stay."

"The hells I will. What are you going to do out there on your own? What is it did you see?" She questioned as she tottered a moment trying to regain her balance.

"It's probably just some fox or something but I can't have it spooking the birds. I'll only be just a moment," he told her, though he hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. With that he pushed his way out the door. The wind was stronger than it looked and he stumbled a moment as he squinted against the snow. The snow was deep as he pushed through it and forcing a trail to the barn. He'd need to shovel tomorrow, he noted.

Once he got to the barn and quickly got inside, he rushed to light a lantern before whatever creature inside could make its move against him. Lantern in one hand, lance in the other, Brynstan held the light high and scanned the barn. All was quiet except the soft kwehs of the chocobo in their stalls. Strange, the birds didn't seem troubled by whatever visitor had intruded their abode. Brynstan slowly and cautiously made his way further in. He paused a moment listening and the chocobo next to him cooed as it pressed its beak against his cheek.

"Where'd it go, girl?" He asked in a hushed breath. Just then he heard a sniffle and some shuffling just up ahead in the shadows. His heart was racing as he made his way towards that sound now, brandishing the lance as best he could. There was more sniffling and Brynstan swallowed thickly as he slowly rounded the corner behind the last stall. He cursed his feet for crunching so loudly on the hay strewn about the ground as he lifted the lamp a bit higher to illuminate the dark corner. He froze when the light fell upon a small crouched and bundled figure pressing itself as tightly as it could into the corner. Bright yellow eyes fearfully stared back at him.

The two just stared at each other for a moment both too afraid to move until Brynstan's brain caught up with just what exactly he was staring at. The small figure was a child. A miqo'te child to be exact if the small pointed ears atop its head were any indication. The fear in Brynstan steadily began to subside as he stepped a little closer to the child.

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" He asked a bit harder than he intended. The child flinched and curled closer in on itself. Brynstan stopped immediately. As he took in the frightened thing he suddenly noticed the jacket and clothing they were bundled in was heavily stained in dark and dried blood. "Are you hurt? Where did you come from? Do you need some hel-"

"Bryn, what is it?" Fiona suddenly appeared beside him. Brynstan jumped and whirled around nearly catching her with the point of his lance.

"Seven Hells, Fiona!" He rasped. His heart was racing all over again. "Didn't I say!"

"You say many things, dear," Fiona teased.

"And do you ever listen?"

"Selectively," she grinned and then looked past him to the small child. Immediately her good humored smiled fell from her face and her eyes grew wide in horror. "Oh Bryn! They're just a child! They're freezing!" Quickly Fiona pushed past him and retrieved a clean blanket that was draped over the side of the stall. She slowly approached the small miqo'te as one would approach a frightened rabbit. The child squeaked and huddled as far into the corner away from her as they could, all the while shivering violently from the cold. Fiona shushed gently and reassured them they were safe. The child watched her closely with wide eyes but as she calmly coaxed them and showing them the blanket, the more the child seemed more inclined to ignore fear for the comforts of warmth. As they began to stretch out from their curled ball of a state, their face came more into view revealing their cold blue lips.

Brynstan crouched down beside his wife and set his lamp down between them. "The lad is nearly ice," he whispered.

Fiona nodded briefly. "Is that blood?" She whispered back. "There's so much of it, it cant be his do you think?"

"Couldn't be. We ought to get him inside though and make sure some of it isn't."

Slowly Fiona closed the final gap between her and the young boy. He flinched but relented as she wrapped the blanket around him. "Hush now you're safe now. It's alright," she softly whispered to the boy. He seemed to almost collapse against her then as exhaustion started to overtake him. His eyes fluttered a moment just as Fiona scooped him up into her arms. The two adults gave each other a look before making their way back to the house.

After some time Brynstan sat in an armchair, leaning forward, his elbows rested on his knees and hands folded in front of his mouth in thought. He watched Fiona sitting in front of the fire with the boy laying on the floor with her, bundled in blankets and his head resting on her lap and sound asleep. She gently brushed her fingers through his hair as she gazed down at him.

"We'll have to inform the Wood Wailers. If this was the work of Garleans they'll need to know," Brynstan reasoned. "Twelve, they never come this far into the wood."

Fiona didn't respond but kept watching the young boy.

"The Wailers will know what to do with him, too," he continued. "How far do you think he traveled on his own like that? To think there was a Keeper village so close."

Finally Fiona looked up at him. "We aren't just going to hand him over to the Wood Wailers."

Brynstan blinked at her dumbly. "What? But why not? Fio, what are we going to do with a Keeper child?"

"Come, Bryn! He's just a child! He hasn't even grown into his tail yet. I'm not about to let the Wailers drag him off to some orphanage in Gridania. A small thing like him they'd eat him alive," she said, a heavy and tired breath escaped her as she looked back towards the sleeping boy again. His lips were finally gaining back their color and his ears flicked lightly as he dreamed.

Brynstan tried to deny it but he could already see he was facing a losing battle when she spoke again, "Besides, he said his father would be coming for him. If we send him off that poor man may never find him."

"Do you really believe he's coming?" Brynstan asked, his clasped hands falling away from his face to rest on his knees. Fiona met his gaze then, her eyes wet with tears she fought to keep at bay. They stared at each other for a long moment then. Both knowing. Both accepting. No matter what came, this boy was now theirs.

---

The second night to come forth in Brynstan's memory happened nearly two months after finding Miko in the barn, and it was the first of the soon many nights he'd found Miko sitting outside. They had shared what information they could get from the boy with the Wood Wailers and, although not much had come of it, the vigilance of a patrol was comforting. At the very least the guard accepted Brynstan and Fiona's requests to leave the boy in their care, at least until his family came to claim him.

The boy in question, however, turned out to be incredibly helpful. Brynstan was surprised to admit it but the boy was a quick learner and eager to make himself useful. He spoke very little and had a shyness about him. Fiona seemed to have a way with him that Brynstan could not seem to master. So often he'd catch the boy's soft whispers or small smiles only in her company. Still though, they found it a trial to uncover the boy's name. A few days after he had begun staying with them their young son, Dustan, coined the name Miko for the lad which Brynstan was grateful for. Calling him "Boy" just felt too harsh on his lips when he'd try to order him about the small chores around the farm. Miko didn't seem to mind it, though, and quickly took to the nickname with ease. Even so far as to introduce himself to their newborn daughter with the name when she finally came.

Even then Miko had been an immense help that Brynstan had not expected. The boy seemed just a natural at being there at the right time to lend a hand for most anything he was capable of. Brynstan remembers several moments of Miko tending to the little girl all swaddled and soothed to sleep when the boy began to hum songs Brynstan didn't recognize. Each time he'd also catch Fiona watching them with such love in her eyes that Brynstan also couldn't help but begin to share the same affection.

And so it was on this particular evening that Brynstan had just taken his turn to change and calm the baby back to sleep and tuck her back into her cradle. He made his way to the kitchen as habit would carry him when a glance out the window he saw that familiar small, curled up figure of Miko. The man paused a moment, surprised and curious as to what would lead the boy to sit outside in the cold so late. He quickly grabbed a quilt off the sofa and made his way outside to join him.

Miko sat there, knees drawn up close to his chest, his arms wrapped around them and his face tucked close as if trying to keep his lips warm. The old barn cat sat curled up against his side but despite the warmth from the little creature Miko still shivered lightly. Brynstan made his way over and carefully wrapped the quilt around the boy even though he didn't seem to acknowledge his presence beyond a brief flick of an ear towards his direction. Brynstan then sat down next to him, carefully eyeing him with a curious look. Miko just kept staring off ahead of them and when Brynstan tried to follow his gaze it merely looked towards the treeline of the woods.

Brynstan looked back at him, "Can't sleep, huh? Something on your mind? You've seemed distracted all day." Which was true. There had been many times that day while tending to the chocobo Brynstan had to grab Miko's attention. The boy seemed lost in thought or zoning off towards the woods in a way he'd never done before. It made Brynstan worry.

The boy sniffled dryly and shrugged, still not removing his gaze from that treeline.

Brynstan sighed and reached out to give the barn cat a brief scratch behind the ears. "It's cold out here, y'know. If you need to talk about something you know you can talk to me, Miko. But I'd much rather we do it inside where you won't catch a cold."

Miko blinked and seemed to be thinking something over. His face squished against the top of his knees and he mumbled, "Rhaj'a."

Brynstan leaned in a bit towards him to catch his words easier. He hummed questioningly. "Rhaj'a? Is that your name, son?"

Miko gave a small nod and glanced nervously in Brynstan's direction. Brynstan gave him a small smile. "It's a nice name. Would you prefer we call you that from now on?"

Miko seemed to think for a moment but eventually shook his head his eyes dropping sadly. Brynstan then noticed there were tears beginning to brim up in the little boy's eyes and he was once again looking towards the woods.

After a moment Miko finally spoke again, his voice a small croak as he forced the words out. "He isn't coming. Is he?"

Brynstan's chest tightened then. "He" meaning Miko's father, it was obvious. And the way Miko asked it wasn't really a question but a need for confirmation. The grown up needed to tell him the fact. His small heart needing to accept it but unable to grasp the uncertainty of a loss with no proof. And what could Brynstan tell him? Not even he knew what could've happened to the man and who was to say he was either alive or dead. But it had been long enough now none of them could hope to expect the miracle to come.

Brynstan had dreaded this moment and half hoped the boy would've managed to move on and forget and remain content in this new home they made for him. But that was a cruel wish to hope for. So instead he sighed and softly said, "I'm sorry, Miko. I don't...I don't think so."

Miko's eyes squeezed shut then, the tears falling past his lashes as he buried his face further into his knees. Brynstan couldn't bear it then and reached out to him, holding him in a tight embrace. Miko cried softly into him but never made a sound but Brynstan knew right then and there as his heart broke for the boy that this boy was his. This was his home and the Twelve as his witness this boy was now and forever his family.

---

The third notable night happened during the second winter since Miko had joined the family. It was Starlight Eve and with it came a light dusting of snow. The day had been filled with preparations for the holiday festivities. Fiona had been baking up a storm and all three of the children had been a whirlwind of excitement. So much so they were put to bed early if only to give Brynstan and Fiona a moments reprieve for the evening before the next day.

But something in Brynstan seemed to spur him to staying up a bit later. As he glanced out the window to see the small miqo'te boy sitting outside, he realized he was expecting, no, hoping to find him out there this evening. The lad was bundled up in his jacket and a scarf wrapped messily round and round his neck. He seemed to be fiddling with something and it was holding his focus intensely. Brynstan snatched a couple of peppermint scones from the bin full of freshly made sweets for tomorrow and made his way out to join him.

Miko quickly looked up and beamed brightly at him as Brynstan stepped outside, carefully and quietly closing the door behind him. "Aah someone is too excited to sleep I gather," Byrnstan said as he sat down beside the boy.

"How could I not be? Aren't you excited too?" Miko exclaimed in a rush. Brynstan shushed him with a chuckle. He then held out one of the scones to him and Miko eyed it wearily. "Didn't Mother tell us all not to touch those until tomorrow?"

Brynstan paused mid bite into his own scone. "I shall incur her wrath should she take notice of a couple missing pastries," he shrugged. Miko giggled and gladly accepted the scone.

They had come to learn last season that Miko's village had never celebrated Starlight. Which wasn't much of a surprise in all honesty. After all, in what way would a Keeper of the Moon village come to inherit a holiday borne of Ishgardian origins. So the whole celebration had been quite the wonder to Miko that year. All the food and sweets, the songs and decorations, the gift giving. Brynstan had never taken much notice to it all when it had become such a common spectacle over his lifetime but to witness the boy experiencing it all for the first time truly ignited a festive spirit he hadn't expected in himself. So this year the boy had an idea what to expect and he had been absolutely buzzing with anticipation.

"So did you already finish writing your letter to nymeia?" Brynstan found himself asking.

Miko shook his head. "No, I couldn't decide what to put in it. Nor did I want Mother writing it for me. She's been teaching me the letters but its...difficult."

"That's fine, lad. The Starlight Sentinel shall still stand regardless. And there's always next year. Perhaps by then your penmanship will improve."

"I hope so," Miko grinned as he set aside his snack and continued to fiddle with the thing in his hands.

"What is it you've got there?" asked Brynstan, leaning forward ever so slightly as if it could help him see just what Miko seemed to have in his hands.

Miko didn't seem the least bit shy about it, however, and proudly held up his crude creation. It was made of pinecones and twigs and twine. Perhaps some leaves thrown in as well? It had the shape of a four-legged creature. To Brynstan's eye it looked almost like a misshapen cow. "It's Dalamud! Menphina's wolf!" Miko beamed. But then he frowned and lowered his creation back to his lap. "Or it was supposed to be. Turns out I'm not very good at this."

Brynstan laughed. "Well it's got a close enough likeness to it. But what brought on this creation so late?"

Miko sighed. "Well during the winter solstice all the kids in the village would make Dalamud figures and give them to each other. I never got to give any out before since none of the other kids would take mine. But I thought maybe this year I could give one to Dustan and Bayla and you and Mother! But I don't know when the solstice is..."

"So you thought to make them for Starlight?"

"Yup!" Miko beamed up at him. Brynstan smiled back despite the tug at his heart. It was good Miko was able to talk about the home he had lost. There were times he would even speak about his real mother and it wasn't shadowed by the sadness or loss. It relieved Brynstan that if anything, the boy wasn't being claimed by the grief.

"I think that's a brilliant idea, son," Brynstan told him as he gently bumped their shoulders together.

Miko giggled and turned back to stare at his creation. He then quickly held it out to him. "Did you want this one? Sorry it's ugly. I think I can do the next one better."

Brynstan held out a hand. "It would be my honor." Miko grinned and gently placed the makeshift wolf upon his palm. Then he reached back down to start munching on his neglected scone.

"We should really get you to bed, though. You don't want to be too tired for all the festivities tomorrow," Brynstan told him as he started to stand up.

Miko sighed and nodded. "Do you think those people who were doing all that singing last year will be doing that again?" He stared up at him with the biggest and brightest of eyes.

"The carolers? Oh I imagine they will. They tend to always have someone around town to sing something every year."

"Do you think I could join them? Or try to? I've been trying to learn some of the songs. Or maybe I could play the violin for them?" Miko asked in a rush as he hopped up to follow Brynstan inside.

Brynstan chuckled at his enthusiasm. "I'm sure there's no harm in asking. But for now I need you to scurry off to bed before we get caught red handed with the crumbs of these scones on our scarves." Miko laughed as quietly as he could at that and Brynstan gave the boy a soft nudge back inside the house.

---

The fourth night was not the most pleasant of memories. It was the one moment in Miko's young life he had ever expressed any form of teenage rebellion. Brynstan recalled that night with a grimace.

Miko had come of an age when most children in his village would have been welcomed to join in on the hunts. He had taken it upon himself to uphold that tradition and brought home a deer. He had looked so proud as he carried his burden back to the farm but Brynstan recalled now how quickly that bright familiar smile of his had died in an instant at their reaction. Gridanians had to follow strict rules of the wood, after all. To poach could incur the elementals wrath and Brynstan had been filled with instant worry for his family's safety the moment he laid eyes on that deer.

They had called upon the Wood Wailers to express their concern. Miko sat in silence at the dining table as the adults discussed. Brynstan could tell Fiona had tried to comfort the boy, to reassure him he wasn't in any real trouble, that they were just trying to be careful, but whether Miko was really accepting the matter was another thing entirely.

Now as Brynstan got up to check on his sleeping children as he did most nights, he came to Miko's room and found his bed empty. He could feel a twinge of frustration run through him at that. After everything that happened that day why couldn't the boy just stay in bed for one night. So he stomped his way to the front porch not even stopping to take a glance out the window to make sure Miko was even out there. There would be no mistaking where the boy would be. And as Brynstan burst through the front door there he was, once again sitting and hugging his knees and clutching an old scarf in his hand. He wasn't curled in on himself like he had done those few years ago but he looked prepped to pounce if he needed. His ears were pressed flat back against his head and his eyes stared daggers toward the treeline.

"Miko, what are you doing out here? You should be in bed," Brynstan sighed.

Miko pursed his lips and his grip on his scarf tightened, the tip of his tail flicked with agitation.

Brynstan let out another tired huff at the lack of response and moved to sit beside him. "Listen, son, we've already said what needed to be said. The day is done let's not dwell on it."

"I don't see what the big deal was. It was just one deer," Miko snapped.

"And one deer is all it could take to anger the elementals," Brynstan squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"The elementals have never bothered the Keepers," Miko pushed and leveled Brynstan with a glare.

And oh that look ignited a fire in the older man. Miko was never one to talk back and this sudden side of him was not something Brynstan expected nor thought he'd have to prepare to deal with, especially so soon. At least not with Miko. He assumed he'd get that lip from his other son.

"That may be so but this family is Gridanian, Miko. Whatever you do could affect this family and you have to think about that. The elementals do not discriminate. Man, woman, child, it matters not to them, they will spread the Greenwrath for even the smallest of harm to their woods. You could bring back a rabbit and they could curse this whole house. Even your brother and sister. Is that something you want?" Brynstan fumed, gesturing to the house behind them.

"Of course not!" Miko cried, his voice cracking slightly. His nose was beginning to flush as frustrated tears started building up in his eyes. He quickly looked away from Brynstan and trained his eyes back on the forest again, his grip on the scarf in his hand turning his knuckles white.

Brynstan paused realizing just how harsh his response had been. The lad didn't deserve that. But gods, Brynstan was afraid. He sighed then trying to calm himself as he ran a hand through his hair. "Listen, son-"

"Yeah Son," Miko scoffed and immediately the pair of them froze. Miko's eyes grew wide as if he had shocked even himself with the outburst.

Brynstan felt as if the boy may as well have just slapped him. "Yes. Son. None of this has anything to do with that. You belong here. If your mother or I have done anything to make you feel otherwise-" he paused unable to form nor process the words he meant to say. All the while he spoke Miko had begun to curl in on himself, turning his face away from Brynstan and burying the side of his cheek against his knees. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Miko's shoulders began to shudder. As Brynstan watched him a moment, realizing the boy was crying, a sudden weight dropped down into the pit of his stomach. His eyes fell upon the scarf clutched so tightly in Miko's grasp and filled with immediate recognition. The scarf was small and darkly stained. It was the very same scarf Miko had been wearing when he first showed up in their barn. Fiona had done her best to clean the stains from it but blood is tricky.

The realization of Miko's crouched and ready pose, the scarf in his grasp, the eyes so focused on that treeline. Was he aiming to run away? A sudden rush of panic overtook Brynstan for a moment. Miko was a capable child. He proved just today he could hunt and fend for himself out there and the amount of time he already spent in those woods on his own it was basically a second home to him. But he was still just a child and to be out there alone? Brynstan couldn't bear it. Was this situation truly all so bad that not even all these years of care and love could keep him?

"Miko, please," Brynstan whispered. He reached out a careful hand to grip Miko's shoulder but the boy quickly jerked away. "I'm sorry, son. Truly I am. I didn't mean-" he sighed again. "Rhaj'a..."

Miko visibly tensed and his shoulders stopped shuddering. Brynstan could barely hear the small muffled gasp as he continued. "I know today was...well it wasn't how things should've gone. And I am sorry for that. Really I am, son. The Wood Wailers said they'll bring a Seedseer out here just as a precaution but things should be alright." He paused a moment and in the brief silence he kicked himself for not being better at words. But Miko just sniffled and still didn't turn back to look at him.

Brynstan let out a tired breath. "Listen, what do you say tomorrow we get in touch with the Trappers League? I'm sure they'll let you join them for their hunts if we ask, what do you say to that?" He tried to sound more cheerful. To push that hopefulness onto Miko, the fear of him running away still coursing through him. He had to try something, anything to get his boy to stay. But in the silence Brynstan's worry grew. He tried to push it down, just pretend it isn't there. And at the end of his desperation all he could say was, "You are loved, Rhaj'a. Your mother loves you, your sister, brother. I love you. You're home here, alright?"

What else could he say? When Miko still didn't turn to look at him or show any sign of response, Brynstan relented. He stood with a sigh and opened the door. "Let's just...sleep on it for now. In the morning we'll all have clearer heads and I'll take the two of us into town and we can meet with the league and- oof!" In a rush Miko had sprung up from the deck and squeezed Brynstan in the tightest hug he'd ever given him. His face pressed hard into his chest and Brynstan could already feel his tears seeping into his shirt. But that didn't matter. Brynstan quickly hugged him back and squeezed just as tight. But just as quickly as the hug started, Miko immediately pulled away and rushed inside and bolted to his room.

Brynstan watched him go, his chest tight from the sudden rush of emotion and relief that Miko didn't just bound off for the woods. He was still here under his roof and that was enough. As he stood there wiping his own eyes of the tears that also had began to form and letting out an exhausted breath, he thought to himself, Do better, Brynstan. You have to do better. And with that he made his own way back into the house.

---

The fifth night had come many years later. There had of course been many nights the two would still spend chatting into the late hours on that porch. But none of true note until this night. The seventh umbral calamity had already come and gone. The farm had finally begun to flourish again and life had settled down to the same old routine.

Brynstan stirred from his bed at the soft sound of a violin playing just outside. He knew exactly who was making that music and swiftly rose to join his eldest son outside. Miko immediately stopped playing the moment his father caught his eye and he smiled at him as he set the instrument aside.

"Please, you don't have to stop on my account," Brynstan told him as he sat. The moon was bright this night and it almost seemed to illuminate the entire land before them.

Miko shook his head with a soft smile playing at his lips. "Nah it was just a distraction. I'd rather replace it with you anyway."

"Oh I'm a distraction now?"

Miko lifted a hand and pinched his fingers together. "Just the teeniest one." The pair chuckled as Miko dropped his hand and turned his gaze up towards the moon.

Brynstan followed his gaze a moment then looked back at him when the silence fell hard between them. Miko had grown much over the past few years. He was still small as most miqo'te men are but he was a man grown now. It was moments like this that made Brynstan suddenly feel very old, and he smiled softly at that thought.

"What's on your mind, son?" Brynstan finally asked. There was that tale tell look in Miko's eyes when he gets to thinking too hard about something that Brynstan recognize all too well.

Miko bit his lip a moment, his fang catching, before he finally took a deep breath. "I've been thinking," he started. "I think I want to try adventuring." He looked at Brynstan then to gauge his reaction.

Brynstan merely nodded thoughtfully. In truth he had sensed something like this coming. As Miko grew up so too did his wandering spirit. He could see it in the boy's eyes when he'd listen to stories about far off lands or about heroes and their grand adventures. Miko was also helpful to a fault. The town had grown familiar with their ability to call upon him to help with any task no matter how miniscule. An adventuring life in truth wouldn't be too outrageous for someone like him. There were dangers to such a life, yes, but the lad had proven himself more than capable many times. Even more during the calamity...

"Does this have to do with those dreams you've been having?" asked Brynstan. Not long after they had taken in Miko it became obvious he had some kind of unique gift. Headaches spurned by visions of moments in the past would plague him and although it was unusual and unsettling at first, it was never something that they paid much mind too. There were of course tales of others with such a gift, rare as it was. But they only increased in intensity and frequency when the calamity drew near. And ever since Miko had claimed he kept hearing a voice calling to him from his dreams. Dreams of a crystal.

Miko shrugged. "In part, I suppose. Whatever it is I do feel like it's calling to me. As if there's something I must do or see. But I won't ever figure out the answer to whatever it is by staying here. But..."

Brynstan softly smiled at him. "But it's hard to leave."

Miko smiled back at him, shyly.

It wouldn't be an easy thing to let his son go, but Brynstan could see it so keenly in Miko's eyes he needed this. He needed to go out there and see that grand world. The good, the bad, all of it. Brynstan knew he was ready for it but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want him to go either.

"Have you told your mother?" he finally asked.

Miko scoffed. "Oh no not yet. She's going to butcher me."

"It seems likely," Brynstan laughed. "But she'll understand. She probably knows already. I swear sometimes she's the one with the crazy visions instead of you."

Miko chuckled and looked back up towards the sky. "Yeah probably. But gods do I want to go out there, Dad. I want to see it all."

There was a wistful way he said it that only starstruck adventurers do. Brynstan sighed then and took a more serious tone. "And pray tell where would this new sprout begin his grand adventure?"

Miko looked back at him. "I was thinking Gridania? It's the nearest city and I'd still be in the black shroud. So still close enough to home."

"And how will you make your coin?"

"I'm good with the bow. I'm sure that can get me started with some jobs to start. Or I have my music!" Miko grinned as he plucked a couple strings on his violin. His smile fell though when he noticed the pointed look his father gave him. "C'mon adventuring is the way I'll make the coin. It's a profession. I'll go to the guild and figure out what I'll do from there."

"Sounds promising," Brynstan muttered.

"I can do it, Dad. I know it."

Brynstan held up a hand. "No no I know you can. I think that's what worries me the most."

Miko eyed him a moment then smiled softly. "I won't be gone forever. I'll always come back."

Brynstan nodded. He turned his own gaze up towards the sky this time. "You said the dreams you've been having were only partially your reasoning for choosing this. But, son, I know you. And I need you to promise me now that the other reason isn't because you want to storm off on some revenge path against the Garleans." Brynstan finally met his eyes then.

Miko's bright smile faded for a moment as he leveled his father's gaze. "I promise," he said flatly and pointedly. Brynstan held his gaze for a beat recognizing that flash of familiar anger behind his eyes that only seemed to happen when the Garleans were mentioned. But quickly Miko chuckled ruefully and waved him off. "I mean if I happen to be forced to knock in a couple of their heads along the way I wouldn't be opposed. But no. I'm not going into this for anything like that."

"Just the call for adventure then?"

"Just so."

"You're truly the embodiment of Oschon the Wanderer," Brynstan declared with a soft laugh.

"And wander I shall!" Miko beamed.

Brynstan shook his head at him with a grin. "You know I should've seen this coming. You Keeper boys are known to never stay put."

"Oh now you're the expert on what Keepers do?" Miko teased.

Brynstan chuckled and gave Miko's shoulder a small shove. The two laughed lightly for a moment as they turned their gaze back up towards the stars. They basked in that silence a moment then, lost in their own thoughts. Brynstan's full of worry for his son, of how he would fill the void of his absence, who would take his place to fill in his hands on the farm, the concern for whatever dangers he would face on his travels. Miko's lost to that awaiting journey, of what wonders he'll see, what people he'll meet.

"Y'know your sister will miss you," Brynstan finally said.

Miko nodded. "I know. I'll miss her too. But I'll write. I'll write everyday if that'll help."

"Has your penmanship improved?"

Miko made an uncertain noise and shrugged. They both smiled at that. "Will you be alright though? With the farm, I mean."

Brynstan waved him off. "Oh don't you worry about that. I've still got your brother and the Tollers have plenty of sons to spare. I'm sure I can recruit a few of them for the harvest."

Miko nodded in agreement.

"But I will miss you, too," Brynstan finally said, still not looking at Miko but keeping his eyes towards the sky. He could feel Miko's eyes on him but he dared not meet his son's gaze.

"Me too," Miko finally replied softly. They sat together quietly then until after a moment Miko took up his violin again, playing a soft and familiar tune into the night.

---

And now, as Brynstan brings himself back to this present night, he finds himself opening that front door to join his eldest son once again on that front porch. He doesn't say a word as he joins him, both leaning their backs against the wall of the house this time and gazing up at the moon. It was bright again this night and the sky was clear. The stars shining like little beacons against the darkness. Miko sat with one leg outstretched before him, the other bent and his arms hugging it close. He didn't look towards Brynstan when he approached but his ear turned as always to acknowledge his presence. Brynstan didn't mind. The silence of his son's company was enough. But he still couldn't help himself to at least break it after a moment.

"The moon is bright tonight," said Brynstan, simply.

"Yeah. I keep thinking if I look hard enough I'll see a little loporrit running around up there," Miko said as he squinted his eyes.

"Well, any luck?"

"None, unfortunately," Miko sighed. Brynstan glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Miko looked tired. Brynstan had seen it the moment he had returned that morning, strolling up the path on his chocobo. He had greeted them with his familiar bright and lighthearted smile they all knew. Quick to joke and laugh, but there was a shadow to his bright eyes now that wasn't there before when he had left home for the first time. It weighed on Brynstan, just as the sight of that scar across Miko's face glared at him, the very sight of it a sudden and unforgettable reminder of just what his son had been through.

Brynstan swallowed dryly at the thought and cleared his throat. "So does it feel different looking up at it now that you've actually been up there?" He tried asking to distract himself from his wandering thoughts.

Miko shrugged. "Not really. From here it's still beautiful."

Brynstan nodded. They fell silent again, an odd thing Brynstan thought. Miko seemed short of words tonight. Perhaps he talked himself weary earlier when he shared his stories with them. His siblings wouldn't seem to give him a moments rest with all their questions. But it was nice, this silence, Brynstan had to admit.

"I found him," Miko suddenly said, cutting through that silence like a knife. "My real father. I found him."

Brynstan stared at him a moment, his breath catching in his throat for just a moment. There was no change in Miko's expression, however, as he kept his eyes trained on that far away moon. "I see," was all Brynstan could muster.

Miko drew in a heavy breath and finally dropped his eyes. "Turns out the Garleans had taken him. Dragged him straight back to their homeland and put him to use in the ceruleum mines. He died only a couple years ago. I guess the cold finally caught up with him."

It took Brynstan a moment to notice his mouth hanging slightly ajar. He quickly snapped it shut and swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry, son. That's-" once again he was failing at his words. As he watched Miko he couldn't quite read his expression. He seemed almost disconnected by the fact he was sharing. But then his brow furrowed deeply in thought before he spoke again.

"Y'know I think the hardest part of it all is knowing all this time he was still out there. He was just right over there and I was already a warrior of light. I-"

"Miko, no. Don't do that to yourself," Brynstan immediately jumped in knowing exactly where this was heading.

"I know, I know," Miko quickly recovered. "It's just... do you think he heard about me? About the young warrior of light out there liberating Doma and Ala Mhigo and wondering when he'd find his way there to liberate him too?" Miko finally looked up at Brynstan. He could see the sudden pain in Miko's eyes then. That same pain he saw in the eyes of that small child asking if his father was coming. When Miko spoke again it was almost a whisper. "Do you think he knew it was me?"

Brynstan sighed then, mulling over what to say. "Son, there was nothing you could've done. You didn't know. How could anyone know? And if you did find out sooner what then? Would you have abandoned the scions to carve your way into the tundra to save him? You'd have been outnumbered one to thousands trying to get to him. You wouldn't be sitting here now, having saved all you have, if you had."

Miko closed his eyes and nodded solemnly and leaned his head back to rest on the wall behind him. "I think that's why it's so hard to accept. I've done so much, saved so much, brought hope to so many, but I couldn't even save my own parents."

Brynstan sighed then. "You were just a boy."

"If I had known what I was back then-"

"Stop that." Brynstan nearly growled, his patience wearing thin.

"It hasn't been just them, though, Dad. Ever since coming back from Ultima Thule I cant stop thinking about all those I lost. Haurchefant, Minfilia, Papalymo, Venat," Miko paused a moment. Brynstan watched him as he closed his eyes. All the names and faces passing through his memory, before he finally spoke again, "hells even Zenos."

"Zenos?!" Brynstan blanched. "Why the hell would you spare a thought on that monster?"

"He wasn't a monster-"

"After everything he did to you?" Brynstan gestured angrily at the scar on Miko's face.

Miko rolled his eyes and sighed. Brynstan stared at him hard waiting for him to respond, but Miko seemed to hold his tongue a moment trying his best to decide how to explain. "He was what I could've been," he finally began, meeting his father's eyes. "If you and Mother hadn't found me and taken me in. If you hadn't raised me with so much love, taught me how to love and hope inreturn, I could've been him."

Brynstan gaped at that, suddenly at a loss for words.

"In the end, all Zenos had was me. And I never once offered him a hand or a chance to know better. Maybe everyone would've been right. Maybe he was already a lost cause. But I should've at least tried." Miko let out a tired sigh then once again rested his head back against the wall. "Maybe that's the balance for a warrior of light. You save so much but lose just as much in the end."

"You're heart is much too big, Miko," Brynstan said softly. Miko glanced at him, a tired but bright smile pulled ruefully at his lips. "No matter what you think, you would never become like him. You have always tried much too hard to be good without any help from anyone. It's just your nature, son. And when it comes to not saving some, you're always trying. You're just one man. One man can only do so much. Even one as strong as you."

Miko's shoulders seemed to soften as Brynstan spoke.

"And besides," Brynstan continued. "Look at the family you made out there. Those scions. Look at how much you've gained from it all, son."

Miko chuckled then, the smile that stretched across his face true and genuine. "I know. They're pretty great."

Brynstan found himself smiling then too. From the moment Miko had come home all his changes had been so evident. Straight down to the way he carried himself, there was a maturity there. His son, a great and powerful warrior of light who had slain gods! How terrifying and powerful he was now. Never in his dreams did Brynstan believe such feats would be told about his own son. Especially now as he watched this young man smile at him, all he could see was that small boy he'd raised.

"They'd be so proud of you," Brynstan found himself saying, speaking once again of Miko's parents, his eyes brimming with tears, "I'm proud of you."

Miko's bright grin softened. "Thank you."

"My boy, the warrior of light," Brynstan seemed to chuckle to himself as he looked back up towards the sky.

Miko was silent a moment at that. Then said, "Warrior of light. Im not sure what that even means anymore. Light is supposed to guide, like a beacon. To bring life and sanctuary and hope. But light also casts shadows and the brighter the light, the greater and darker the shadow. So I guess I'm just afraid what kind of shadow I cast."

Brynstan chuckled lightly again. "A Zenos shaped one, it seems."

Miko shoved his shoulder lightly at that. "Okay okay."

"You've let your bard skills go to your head. You're beginning to think too much like a poet."

"Well maybe a poet I shall be in my retirement."

"Twelve have mercy on us," Brynstan prayed as Miko rolled his eyes at him. They fell quiet again then as a thought stirred in Brynstan. "Say, earlier today when you were telling us about your duel with Zenos, you mentioned him asking you if you found fulfillment on your journey."

"Mhm." Miko kept his eyes towards the sky.

"Well, did you?" Brynstan pressed.

Miko didn't respond right away but kept looking towards those distant stars. Then a bright and brilliant smile spread across his face as he finally looked back at him. "I loved it, Dad. Every second of it." He then let out a light laugh.

There it was. The light Brynstan had been hoping to see. There it was in those bright yellow eyes and the hope and joy that followed. That desire to go back out there and experience more. To not yet let that journey end.

But then Miko's ear suddenly turned away, hearing something Brynstan could not. Miko quickly turned to look in the direction of what caught his ear. "Oh!" He exclaimed, "it seems we have a visitor." He then lifted up a hand and suddenly a great blue bird landed upon it. Brynstan jumped at its sudden arrival and stared at it in awe. Its belly was bright white like the moon's light and its long tail feathers gently drifted off behind it in the breeze. There was an eeriness to the intelligence behind its eyes though that left Brynstan somewhat weary.

"I didn't expect you to come by so soon," Miko said to the bird, his voice gentle. "Were you already feeling a bit lonely, my friend?"

Brynstan watched them as Miko then closed his eyes and gently pressed his forehead against the bird's. And it too also closed its eyes in turn. It was a moment Brynstan couldn't bear to interrupt and as he stared at his son, the moonlight illuminating him, he saw him quite literally in a different light. Here was the hero who knew more about life than he would ever know. Who had seen and experienced and felt things beyond what Brynstan could ever imagine.

But this man was also still his boy. That same little boy freezing and blue from the cold that he swore he'd never stop loving.

#i just like thinking about miko's childhood so thats what led to this mess lol #i do hope its coherent enough i feel like im just word vomiting thoughts at this point #i was also kinda worried about how long it was getting and i think the whole thing suffered from that #alas it is done and im tired of looking it so just gonna tuck it away into my tags #miko jinjahl #lambs tries writing #lambs plays ffxiv #final fantasy xiv

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joes-sha-la-la-la-girl · 9 months

Text

Love Bites: Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Y/N and Joe realised how close they stood near each other and quickly moved apart. However, it wasn’t quick enough by the smirks on the two bassists faces as they looked on at the position they found their lead singers in.

“We wondered where you both got to.” Sav raised his eyebrow at them.

“Just coming.” Joe said, a pink hue invading his cheeks. Y/N and Joe didn’t spare each other another glance as they walked back to the makeshift dressing room, the tension painfully high.

Ultraviolet were on first so the four of them were huddled together, sharing the nerves between them. Little did they know that they were being watched by the other band in the room, the look of understanding on all their faces, remembering their first shows.

“You okay Y/N/N? You seem quiet.” Johnny asked the girl as she was taking a few deep breaths.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, just nervous I guess.” She told him, knowing that it wasn’t just the thought of performing making her feel that way.

“You’ll do great. You always do.” He told her reassuringly, rubbing her arm as they all got ready to perform.

Behind Johnny, Y/N could see Joe watching her. Shooting him a small grin she got a nod in return and she felt all of her nerves melt away for a moment. She internally scolded herself for thinking of another man that way whilst in a relationship. No matter how unhappy she was.

The first show went great for Ultraviolet. All of them gained congratulations from the lads waiting for them. The adrenaline rush that was surging through them felt electric. They quickly made their way back to the dressing room feeling sweaty. There were showers in the back that the bands could use so they all made their way through to clean themselves up.

When Y/N finished getting redressed, she saw that Tammy was waiting for her.

“They’ve gone to watch Def Leppard perform. You coming?”

Y/N nodded her head and followed her through the back corridor of the building, the sound of ‘Photograph’ being played brought a smile to Y/N’s face. She had heard it on the album but now the song only brought on good memories from when they filmed the video on Sav’s birthday.

The song got louder as they got closer and Y/N noticed the grin on Tammy’s face. Since Ultraviolet found out that they would be touring with Def Leppard, they had listened to ‘On Through the Night’, ‘High n’ Dry’ and ‘Pyromania’ on repeat and all four of them became fans. The two young women met up with Johnny and Benji, who were completely enamoured with the performance they were witnessing.

“They’re brilliant aren’t they” Johnny shouted as soon as he saw the singer and bassist approach.

“Absolutely.” Tammy agreed.

A few weeks passed on tour and all of them were having the time of their lives travelling from place to place performing. Ultraviolet were becoming more and more well known as they continued to open for Def Leppard. The album that had been cheaply put together a few months prior was starting to sell and the band couldn’t be happier.

However, despite all the joy going round so far on the tour, there were moments Y/N wished didn’t have to happen. The phone calls home to Doug were emotionally draining. Every phone call consisted of arguing and shouting, nearly bringing Y/N to tears each time.

Tammy was there for her after each phone call and usually they would talk about it for a few hours. Y/N knew that she had to break up with him. She knew that she could not stay with him whilst he was treating her this way, but a part of her couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not over the phone at least.

The last show of February was happening in Bristol and after Ultraviolet performed, Y/N decided to call Doug and get it over with. After she had spent extra time in the shower, contemplating what she should do, she dialled the number she was all too familiar with. She felt the feeling of dread fill her stomach as she tried to prepare herself for the shouting match she was about to compete in.

“Y/N?” She heard Doug’s voice filter through the phone almost as soon as she finished dialling, he must've been waiting by the phone.

“Yeah it’s me.”

“It’s about time you called, I’ve been waiting ages.”

“I’ve just come off stage, I called as soon as I could.”

“Couldn’t you have called before?”

Y/N took a deep breath, trying not to let the anger inside of her rise.

“I had a soundcheck and to get ready, Gavin has us on a tight schedule.”

Doug didn’t answer and instead changed the subject, frustrating Y/N even more.

“You've been spending a lot of time with those men?” He asked her with an evident growl in his voice, causing unpleasant goosebumps on her skin.

“Of course, all of us have spent a lot of time together. We are touring together.” Y/N told him.

“You slept with any of them.”

Y/N was shocked at the accusation. Doug didn’t need to know about the tall lead singer that had been plaguing her mind since she met him. But the fact he didn’t trust her hurt.

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

“Is that why you haven’t called? You've been whoring yourself around.”

“No Doug, I haven't slept with any of them.”

“You sure about that.”

“Yes. I can’t believe you would even suggest that.”

“I wouldn’t shock me with you.”

Y/N gasped audibly when she heard that. She hadn’t realised that Def Leppard had finished their set and that none other than Joe Elliott was standing behind her.

“I’m going to hang up now. Goodnight.”

Y/N could hear Doug telling her to not hang up on him but she didn’t listen, slamming the venue payphone back on the wall. She wiped away the tears and turned around, noticing Joe for the first time.

“Are you okay?” He asked her softly. For a moment, Y/N wanted to say yes. Tell him that it was just a small misunderstanding and that she would be fine.

But instead all she did was shake her head and let even more tears fall. Joe wasted no time wrapping her up in his arms. Cooing gently in her ear and telling her that it was going to be alright. When she managed to calm down a bit, Joe moved them to a small room with a few chairs in it.

“Talk to me Y/N.” He told her, not unwrapping her from his arms as he sat down with her. She told Joe everything. Everything about her and Doug, about how she was no longer happy with him and how she wanted to leave but didn’t know how.

Joe sat and listened to her as she spoke. He felt his heart breaking for the girl shaking in his arms. He knew that her relationship wasn’t perfect but he didn’t know that it was that bad.

“He doesn’t deserve you Y/N/N.” Joe told her, putting his hand gently under her chin and lifted her head up to look at him. He got lost in her eyes, the most beautiful eyes that he had ever seen.

The two didn’t realise it but they started leaning into each other. Before they knew it, their lips connected for the first time. They both knew it was wrong but neither could pull themselves away.

Y/N felt Joe’s tongue ask for entrance, which she granted immediately. She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging gently earning herself a moan. Smiling gently into the kiss, Joe explored her mouth whilst wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer.

They don’t know how it happened but Y/N ended up on Joe’s lap. His lips started to trail down her face and neck before landing on her shoulder. He pushed her t-shirt to the side and started to gently suck, grazing his teeth along her skin.

When the two eventually pulled apart, they found themselves breathless. Gazing into each other's eyes the reality of what they did started to settle in.

Taglist:

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#joe elliott #joe elliott x reader #def leppard #ellen's fic #love bites fic #love bites chapter 6

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fiorexiv · 25 days

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FFXIV-Write 2024: #1 - Steer

Vieran ears bobbing as the ship crested the waves, Fiore stared out at the tumultuous waters surrounding them. He tried his best to keep his feet planted on deck, but all this damned rocking! Three days on open waters, yet he felt like his sea legs had gotten no better, and now the brewing bad weather made it even more of a challenge to stay upright.

When he left home, he never expected to end up in a floating-extra-large-coffin known commonly as a ship. Faced with the might of nature displayed far as the eye could see, he realized just how helpless a ship's crew actually was. The smallest of errors could result in a cold, slow death. 'When you drown, do you just think about how slowly you're dying before it ends?' His face went pale at the thought, and a wave of frightened nausea spewed its way up from his gut and overboard.

Caught up in losing his last meal, he didn't notice the arrival of someone at his side. A sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs when the vomit was done with him. “You the new lad from the galley?” Fiore jumped, the cool platinum hair on his ears standing on end even against the ocean spray. He wheeled, grasping desperately at the taffrail. At his side was a Hyuran man, back bent and face creased with years of life experience. The old man's wheezing laugh at the Viera gave away a lifetime of smoking. “Relax, son! Nothin' to be nervous about.”

Shoulders slumping, Fiore spat overboard again, trying to remove the acrid taste that lingered in his mouth. The old man extended a kerchief to him, so he took it and sheepishly wiped his chin. “If you'll pardon me disagreeing, I think there's plenty.”

The old man scoffed. “Ach, with that woman there?” His bony finger extended in the direction of the helm. “Best captain you could ask for. Some of the crew say she's been blessed by Llymlaen herself. Could steer this ship through another calamity if she had to.”

“That's quite the vote of confidence.” The Viera did his best to smile. “I don't believe we've been introduced. Are you part of the crew?”

“Just a merchant. Been doing my business with the help of the Sultana's Flagon since she was built. Don't meet a lot of Viera.” His eyes scanned upwards to the tips of Fiore's ears, swaying ever so slightly, like curtains in the ocean breeze. He stomped his foot and wheezed another laugh. “Came to say hello is all. Name is Worrick Dean. Welcome aboard, lad. Give yourself time, this place will be your home away from home before you realize it.” He gave Fiore a stern pat on the back before turning to leave. “You can return that to me after you get cleaned up!”

Fiore stared at the soiled kercheif for a moment before bobbing his head in agreement. “Sorry—thank you—pleasure to meet you!” he called after Worrick, who was already wandering away.

Thoughtfully, his gaze drifted back towards the helm. He had only interacted with the captain twice, both instances brief. She was a short Roegadyn woman with wiry gray hair, taut with muscle, and bearing a long jagged scar that extended from her jaw down to her throat (he was cautioned not to stare or ask about it, so he didn't). She didn't question him much when he was brought aboard by the ship's owner, but did have him swear three times that he could properly debone a fish. Busy as she was, their introductions were simple when they met again before embarking. At the time, he stood behind their Lalafelin cook, so the captain didn't look up at him much while they talked about meals and supplies.

It was strange to trust his life to someone who probably didn't even remember he was aboard the ship.

He exhaled sharply, resigned to accepting his situation as it was. Getting offered this job was a blessing, and he wouldn't squander the opportunity, no matter how the ocean seemed hungry and ready to swallow him whole. This voyage was only his first, and only the Twelve knew what course destiny had set.

#FFXIVWrite2024 #FFXIVWrite

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whatisreggieshortfor · 2 years

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Operations Go Awry

This is a mess, but my Operation Nope fic for the @litgwritersroom prompt.

The moment Lily walked in hanging off Harry’s arm, Elladine saw her chance. Normally, she wouldn’t be this person. Never. She would’ve felt sympathy for Devyn when Harry forgot her name as he introduced the girls. But she had to admit it, at least to herself, that she was jealous of the friendship Nicky had with Devyn. Jealous of the way the two of them could share looks and understand each other when she couldn’t. It was the only issue she had with Devyn. So when Genevieve told her that she’d talked to Lily, and Nicky was her back up plan if Harry wasn’t interested- well, she wasn’t going to lose her man over Devyn’s couple. She already lost him to Devyn enough times when they went to have chats and left her alone.

So she cornered Lily on her first day, asking her if she really wanted Harry.

Lily’s eyes were narrowed as she looked Elladine over, “Why would you wanna help me? Isn’t she like the best mate of the love of your life or whatever?”

Elladine rolled her eyes as she responded, “Technically, but sometimes I feel like I can’t trust their intentions with each other. They’ve ditched me constantly to have private chats, and how much he compares her to a sister is such an overcompensation. Feels like-“

“Like he latched on to you early and fancies her now but doesn’t know how to break the news.” Lily smirked knowingly, Elladine returned it with a nod before leveling her with a scowl.

“Look, I know Nicky is your back up. So let’s just…tip the scales for Harry’s decision.” Elladine glanced around the two of them, trying to ensure there were no eavesdroppers. Seb wasn’t too far away, but he was fast asleep on the sun lounger.

Lily leaned a little closer anyway, “What did you have in mind?”

“Do you remember Operation Nope last season?”

Seb knew that Nicky sometimes felt torn between Elladine and Devyn. He couldn’t blame the guy- where Elladine was the picture of an easygoing relationship, Devyn brought out Nicky’s fun side and challenged him. Nicky had even told Seb- and only Seb- at each recoupling that he thought of picking his best mate, even though he had no idea how she’d react. But then he’d end up playing it safe and choosing the same girl since the beginning. Seb couldn’t blame Elladine for being cautious of their friendship when he knew those things, but he couldn’t believe he’d heard her plan this either.

As soon as Elladine and Lily had separated, Seb ‘woke up’, taking just a minute to act out like he was stretching out from a nap, before going off in search of Viv and Nicky.

“That’s the plan I heard.” Seb told them as he finished the story, he wasn’t sure if they’d believe him, but he needed to tell someone what was happening.

“You can’t have heard it right, mate.” Nicky shook his head, “Elladine wouldn’t-“

Viv quietly interrupted, “I don’t know, Nicks, when I told her that Lily said you were her back up plan, she looked absolutely livid. I’ve never seen her look like that. She’s always felt a little threatened by Devyn- to have someone else planning to vie for your attention might’ve-“

“Might’ve what? Pushed her over the edge?” Nicky shook his head, “No way.”

The couple speaking to him weren’t sure what to say- Viv trusted what Seb said he heard, but Nicky just couldn’t imagine the girl he was with ruining something good for his best mate like that. And then Bill chose that moment to wander over, like the secret gossip monger he was, “Bloody hell, mate, you hear Dev kissed Rafi after their date?”

All three of them went stone still as their heads jerked to the roofer, “What did you say?” Nicky’s voiced was laced with disbelief.

Bill nodded, lips pursed, “Didn’t expect her to do that to my lad so late in the game, but maybe she’s been doing just that the whole time- playing the game.”

“Who told you that?” The boys startled at the intensity in Viv’s voice. Intensity wasn’t her style, she was sweet and soft.

Bill shrugged anyway, “I was there when Elladine told Harry. Guess her and Lily were walking past and saw it happen.”

“Elladine. And Lily?” Seb’s tone could only be described as skeptical.

“Does Devyn know?” Nicky asked. He believed Seb now, because as much as he wanted to think Elladine wouldn’t do that to her, he knew Devyn wouldn’t do that to Harry.

The roofer shook his head, “Harry’s waiting for her to admit it. I keep telling him to just call her out.” Nicky shot to his feet, Seb and Viv quickly following as he hurried out of the room, leaving a confused and annoyed Bill in their wake.

When the party started, Harry was astutely avoiding Devyn, so Nicky stuck by her side. He didn’t care that he was giving Elladine the cold shoulder to do it, he wasn’t the only one- he was pretty sure sweet Genevieve was mentally thinking of all the medical ways she could hit her without leaving a mark judging by the expression on her face. The girl in question was masking her annoyance with a sad pout- or attempting to at least. Nicky couldn’t stop analyzing everything about her now that he knew she would do this. But he teamed up with Seb and Viv, and they made sure that Devyn was able to enjoy the party with DJ Timmy Smalls.

And then the tone rang out.

Everyone looked around until their gazes fell on a smirking Lily, and an annoyed looking Rafi. The blonde girl stepped forward, hand on her hip as she directed that smirk straight at Devyn. Nicky saw Genevieve’s glare intensify at it as Lily spoke, “I came here with one person in mind, and at first I thought he wasn’t going to be interested.” Her smirk grew, “But then he told me to pick him. So I’m coupling up with Harry.”

Devyn whirled around to where Harry was standing next to Bill as the boy in question started walking over to the blonde, “Wow. And you just weren’t going to tell me, yeah?”

Harry scoffed, “Like you’re one to talk after what you did.”

“Pray tell, you arse. What did I do?” Devyn’s glare was almost as threatening as Genevieve’s, and Nicky clasped a hand to her shoulder as he answered.

“There’s been a rumor, Dev.” He emphasized the word as he scowled at Elladine, who had the grace to look shocked.

“A rumor, my ass!” Harry yelled, “Ella saw her do it!”

Devyn’s glare spun around to her ‘friend’, “You saw me do what exactly?”

“Pretty sure I can fill in that blank, and clear it up while I’m at it.” Rafi shook his head, arms crossing over his chest, “Elladine told Harry that she saw you kiss me. Said you were planning to have me pick you. I know, because Lily told me about their little plan.” He turned and looked Harry right in the eye, “But that never happened. She said she only wanted one person, and that she was happy with you.”

Harry’s face paled for a second before he scowled, “Yeah, sure. Of course you’d say that.”

“You’re bloody right I would! Because it’s the truth, you absolute prat.”

Devyn huffed a humorless laugh, “You know what? Fine. Good riddance. I’ve never been sure you actually liked me, all you ever talk about is winning. If Viv hadn’t chosen better by picking Seb, you’d still be flip flopping between us.” Harry opened his mouth, but Devyn got his face, poking her finger into his chest, “I only wanted one person here, and it actually wasn’t you.” Before he could say anything, she spun around to the other Islanders, “Who actually believed I did that?”

At first no one moved, but then Tai was calling people out, “Bill, Yaz, I know you both bought into that bullshit. Miki probably did too if Bill was the one that told her.”

AJ awkwardly stepped forward herself, “I didn’t really believe it, but I wasn’t sure either because you told me you weren’t sold on Harry.”

Devyn pointed her finger at AJ, “You get a pass, I can see why you’d believe it. The rest of you that fell for it, goodbye. Do not contact me on the outside.”

“G-goodbye?” Nicky sputtered as Devyn stopped in front of him on her way out.

Devyn shrugged, “Rafi said if he couldn’t pick me, he was going to walk. He knows who I want, but I can’t have him, so with half the villa willing to believe I’d go kiss someone I wasn’t with- I’d rather just follow him out. He’ll make a good friend on the outside.”

“Who did you want?” Seb asked, and Devyn scowled at the gleam in his eye.

“Like you don’t know, you little knob.”

Seb smirked, “Well, Nicky, how you feeling about your couple?”

He scoffed, “What couple?” Elladine gasped, but Nicky ignored her, “If she was willing to do that to someone she knows I care about, then I’m not sticking around. I’ll leave with these two.”

Seb clapped his hands, “Okay. If you’re both leaving, I’m just gonna say it-“

“Don’t you dare!” Viv tried to cover his mouth with her hand while everyone watched confused, but he ducked around her.

“One of you need to confess! I’m sure Rafi knows exactly what I mean.”

The actor nodded seriously, “Honestly, at this point it needs to be out in the open. Nicky settled for Elladine, Devyn settled for Harry.”

Nicky looked at his best mate, gobsmacked, “Do- do you like me?”

Devyn rolled her eyes, scowl still stuck on her face at being put on the spot. He knew she hated that. “Obviously. But I’m a sister to you so-“

“Bloody hell- I’ve never wanted to kiss my sister this much!” Seb snorted, but Nicky ignored him. “So…their operation was technically a success, but how about we head out on a date on the outside?”

Devyn’s lip twitched upward, “Dammit, Nicks, I’m trying to be pissed here.”

He shrugged, “So be pissed with me on the outside, Dev.”

“Fine.” She finally smiled, flipping Elladine off as she turned to Seb and Viv, “You two better win this. No one deserves it more.” She gave them a hug before grabbing Nicky’s hand, he immediately interlaced their fingers. “Viv, you call me on the outside. The five of us will get lunch.”

Rafi groaned, “Great, I get to fifth wheel.”

“Naw,” She smirked, “Tai, Ciaran, and AJ get to join for not being stupid about me.” He laughed with Nicky and Devyn as they moved to pack up their bags.

Masterlist

#litg #litg season 3 #litg nicky #litg harry #litg mc #litg Lily #litg Elladine

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