kitdeveloper

[pushing500]

Laursen is so good with people. He's not even assigned to wardening as a high priority, but whenever he takes a turn at it, he succeeds. I love him so much.

I also love Euclid, she's cool. The psychopath trait will definitely help her fit right in with the cult, I reckon.

Her name is probably supposed to reference the ancient Greek mathematician of the same name, based on the whole "genies are the smart xenotype" thing, but... I can't help but think of it as her SCP object class, lmao.

Euclid immediately set to work proving herself as a capable new member of the cult, and now Vasso is dressed to the nines in his new masterwork cape.

Then poor Cecil got sick, so he's taking a break from helping around the colony and getting some well-deserved rest.

And finally, two bionic thrumbos wandered onto the map and I fell in love immediately. Nobody in the colony has an animal skill high enough to tame them, sadly.

Worry not, though! Our Drakonori prisoner, Magic Man, has a decent animal handling skill. When we recruit him, his first task to prove himself will be taming these thrumbos! No pressure, Magic Man.

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[considermewhelmed]

Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths- Tim Drake

TW: attempted su*c*de/su*c*dal thoughts, anxiety, depression. 

a/n: hey remember in the Master when I said these would be short fics? Ha. Yeah. Me too. Good times. 

Tag list: @river9noble

Master

“Achilles, Achilles, Achilles come down/Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof?/You’re scaring us and all of us/Some of us love you/Achilles it’s not much but there’s proof.” 

“You may feel no purpose/Nor a point for existing/It’s all just conjecture and gloom/And there may not be meaning/So find one and seize it/Do not waste yourself on this roof/Hear those bells ring deep in the soul/Chiming away for a moment/Feel your breath course frankly below/And see life as a worthy opponent.” 

Tim stood on the edge of the building, overlooking the city. His cape billowed lightly in the cool air, and he took a deep breath. 

‘Red Robin, report.’ Barbra’s voice asked in his ear. 

Tim remained silent, his eyes scanning the streets, but his mind far away. 

‘Red Robin, report.’ She repeated. 

‘Red Robin, are you okay?’ 

A new voice broke onto the comms. 

Dick.

He had been thinking a lot. About Dick. And Damian. Bruce. Steph. Babs. Duke. Luke. Cass. Kate even. There were just… so many of them. So many. One less surely wouldn’t matter? 

He imagined he wouldn’t get a huge memorial like the one for Jason in the batcave- he was choosing this, he did it himself, there was no honour in that. He didn’t mind though, he wasn’t sure he even cared to be remembered. 

They barely remembered him alive, why would death help? 

He wondered how long it would take them to forget him. The voice is the first thing you forget about a person, when was the last time he talked to them all? 

‘Red Robin, where are you?’ Dick.

‘Is his comm offline?’ Steph. 

‘No, it’s online. It should be working. Receiver and all.’ Barbra. 

‘Red Robin?’ Dick. 

He looked down. He’d survived some pretty unlikely things, but this was too much. Too high. There was no way his heart could take his fall, let alone the pavement below waiting for his body. It called his name, whispering the promises of sweet relief with every breeze, the streetlight spotlight marking his entrance to his final bow. 

‘Can you get his tracker online?’ Dick. 

‘Red Robin, come in.’ Bruce. 

‘No. He’s bypassed the security.’ Barbra. 

‘Really Drake?’ Damian. ‘Sneaking off during patrol?’ 

‘Red Robin, report.’ Bruce- and Tim imagined he sounded worried in the way only Batman could be. 

‘Where was his route?’ Dick. 

Tim tuned them out, but couldn’t bring himself to turn the comms off completely. He didn’t have the heart to be alone- he was selfish and desperate. 

He shrugged off the cape, letting it fall to the rooftop, and quietly unclipped his utility belt. He wished he felt scared, or sad, or anything, but instead he just felt numb. Human instinct should be trying to get him back safely to the solid roof behind him, but instead he just swayed in the wind, as if even his own body was impartial to the decision. 

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly, rolling his shoulders back, resigning to his fate. There was no use in fighting anymore. 

That was it. He felt something. Tired. 

Not just tired. Exhausted. Bone deep exhaustion, the kind of exhaustion that made even sleeping a chore. Tears gathered in his eyes, and with each drop his mask got looser and looser. He thought of something to say- some sort of goodbye. Not for them, but for him, for closure. His own eulogy. Last words, maybe? 

Did he deserve last words when the villain he lost to was his own mind? Internal, eternal, and inevitable? It was a dance he’d been a part of for far too long and he was just tired. 

“Hey Replacement.” 

Tim expected his whole body to go rigid, for his instinct to take over, for any kind of fight to bubble up inside him, itching to get out. He and Jason reconciled, sure, but sometimes when he caught him off guard, Tim still had the same knee-jerk reaction. 

Instead, his body just stood there, open and unarmed. It solidified his resolve- even his instincts knew it was over. The idea that Jason could easily shoot him, or push him off the roof didn’t scare him. 

Why would it? 

He could hear Jason’s quiet, heavy steps as the older boy approached. 

‘Red Hood, status, have you found him?’ 

Dick’s voice came over the comms. 

Tim didn’t look at Jason. There was a soft click. 

“No, not yet. I’ll keep looking. Just cover my area Dickhead.” Jason said before the soft click happened again. 

The two boys were quiet for a minute. 

Behind him, Tim could hear the familiar whirring of the mechanics- mechanics he helped design -that indicated the removal of Jason’s Red Hood helmet. A thump after indicated Jason had opted to ditch it on the roof. 

Normally, Tim would yell at him for being so careless with his equipment, especially since Tim worked hard on the last updates, but he couldn’t even find his voice. 

He heard the clatter of weapons hitting the ground, and Jason stepped closer. 

“Come on Timmy,” Jason said softly, and Tim’s chest tightened at the nickname. “You’re shaking. You gotta be freezing.” 

It wasn’t until Jason said something that Tim realized he was vibrating. Even the air was unforgiving in Gotham, and somewhere between his decision to step on the ledge and the loss of his cape, it turned into an icy grip that cut through the thin material of his suit. 

The wind stung his face where the tears had started to slip beneath his mask. His knees buckled and he sucked in a sharp breath of air. 

“I can’t.” He choked out, his hand gripping at his chest. “I- I can’t move.” 

‘Red Robin?’ Dick’s voice cut through the comms. ‘Come on buddy, where are you, I’ll come get you.’ 

Tim couldn’t hear him over the roar of his own blood in his ears, and took his comm out of his ear, throwing it off to the side. 

It was then he caught sight of Jason, and was shocked by the lack of not only helmet, but mask as well. Jason’s eyes had a green shine to them- a side effect of the pit -and they were trained on Tim. 

Jason held out his hand to Tim. “Take my hand baby bird.” He murmured. 

“No,” Tim cried. “I want- I should- I have to- I’m going to fall Jason-” 

“No.” Jason said sternly. “No you won’t.” 

Tim inched closer to the ledge. “It doesn’t matter-”

“Of course it matters dipshit, you matter. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” 

Tim’s lip trembled and a sob tore from his throat as his knees gave out from under him and for a split second he was falling- 

And the next he was wrapped in a tight hug. 

Tim reached out instinctually and grabbed onto whatever he could hold, staying as close as possible to the smell of leather, gun polish and sweat, a surprisingly comforting combination. 

Maybe it was just because it meant safety. 

“I’ve got you baby bird,” Jason mumbled, and he could feel Jason bury his nose in Tim’s hair. “I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry,” He sputtered through his tears. “I’m sorry, Jay, I’m sorry,” A whole new breakdown washed over him, and he couldn’t get a grip on his emotions. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Jason scolded him lightly, and rubbed little circles on his back. “I’ve got you.” 

“I was going to do it,” Tim cried. 

“I know.” Jason whispered. 

“They hate me. They’re going to hate me more!” Tim whimpered. “I can’t- I don’t want-” 

“I know.” Jason repeated. “But no one hates you, Tim,” He promised. “Hell, even Barbra threatened to get out here to find you.” 

Tim buried his face in Jason’s chest and just stayed there. “I’m nothing more than a placeholder,” He mumbled. “I’m a pretender. A replacement.” He sniffled. “I didn’t- I didn’t even want to be Robin. God. I wanted Dick to be Robin. Batman needs Robin.” He was close to hysterics, and god Jason still didn’t know what to do. 

“Maybe,” Jason agreed. “But Bruce Wayne needs Tim Drake.” Jason said quietly. “I’m pretty sure the old man would be lost without you Timmy.” 

Tim shook his head and Jason snorted. “You set up the system in the batcave, make sure the Wayne business is intact and running smoothly, you’ve updated all the security, you always make sure there’s coffee in the manor, and no one makes him smile with bad jokes like you do.” 

Tim stayed quiet, and Jason alternated between rubbing his back and running his hand through Tim’s hair. The boys stood there for as long as Tim needed to and Jason realized how small Tim was because Jesus Christ this was just a kid in a costume and he just wanted to be loved. 

“Can we go back to the Manor?” Jason murmured. “My bike’s not far.” 

Tim didn’t move. 

“We can watch a movie?” He suggested. “I’ll let you pick.” 

“Why are you being so nice?” Tim mumbled. 

“Well… I could punch you instead if you’d like. Not sure that’ll make you feel better though.” He offered, and was rewarded by the smallest, quietest laugh. “C’mon, we can raid the kitchen.” 

“You aren’t going to make me talk?” Tim asked. 

Jason shook his head, tightening his grip on him. “I’m not going to make you talk about anything you don’t want to baby bird.” He said softly. “But if you want to do that, I’m here for that too.” 

Tim tightened his own grip and kept close- Jason was keeping him grounded and that’s all that mattered. “What was it like?” He whispered. 

Jason was quiet for a long moment, and Tim regretted asking almost immediately. 

“Long.” Jason decided. “Dark. Quiet.” 

“Good quiet?” 

“No.” Jason said softly. “Too quiet.” 

“I’m sorry.” Tim whispered. 

“Me too,” Jason mumbled. “You’re not alone Timbo. I’m right here, alright?” 

Tim nodded and pulled away after a moment when he felt like he could stand on his own. Jason collected their things and handed Tim his mask, cape and belt, putting his own mask and helmet back on, clipping his holsters on. 

The ride back was quiet- Tim’s comm must have busted when it hit the roof, and if Jason heard anything he wasn’t giving it away. Jason came up with some half-assed lie about what happened to Barbra and the other Bats over the comms, and immediately claimed the living room for him and Tim, heading upstairs. 

Tim was asleep by the end of the opening credits, tucked safely into the side of his big brother. 

Maybe Tim couldn’t fight the villain in his head on his own, but having someone like Jason Todd on your side certainly made it easier.

[symphonic-scream]

Okay so here's the summary of what happens in the first section of the ML Genshin au. If you're overly familiar with the lore of the game itself sorry in advance cause things are gonna be different. It's a mix of wanted to incorporate new ideas and I don't remember everything exactly lmao

This of course contains Spoilers for the first three Archon quests in Genshin Impact :) so there you've been warned. Also warning: long post. I'm sorry

--

So the story starts with two travelers soaring through the skies, visiting world after world as they go. However their journey is cut short when they encounter a strange god in the heavens above one such world

The travelers hold out against her for as long as they can, but she gets the upper hand, capturing one of the two travelers. She seals away the powers of the other, trapping him in this world

Some time passes. Our traveler has spent his time trying to survive in the wild in this new world, and has now fished a strange creature up out of the sea. Some floating cat thing, that insists he's not a cat. He calls himself Plagg

Our traveler is blond, with striking green eyes. His outfit is very strange, looking kinda like,, a thick leather armour type stuff but softer. There are dark stars on his shoulders, wrists, on the belt, and in the centre of his chest, and his shirt cuts off at the base of his ribs. Pants are much the same, boots ending just below the knees, and he's got some fancy golden gloves and padding on the knees

The traveler explains what he remembers of his story to Plagg, introducing himself as Adrien. He's not of this world, and he's going to find his identical cousin Felix, who was taken by a strange god, no matter what it takes

Plagg decides to be his guide in this world, which he calls Teyvat, and agrees to help him find the god and his cousin. He explains that Teyvat is divided into seven Nations, each under the rule of one of seven gods called Archons, collectively "the Seven". The land they're in now is called Mondstadt, the nation belonging to the Archon of freedom. And Anemo, the element of wind

Plagg leads Adrien into a small valley, a statue resting in the middle of a small lake right in the centre. The guide calls it a Statue of the seven, this one modeled after Barbatos, the name used for the Anemo Archon. Plagg believes there's a chance the strange god could be one of the seven, so perhaps praying to the statue may give them some answers

However when Adrien gets close, he's infused with a strange power. He now has control over Anemo

This is odd to Plagg because in Teyvat, only humans with something called a vision can use elemental abilities. Visions are gifts from the Archons, used to show who has earned their favour through what's usually some inhuman feat or something like that I guess

The statue left more questions than answers, so Plagg decides they should try to find the god in person in the City of Mondstadt. However on their way to the forest that will lead to the city, a dragon flies overhead

Plagg decides a dragon is too much work to deal with and suggests they turn back, cause maybe your cousin will show up on his own- wait - hey come back here-

Adrien marches on, interested in meeting a dragon. He walks carefully through the trees, stopping short when he spots the dragon and a shorter figure

The person slowly approaching the dragon has their back to Adrien, with pinkish-red hair, wearing a somewhat fancy looking grey hooded jacket, black high boots, and dark cyan trousers. On their left shoulder, attached to their lapel, is a spring green/seafoam?? Kinda? Idk- coloured gem

Their hand is outstretched towards the dragon, who growls lowly as the figure shushes them. Adrien leans in to see better, snapping a twig beneath his boots. At the sudden noise the dragon shoots off into the sky, flying off. The figure whips around to face Adrien, summoning a sword from thin air (vision users can just do this?? There's really no explanation that I've cared to read haha). The figure turns and runs off into the woods after staring at Adrien for a moment

Adrien and Plagg continue on their way through the woods, coming out the other end with no other issues. Once they exit the forest, a woman is calling for their attention

She's dressed in for the outdoors, emerald kinda green overalls that are cut like shorts, white,, idk kinda like tights but thicker?? And brown boots, the same colour as the pretty much useless belt around her waist, where a bright green gem and little pouches rest. Under the overalls is a navy collared shirt, soft fabric, button open at the top, a brown half jacket (cut like a crop top) open over it. Dark hair in two pigtails, bright blue eyes

She introduces herself as Marinette, an adventurer assisting the Knights of Favonius, who protect the city, with keeping monsters at bay from the city. She asks Adrien what he and his, cat? ("IM NOT A CAT!") Are doing outside the city, and he tells her he's looking for his cousin, and maybe Barbatos

Marinette explains that they haven't heard from their god in years, and only recently have they gotten any sign that the Archon actually exists, with the first Anemo vision to be given out in ages and the dragon attacks

Adrien helps her clear out a little monster camp before they head into the city, with Marinette planning on taking Adrien to see the Acting Grand Master to see if she can help

But OH NO DRAGON ATTACK. Adrien hears a voice and suddenly he's got boosted abilities, flying (using a wind glider) up with the dragon, chasing it away from the city by blasting it with Anemo energy

When he lands Marinette asks him what the hell he just did, and someone else steps in, claiming they were about to say the same thing. This woman has orange cat ears sticking out of bobbed orange hair, and is wearing glasses over teal eyes

She's got a simple, dark blue jacket on over a light blue collared shirt, a brown vest between the two. Dark pants, tall metallic, silver boots, a small kinda waist cape?? Idk what they are but she's got one and it's white and furred. A pale baby blue vision hangs from the side of her belt

This is Sabrina, one of the Captains with the knights, Marinette explains. Sabrina escorts the two of them to the headquarters of the knights, claiming the Acting Grand Master wants to speak with them

The Acting Grand Master has long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and tired blue eyes. She wears a long dark coat, an orangey brown vision just off the right shoulder. Under the jacket is a dark brown, thick blouse and vest combo. Her pants are a pale brown, and her boots are the same as Sabrina's. Her clothing looks rather lavish

The Acting Grand Master, Chloe, she insists they call her, listens to Adrien's tale. She explains she can help once things calm down with the whole dragon thing. He wants to help, but she can't just let him in for liability reasons and strikes a deal. If he can locate the one citizen that didn't check in and confirm their health after the attack, he earns honorary knight status

The knights and adventurers head out to seek out the temples of three of the four winds while Adrien and Plagg look for this missing person. They follow traces of Anemo energy, leading them to the roof of the knights headquarters where they come face to face with the figure from the woods, the missing citizen

The citizen attempts to run, but they stop her and say the knights are looking for her. The figure cautiously introduces herself as Alix Kubdel, watching the duo cautiously

Plagg speaks first breaking the silence, asking her about what she was doing with the dragon. You know, the dragon that attacked the city? Got an explanation for that?

Alix hesitates but explains that she was trying to calm down the dragon, bond with it. When asked why, she finally explains that she's the New Anemo Archon, and she's still getting used to what she has to do

New? What do you mean new? Plagg kinda hounds at her, Adrien apologizes, and Alix says the last Archon died, and she was eventually chosen as a replacement

By now the knights are returning from the temples and Adrien takes Alix in to talk with Chloe to convince her that they don't need to kill "Stormterror", the name given to the dragon by the city. Alix corrects them, stating his name is Dvalin

Alix has to reveal to Chloe as well that she's the new Archon in order to convince her to let them try Alix's "bonding plan", and they set into action. The group sets off for the lair of the dragon, to confront him headon

Adrien fights the dragon the same way as before, realizing Alix was the one that gave him the ability to do the funky blasting and flying, and then they've got him weak enough that Adrien can do some weird otherworldly healing thing on him

Apparently the dragon was poisoned by the monsters from the Abyss, and was under their orders. Without the aid of the Archon he couldn't fight it, but now that he's met the new Archon, Alix, all is great and dandy and they have a fun chat

They all head back to the city to celebrate, but they're ambushed by a group called the Fatui from one of the other nations, Schnezneya. During the ambush a woman known as Signora, one of the Harbingers who executes the will of the Cryo Archon, gets a hold of Alix

She snatches something called a gnosis from her, leaving her weak on the ground as they flee. The gnosis, uh, it holds like,, uh, the godly powers of an Archon? It's what makes em an Archon I guess? Sorta? Anyways Alix's was stolen so she doesn't have it now

And that's pretty much it. Alix goes to heal at this big ass tree and advises Adrien fo go check out the next nation, Liyue, and their Archon Morax, to see about his cousin and thats it

Adrien would do other stuff before leaving including meeting two Alchemists and helping them explore a mountain, assisting the two owners of the Harmony Tavern with some bullshit and all that but yeah

This is a very condensed version, of the events, but anymore detail and this would be that much longer lmao

If you have any questions comments complaints or whatever let me know. Sorry this was long I tried to condense it as best I could,

[c-atm]

Halloween tradition

Welcome, hunters! Defenders! Protectors! Human and not! Singled and partnered! Welcome to the Halloween Hunter Horde!" The master of ceremonies, a large, snow skinned person dressed in a ringmaster attire, yelled from their balcony perch to the crowd below, getting cheers and lift of wine glasses in their honor.

As was the tradition of the 'Hunters Horde.'

An annual party for hunters by the 'powers that be,' as the hunters recognized them. Truthfully, they were those who provided hunters help and assistance through various means.

Shops to exchange gems for standard currency, buy gear and accessories, and even buy domestic items. They provided information on hunts, places for hunters to exchange information, and settled disputes, and every year they did this.

Why?

Demon hunting is a lucrative business.

For the 'powers that be.'

Dressed in a purple-and-red, tattered coat with a frilly shirt, pink vest, pair of black pants, leather boots with metal soles and toes, a pair of gloves, a diamond necklace; Steven sighed as he looked at the drink in his hand, a cranberry wine, very sweet and tangy, the velvet red color was pleasing to the eye, but it wasn't his taste. Symbolic of his feelings towards this event.

There are a million things he wished he could be doing right now. All involving his firey mistress right now. Hunting with her, trick-or-treating with her, which was fun last year, dressed as Mirai Kuriyama and him, Akihito Kanbara from beyond the boundary.

"Simply adorable, she was." He mused, thinking of how excited she was to do something so child-like. How her face glowed with pride every time they were stopped for a picture or got a statement on how cute their couple cosplay was. The times when she acted in character, reciting the characters' infamous 'unpleasant' line as she adjusted her red frame glasses. She was entirely in character that year...a little to perfect.

"Still cannot believe she learned a bit of enchanting magic to create a blood blade," He muttered with a loving smile, "though she's also done one who learned demon transformation magic, so in retrospect maybe it's not insane." He shook his head; he was talking to himself, literally as violet was out on the floor, either watching and dancing with Ames or about to cause havoc with Ames. Either would be fine at this moment.

"Where is she?" He wondered as he looked around the room of their peers, hoping to see if his lady was still present, as she arrived before him from her day job or if she completely bailed and went home, leaving him alone in this...Networking event.

"No...she's still here. Just hard to tell with these senses diluting glyphs in place." Steven whispered, but he still felt her presence in the manor, scattered but there. 'Concerning in a way. Though, doubt anyone here would do anything that might put them in opposition with the 'powers that be.'' Steven thought to himself.

Still, he was expecting more... chaotic entertainment with a name like a hunter's hoard, so far everyone was tamed-chatting, dancing...info gathering.

"Well, if it isn't the flames witch's devil." A female voice said from the left of him.

He turned his head to see a demon hunter that they've come across a few times. Snow blonde hair, dark skin, voluptuous form dressed as a sexy witch, a small split skirt, tight corset top, purple silk cape, and black witches hat.

"Sarah did your 'nun' drag you here as well," Steven smirked as the witch nodded with a sigh.

"Yup, my sweet demoness thought it would be fun, plus networking is my forte, supposedly." She rolled her eyes while crossing her arms.

"Aren't you the top manager in an electronic insurance firm?"

"Aren't you a bisexual in a seemingly heterosexual relationship."

"Well, damn, who shit in your wine." Steven yielded with his hands up.

"No, I'm sorry." She sighed, "Just being here and not being able to feel Alicia's presence....Being so close to... ' Them.'

Steven nodded. He got it; the 'powers that be' are strangely intimidating, especially since no one knows precisely who they are...That, coupled with the sense dampening spell, would put any right partner on edge.

"Did you come with Alicia?"

"Strange question." Sarah arched her eyebrow, " but yeah...Of course."

"Hmmph. Well, at least you saw your partner."

Sarah's eyes widened at that before she smirked. "You didn't see trailblazer , huh..or what she was wearing."

"You have?" Steven took a sip of wine.

"Oh yeah." She tittered, "Actually, her and Alicia were sticking close to each other, talking with some other hunters."

Steven released a breath he didn't know he was holding. He was more relaxed now that he knew she was at least with a trusted ally. A demoness, yes, but Alicia's a fan of his firey lady and has been one since the azurite case; Where she saved the duo and a few others from a very oppressive spell. She's even the one that dubbed her 'trailblazer' for her aptitude with fire magic and her fierce attitude.

"So... How does my lady look?" His curiosity and enthusiasm in his voice.

"I can not say when you sound so ecstatic. It's like spoiling the climax of a movie."

"Fine, fine. I'll let myself be surprised. Can you at least tell me where you last saw her?"

Sarah was about to point left when it all happened. A body sailed across the sky, above the crowd, landing right between the two hunters.

Looking down, they saw the body was that a man with tan skin, a deep brown comb-over, and a broken, singed nose and cheek, dressed as speed racer; he groaned before losing consciousness.

"Where is that grabby little snake!"

A voice yelled within the crowd, a familiar voice.

A fiery voice.

Steven smiled as he watched the crowd all but part to give room to his blazing contractee as she marched her way through towards her victim and assailant, and his jaw dropped when he saw her.

She was dressed in a steampunk styled costume her consists of a purple and red-trimmed leotard with matching hot pants, a deep blue pleated skirt, black thigh-high socks, white boots, a pair of red mid-finger gloves, a headband, a pink diamond barrette, and ribbon around a lock of her hair. The costume, while not revealing, showed all her curves and brought both her charm and charisma to the surface.

"My Connie." He expressed in a daze getting her attention.

"Steven?" Her eyes expanded as she saw her partner, instantly forgetting the handsy little perv, in favor of her beloved demon embrace. Laughing as his hands found themselves at the curve of her back and her palms found his shoulder blades as she kisses his gem under his shirt. Getting a small shiver of appreciation.

She climbed out his arms, reluctantly to take a look at her partner in his outfit." So it's a costume party, and you came as a demon?" She teased, "a little on the nose there, don't you think."

"Ah, but you see, I'm now a love demon, all for you," he whispered, pulling her back into his hold.

"You gotta show me your credentials, later then."

She giggled, feeling his gentle lips on her shoulder. "So, you didn't say anything about my alchemist costume." She mumbled into his ear.

"Do I have to say how bewitching and tempting you are?" He teasingly admitted as he kissed her blushing cheeks.

"You just did, silly " She sighed, holding him close. She turned to Sarah and pointed toward the crowd, "Alicia's near the punch."

Sarah gave the two a grin before disappearing into the sea of people, leaving the two of them alone.

"So, having fun?" Steven asked, against her collar.

"Yea, it's been a blast." She started sarcastically, "talking shop, exchanging war stories and info about demons sighting called 'slashers'..." She sighed, "all while having people gawk at me with lewd eyes." She huffed.

"Well, you can't blame them. You make such an alluring alchemist." He moved his lips to her ear, "you'd have willing volunteers to experiment all across the land." His teasing cold breath tickled her ear, causing her to giggle.

[[More*]]

"Oh! no doubt," she carried on their play, nuzzling close. "Unfortunately, I have such a terrifying territorial terror as my partner. You'd chase them all away." She clicked her tongue in faux reprimand, kissing his temple. "Scientific succession stopped by my stingy Steven."

"I was yours first. Science can suck it."

"You're mine now."

"I'll be yours forever."

The earnest way he said it made her heart thumped and urged her to give him a tender kiss, humming throughout.

"Can we go somewhere more...Secluded, like.." She nodded her head towards the western wall, where there was a large enough balcony behind two glass doors, and no one was on it. Connie only giggled as Steven scooped her up and moved like a wisp of smoke towards their destination; unseen, and unnoticed by all.

They reappeared on the terrace almost immediately, Steven walking out of the smoke with Connie, still mid-laugh. He sat her down on her feet before watching her walk to the edge and sitting on top of it, facing him. "You'd catch me if I fall, right?"

"Of course, my lady. I am your partner." He smirked devilishly as he glided up to her, resting his hands beside her hips and his torso between her knees. Looking up at her somewhat mischievous face shining in the moonlight. "Are you planning a daring escape?" He teased.

"Actually, I might have...Sort of...Put one into action, already?" She confessed sheepishly.

"Huh?" Steven looked dumbfounded at his love. " What do you mean?"

"You'll find out."

"Does...does it have anything to do with that fool you laid out." He asked.

"Oh, gosh, no!" She exclaimed. "I put this into action, way before he grabbed my and Alicia's butt." She clarified, almost nonchalantly. She pulled him into a hold, feeling the rage from her best friend and partner, "No, we already handled it." She confirmed.

"But he..." Steven began only to be silenced by a small glare.

"It was nothing, my dapper demon. I promise. He touched and was punished for it..." she grimaced" Licia, just about ended his bloodline, if you catch my drift." She said, flexing her fingers as if she was holding something.

"Ooh." Steven breathed out, shaking his head." Still, wished that didn't occur."

"Yeah, cause only you can be perverse with me." She teased.

"Now, is it really perverse when it's with your lover, I prefer, intimate." He spoke in that devilishly dapper tongue that used to (and still at times) make her a blushing mess.

Connie, red face and eyes glowing by another emotional heat, chuckled. "Intimate, huh?" She pulled him closer.

"Yup." he rested his head on hers. "My actions are based on my love for you, my flame ."

"I never doubted that, my gem .." She chuckled. "Speaking of intimate...How long are you gonna keep your lady waiting?"

Steven didn't need anymore coaxing as they shared a deep kiss. Her hand holding his cheek, as he held her seat, her hot tongue twist, caress, and danced with his cooler one, creating a moment of warming love between the two. However, anyone else would see a small purple heart of flame around them.

Then a crash resounded from the inside along with the yells and laughter of Violet and Ames, causing general chaos.

"That's -chu- your -chu- plan?" He smirked through their kiss.

"Um -chu- hm !" She nodded, "let's go get us some candy -chu- get us a demon -chu- get a little hurt, -chu- and then spend the night dressing each other wounds, love demon. "

"Now, That's a plan fit for an alchemist." Steven said, deepening the kiss. " -CHU!- I missed you."

"I missed you too...Nothing like being able to sense you." She sighed as the kiss gain more depth.

-CRASH!-

" Let's not waste their hard work."

Steven smirked as he lifted his lady from the railing holding her in his arms, resuming their kiss as they sank into the sweet shadows that filled their flaming heart.

Off to spend their Halloween, their way.

---------;;;

For @meku95 Halloween contest

[sabraeal]

The Call Which Carries You Home

He Who Fell in the Sea | Previous Selkie AU

Obiyuki Week, Day 3 Gluttony | Charity

He’s not used to the lights in Lyrias, not anymore.

Sereg may be shoved into the furthest, most godforsaken corner of the country, but it was a military installation, funded for by the crown and kept in the best condition. It would not do for the men on its walls to think more of the contents of their stomach or the lumps of their mattress than what lurked in the dark. It has been a decade since Clarines went to war, but no one has forgotten what they learned. A single flinch could change the tide, when brother fought against brother.

The lamps were always full at the knights’ circle, each sconce blaring like its own sun, every hall lit up like daybreak. But here in Lyrias --

Well, most scholars don’t want to spent their budget on things like candles and lamp oil, not when they only use the dorms for sleeping.

Miss’s back treads before him in the dim, the black of her cloak making her little more than a shape glimpsed through dark waters, a swimmer lost in the fog. Each time they pass a lamp, her gold stitching glitters, outlining the proud set of her shoulders with St. Elmo’s fire. She cuts through shadow as a hull cuts through a swell, never a moment’s hesitation.

He ducks his chin, smothering a smile. Of course. No matter what tricks his eyes play on him, Miss has never truly been adrift in her life. She’s got a compass where her heart should be, and it always points her home.

Welcome home. 

A breath rasps out of his lungs, ugly and awkward; a seal’s groan from a human throat. Goosebumps pimple his arms, his legs, and, ah, even his scalp tingles, so tight he’s sure his hair must be on end, trying to figure out which way is up.

If Miss hears, she doesn’t give a sign of it, just forging on through each twist and turn. The slope of her shoulders before him is as familiar to Obi as the ache in his chest, as the beat of his heart. He’d been half-lost at the castle, each step taken on the wrong foot, but he’s hardly been back an hour and already he’s back on course. It’s so much easier to find himself when his north star is just above him.

Welcome home.

She’s right before him and his palms itch, his pelt growing heavier by the step. Obi’s not supposed to touch her, not supposed to get in the way, but he’d seen her in the street, had met eyes with her through the press, raised his hand and --

And he had not known until her gaze hooked his, until her eyes lit with recognition and she took that first trembling step toward him, how long he had been holding his breath. Each one at Sereg had been like gulping down seawater, drowning so slowly he hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even felt it until he looked at her and took his first pull of air in weeks.

Welcome home.

She had said that to him, to him. His wrists still burn where she held them, and he cannot forget the way his hands felt wrapped around her hips, how light she had felt in his arms --

He shakes his head. Ah, he thought he might be used to her touch by now, but -- her hands in his fur and her hands on his skin are two different things, and though it was muted through the leather of his gloves he still -- still--

He wants her to do it again.

The castle’s sconces set her hair ablaze each time they pass, and he’s sharply reminded of the last time he walked these halls. He had been alone then, dressed for bed, breathless, and she -- she had answered her door the same way, his pelt clutched to her chest.

She couldn’t have known what she’d done, what he’d done, but she’d looked up at him with dark eyes and --

He shouldn’t think about that. The guilt had practically eaten him alive when he was with Master, those thoughts creeping up on him in the silent moments between. They’d snuck in while he traveled to Sereg, while he’d waited for Master to make his decision, while he’d laid in bed with physicians fussing over him, telling him he’d best stay there another week.

Obi had tried, at least. But idle hands did him no good when he had thoughts like these waiting to overtake him.

Miss might scold, but it was worth it to be free of -- of that. Save that here they are again with her right here before him and --

“Your hair got long.”

He blinks, but Miss is already pinking up quite nicely, her hand hesitating over her door. “I mean, longer.”

This, he can deal with. His teeth peek between his lips. “It’s only been a month, Miss.”

“I know that!” She fusses with the knob, flush creeping up the pale skin of her neck. “I just...noticed it. Now.”

He hums, eyeing where her own hair falls on her back. “Yours looks longer too.”

Her hand flies up, fingering the ends of her hair, and though her back is to him, he sees her cheeks round in a soft grin. “It’s only been a month.”

“Well,” he murmurs, far too close, the spice of her soap tickling his nose. “I only just noticed.”

“Go sit on the bed,” she tells him, opening the door. “I still want to take a look at that cut.”

“It’s all healed,” he protests, even though his side tweaks the moment he lifts his arm to fuss at the buckle for his cape. “Clean bill of health.”

Mostly.

The looks she turns on him is dubious. “That’s not what Mitsuhide’s letter said.”

He should have known Sir would tattle. “Well, Sir is not exactly the best judge of...”

Words desert him as he slips tongue though buckle and allows his pelt to slither down his side, and Miss --

Her gaze follows it, heavy and dark, until it hits the mattress with a slump.  Even when he starts in on his coat, her eyes are on it, breath coming out in a labored rasp, body unnaturally still. If he didn’t know any better --

Well, he’d say she was holding back. That the look in her eye might be something like hunger.

She blinks, dragging her gaze back up to his, and flushes under the question in it.

“You should...” She takes a moment to shut the door behind her, and once again she hesitates before turning back, before taking a few more fluttering steps into the room. “You should lay down. It’s on your side, isn’t it?”

He lets out a huff, annoyed, but drops himself to the mattress, rucking up his shirt until it’s up under his armpits. “I should have known he’d tell you.”

Miss hums, buzzing in close, fingers brushing over his skin. His breath catches, tingling where her fingers press, but if she notices, she gives no sign. “It wasn’t him.”

A laugh barks out of him, incredulous. “Then who--?”

“You did.” She flicks him out of those sly glances that makes him want to kiss her. “Outside. Remember? A-tt-tt, my side!”

She’s far too proud of herself. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Mm.” Obi knows every flavor of Miss’s mms, and this one is distinctly not an agreement. “You’ve taken good care of this.”

Praise cuts straight through his annoyance, and he can’t help but preen. “I did promise Miss I would be more careful.”

Her mouth quirks, just the slightest bit. “And I promised I would never let you scar.”

Her hand presses softly to the wound -- one that almost certainly will leave a mark -- and lets out a sigh. Against his skin, he could swear he feels her heart beating its swift tattoo.

“Is it different now?”

He can only stare at her, unsure of what she could possibly mean.

“You hair,” she clarifies. “Is it different, now that you’ve let it grown out?”

It’s a whole new world. He’d thought himself sensitive before, but now colors are brighter, smells are sharper, and he moves as if the world has gained another dimension.

“I don’t need so much spice in my food,” he says instead, because anything else feels too intimate with so little space between them. “And I don’t get myself stuck in tight places.”

She lets out a grunt of a giggle. “You never did before.”

“Ah, didn’t I?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Or did you never catch me?”

Miss smiles, but suddenly her touch is gone, only a memory of her warmth lingering against his skin.

“All right,” she sighs, taking a step back. “You can get up, if you like.”

He doesn’t like; he wants to stay right here, breathing in the soft lilac of her sheets, but Obi also knows a dismissal when he hears one. Doubtlessly Miss has a hundred other things she would rather be taking care of than him.

He levers himself up, rolling the film of his shirt back over his stomach. Next to him, his pelt lays crumpled on the bed, smooth and sable as always, and --

He could keep it. He could wear it every day, a choice he continues to not make, hold his own reins --

“This is yours.” His hand is already outstretched, fur spilling over his fingers, holding it like a small child might hold out a favorite blanket. Miss stares down at it with eyes so wide he can almost see the whites around them.

She won’t take it, he knows. Miss has never liked keeping it away, never liked forcing him to stay when he longed to be elsewhere, longed to be home -- but his home is right here, and if he doesn’t give it to her, if he keeps it and catches the song of his sisters --

Sparks shoot up his spine, his knees nearly going out from underneath him as her hand closes around the edge of it and rubs. A cry tears from his chest, hungry and inhuman, and she can’t possibly have missed it, can’t possibly --

“Obi?” She’s never said his name this way, so thoughtful and yet...more. “You seem tense.”

A breath raggedly escapes from his lungs, and -- what can he say, when all his world had melted away to where her fingers idly trace patterns into his fur, like nails scraping down his back in the most delicious way.

“Would you like me to help you?”

He’s so turned around that he almost thinks she’s offering something else, something Master’s Mistress has no right offering, but then he remembers -- relaxation. Just what they have always done, her hands on his pelt and him laying near, feeling safe in her company.

Or near enough, save for that last time, the night before he left--

“Yes,” he chokes around the knot in his throat. “That...yes.”

It’s been a month, he knows, but somehow it’s too long; the moment she kneels on the bed, pelt spread over her knees and not even touching, he just -- whines. Like a mutt who’s seen a lamb chop through a window.

Miss doesn’t raise her gaze, but her eyelashes flutter and her mouth curves, and he knows she heard.

“You should sit,” she says, and there is far too much amusement her tone for his comfort. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He sniffs disdainfully, and for the entire circuitous route he takes to her bed, he refuses to look at her. In a fair and just world, she would be seared by his scathing disdain, be entirely repentant --

Instead, her shoulders shake. She’s laughing.

With a huff, he settles himself by the footboard, legs hanging off so the balls of his feet still brace on the floor. It’s a safe distance; any closer and he might smell her, might touch her -- and with the memories of before haunting him, with the way she welcomed him home --

He’s already reading far too much into this. She’s just -- offering comfort, as she always has.

Neither of them speak, but when his weight dips the mattress her lips curl at the corner, and her palms stretch flat on the fur.

He sighs into it, the phantom pressure of her hands warm over the curve of his back. When she moves them, stroking slowly, surely, his head tips back. He’s never felt a touch like hers; every other hand to hold his pelt has set his teeth on edge, but with Miss it’s nearly a massage, working out all the tension beneath his skin.

Perhaps this is the way of it, for his kind. He was stolen from his sisters too young to know, and now --

Well, if he ever saw them again, he certainly wouldn’t let them touch him like this.

Her hands are halfway down his spine when she laughs, and he jolts, nearly topping over. He’d been half asleep, listing where he sat.

“Obi.” Her voice slips over him like her hands do, too warm and inviting. “Why don’t you lay down?”

She pats her lap -- tap tap, just over his kidneys -- and it’s not the first time she’s offered, nor even the first time he’s taken, but --

It feels dangerous, with all these thoughts rattling around in his head, making the air feel heavy with more. Still, it doesn’t stop him; she pats her lap again and he just tips, settling with his head pillowed by her thigh, pelt soft under his cheek.

She starts again, running a hand right along his shoulders, making him sink further into her, face nuzzled right against her belly. It’s better like this, with both his skin and her scent so close to him, more lulling, and she’s barely stroked him twice before he’s drifting again, the siren call of sleep luring him under --

Until he jolts, fingers clutching at the duvet, heart pounding in his chest. Her hands hover, uncertain, as he gasps hard against her belly.

“O-Obi?” Her voice is small, worried. “Did I--?”

“No. Just -- my hair,” he manages. “It’s..sensitive.”

An understatement. If whiskers feel like this naturally, then he’s sorry for every cat he’s ever touched.

“Oh.” It’s hardly more than a breath, her palms settling flat against her thighs. Their phantom warmth presses against his back, and -- that helps, at least, even if he’s still strung tight like a bowstring. “Hm.”

That’s his only warning -- one thoughtful hum, and then her fingers drag deep furrows into his pelt, down and down, towards her knees and --

He arches off the bed with a gasp, writhing as he feels the warmth of her hands around the base of his cock. His breath rasps out of him, humid where he’s pressed himself into her belly, and it takes everything in him not to grind his hips into the mattress, not to get some relief from the way her fingers have sunk into his belly fur --

Her hand lifts, burying itself deep into his hair, nails scraping his scalp, and --

Her grabs her, fingers wrapped tight, purposeful around her wrist.

“Miss,” he rumbles,  peeking up at her with a gaze he knows says too much. “Either keep your hand on the pelt, or lay on it.”

Her jaw drops as wide as her eyes, and for a moment he thinks he’s made his point, that she will balk and retreat to the safer boundaries of touch, but -- but --

Haah, no. It’s not in his Miss to retreat. Her lip takes a determined just, and with barely a moment of hesitation she plunges both hands deep into his hair, every nerve in him alight as he bolts upright, meaning to close the space between them as she spills back --

“Obi!”

He leaps back just before the door bursts open, Suzu collapsing breathlessly over his knees. He must have run all the way here. It would have been touching, if, well...

“You’re alive!” Suzu cries out between gasps, hand pressed to his chest.

“I am,” Obi agrees, maybe a little terse.

“What did you expect? I told you I saw him,” Yuzuri complains, tucking herself between Suzu’s arm and the door. Her bright gaze fixes on him, smile curling her mouth, and she opens her mouth --

Only for her eyes to flick to Miss, and then to him, and then to the entire room between them.

“Well, you’ve seen him, Suzu,” she says brusquely, practically shoving him out the door. “You can work easy now.

If anything, this only makes him struggle harder. “But--”

“I think Obi and Shirayuki have things to talk about. Important things!” she says, with the sort of strident, pointed tone that implies he knows exactly what those things are, and he better not ruin it. If only she knew just how well Obi had done that, all on his.

“But--!”

Yuzuri shoves him the last little bit out of the room. “Good, glad we understand each other.” She leans back, smile bright and too-knowing. “Glad to see you’re alive, Obi.”

“Thanks,” he grits out, but it’s covered by the slam of the door. And then once again, he’s alone with Miss.

Only it’s different this time. Tense.

“Obi--”

“Master is looking forward to seeing you,” he says, because he’s never met a good thing he deserved.

“Oh.” her face crumples with confusions. “Did he say that?”

Obi hesitates, before forcing the smile on his face. “He doesn’t need to, Miss.”

Her mouth pulls thin. “He might try, once in a while.”

It’s dangerous being here when she says things like that. Hearing his own thoughts from her lips is too intoxicating.

“I should get going.” The words come out far to breathless. “If you don’t think I’m going to die, His Lordship will want to hear my report.”

“Oh.” She steps back from him. “Right. Of course. Yes. You look..fine. Very healthy.”

“Yeah, I feel it,” he lies. “I should--”

“Take this.” Miss’s arm thrusts out, pelt dangling from the end of it. “You should really...keep it.”

He should, he should.

“No.” His hand curls over hers, clasping it tighter around his pelt. “It’s where it’s supposed to be.”

He can’t bring himself to say what he means, but she pulls it to her chest, looking up at him with such bright eyes, that he wonders if she can hear it.

Home.

[yeskama]

Prologue Draft: A Tale of Sorcery II: Dance of the Dark Dragon

The following is an unfinished draft of the prologue chapter for my next fanfic. Some pieces might make it to the final draft but I’m pretty sure most of it’s gonna end up nuked. Figured I’d share it before that happens...

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In the southwestern regions of Augustus, 25 miles from the Solidere border, the Fortress City of Delacroix stands vigil. Considered a feat of human ingenuity, she was constructed during the peak of the Agustian Empire, encompassing over 40,000 square meters of the Great Southern Lake. The steel walls surrounding her reach up to 200 feet, while her tallest towers peak at 400. Built on a solitary island, four great bridges provide entry to the mainland, each located at a cardinal point and underneath her foundations, a vast underground mining complex extracts the valued minerals of the earth. Surrounding the city are ten great spires that defend her from any act of war, be they magic, artillery or otherwise. This resilience has always been the city’s greatest boon. Indeed, the Dark Kingdom only succeeded in conquering the city by starving her citizens out. Even then, it took 2 and half years to accomplish Her accolades however don’t end there...    

Behind her walls reside the finest tradesmen, crafters and scholars known worldwide. Delacroix’s Shining Star Academy has produced many great magi throughout the centuries, notably Archmage Noah. Her citizens are not only a proud and hardy people but also hospitable. The city boasts the largest demi-human and elf populations in Augustus. The Great Cathedral of Aime not only administers the Ten’s watchful eyes, but even permits other faiths to provide for their pilgrims. All these feats however will never wash away the city’s greatest shame. For it was here, six centuries ago, Lilith was sired. The very woman whose son brought the entire continent to its knees, was at a time, one of her beloved citizens...

Since it’s liberation, the governing body of Delacroix has served her Augustian masters for the past 406 years. The road between her and the capital has long been dubbed “The Golden Road” for its consistently safe conditions. For years, the gates of Delacroix stood open for all...

Now?

Her drawbridges are raised, her waters play host to dangerous beasts, and her citizens have boarded themselves within, sword and staff ready. Cannons line her walls while wyverns dominate her skies. Amongst the rolling hills of the mainland, Legion tents dot the landscape with artillery directed at the city. Bending to the banners of golden flame, the north and west bleed red, whilst across the lake, banners of the white horse stand firm as the lands bleed blue. The time is 11 at dawn and here, situated among the hills of red, two men ready their charges for afternoon drills...  

“Recruit-man Lyon!” “Captain Lagnus, sir!” “You are holding your weapon incorrectly, recruit-man...” Unsheathing his own blade, he proceeds to explain. “You want your main hand resting near the guard and your off hand near the pommel. That way you have proper balance. Clutching with the hands together lessens your control...” “Thank you, sir! I will keep that in mind from now on!”  

Sheathing his blade, he just gave the lad a reassuring smile and went on his way. T’was a common mistake, especially amongst enlisted civilians. After examining a few more fresh faces, Lagnus found himself staring into the clear blue sky as sweat tricked down his face.

Though the humidity had lessened since yesterday, the summer's heat was still strong. Truth be told. Lagnus himself wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. A man of 23 years with jet black hair and brown eyes, he had served in the Legion for six years now. A commissioned officer, he wore a standard Legion armor set but with a slight personal touch. He had it gilded to reflect his proficiency with light magic (a rather difficult element to master amongst magi) with a blue bodysuit, brown gloves and a gold circlet. Finishing the ensemble was a red cape, bearing the sigil of a gold flame on its back, reflecting the House he served under. While he looked regal in it, truthfully, it was like a mini torture cell! He wanted nothing more but to remove it but doing so would undermine his authority, or so he believed. Wiping his head, he made his way toward one of the nearby canopies wherein he took to the comfort of water, chugging away without abandon. With his thirst quenched, he sighed in delight and took a seat. T’was then another man took to the canopy, the one instructing the magi...

“Hot, Captain?” He greeted him. Lagnus just shook his head. “I can manage, my lord...” The man merely smirked as he went for a bottle of water. “I somehow doubt that...” He answered dryly

Albus Vanthe Amherst was his name and at just 17 years, his reputation preceded him. Captain of the Legion Magi Corps and heir to one of the five great noble families of Augustus. Lagnus was familiar with the stories...a generational prodigy they call him. He graduated the Augustus Magi Academy at 12, enrolled in the Severin Legion Academy at 13 before graduating a year later and quickly soaring through the ranks. It took Lagnus six years to claw his way up to Captain, a feat which Albus accomplished in four. An impressive accomplishment indeed and Lagnus was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt...

...if not for that last name.

He had seen it before, hayseeds elevated through the ranks all on the merits of their family names. Being an orphan, Lagnus did not possess the luxury of a last name, though he was well on his way toward earning one.  Regardless, it just left a sour taste in his mouth. His appearance did nothing to dissuade this notion. A face so immaculately crafted, you’d mistake it for a king’s, with piercing emerald eyes and long flowing scarlet hair. His current attire consisted of a black unbuttoned long coat with matching pants and boots, all of which had some manner of gold trimmings. Only the shirt he wore broke the trend, being a plain red in color. Clearly ill-dressed himself for the season, not that it mattered to Lagnus. He was more preoccupied with warding off the heat than anything...

“Done with your charges?” The noble asked. Lagnus nodded. “Indeed. Yourself my lord?” Albus just nodded before reaching into one of his pockets. Pulling out a bag of peanuts, he offered. “Snack?”

Eh, why not?

Rising from his seat, Lagnus stood next to the mage as the two of them picked at the bag. He hadn’t had salted peanuts since he was a boy and had long forgotten the taste. Rough and tangy but still tastey! Unfortunately, they prompted more water down the throat (the wonders of salt). As the two ate, they both looked ominously on the city. Five months have passed since Delacroix declared for independence and so far...nothing. Just what was going on in there?

“May if I inquire about something, Captain?” Albus asked “Go ahead.” “Why are you here?” Lagnus looked at the mage confused. What prompted him to ask such a thing? “What else? To do my duty. The city has rebelled against the crown. Such actions cannot be abided...” “If memory serves me correctly, did you not once call this city home?” He matched eyes with the knight. “When those drawbridges come down, rest assured, things will turn ugly. If that comes to pass...can you bring it upon yourself to draw your sword on your own neighbors?” Lagnus returned his gaze toward the city, “When we joined the Legion, we made a pledge to his majesty. A knight who cannot stay true to his word cannot be called a knight...” Albus let out a soft chuckle upon hearing this...   “My friend...you are not a knight...” Lagnus just flashed a brief smile as he went for some more peanuts. “Give it time, my lord.”

It was around this time a figure ascended the hill on horseback.  His face concealed by , he was on horseback and had three prisoners in tow, bound by rope and their faces concealed by sacks. One was an adult woman wearing a red maid outfit. Lagnus was well aware of its significance, only those serving one of Delacroix’s governing families wore red. The other two were just children, a boy and a girl. Arriving before the canopy, the shrouded figure dismounted and knelt before them...

“Sir Lagnus, Lord Albus...I have fulfilled my task...” Albus applauded the man as he rose to his feet. “So I see! Well done good sir! Let us meet with uncle, I'm sure he’ll find these arrivals most pleasing...”

Amherst command took up residence in a quaint tent near the lakeside. Inside, sigils of the golden flame stood proud whilst men and women of scarlet (or blonde) hair and green eyes seated themselves before a long table. Food and wine took residence upon its fine surface while its masters discussed strategy, charted maps and schemed against their political enemies. Situated in the back and installed on the most decorated seat was the Lord Victor Penton Amherst, current head of House Amherst, chief advisor to his royal highness and, both figurative and literally, the most powerful man in camp.  

Of course, upon first impressions, one would hardly come to such a conclusion. A man of 55 years, Victor had already gone through three wives and sired six children, only one of which, survived to this day. At a mere 5 feet, he looked like an ant seated amongst giants, though none dared to make such a jest. His scarlet hair, now lessening and brushed backward, had dulled to the that of light ginger. This extended to the thick goatee he grew to mask his weathering features. The parts of his face visible were suitably worn, highlighting his high cheekbones and the creases under his eyes, which like the rest of his family, were a deep emerald in color. Whilst his present company were outfitted in decorative raiment, Victor settled on a simple black leather doublet, with matching pants and boot. Situated on his lap and was the Amherst family heirloom, a great tome bearing the family’s ancestral sigil, a golden flame over a red field. The tome itself bore the family’s greatest creation; a magic spell forged from over 200 years of generational knowledge...

Hellfire

Whilst the others squabbled amongst themselves, Lord Victor kept silent, his attention focused on a letter addressed from his majesty. A solemn man, he was not one for small talk, only speaking when he deemed it necessary. Only Albus’s arrival would pry him away from the whims of his king...  

“Lord Uncle!” He shouted over the ruckus. Upon the declaration, the whole tent immediately went quiet. Raising his head up, he watched as his nephew hurried to his side.  

“What is it Albus?” he asked. Contrary to Lord Victor’s size, his voice was deep and strong. “Have there been any new developments from the city?”  Albus just smiled and shook his head. “Afraid not, my lord. But we have procured some...bargaining chips.” Signaling to the entrance of the tent, he shouted...

“Bring them in!”

Lagnus escorted the bound maid while the cloaked figure gently prompted the children in. All eyes were on the pair as they unmasked the captives. The maid was a young woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes, probably in her early to mid 20’s. Her eyes bore a tremendous fury toward the tent’s occupants though she stayed her tongue. Lagnus maintained his composure but was quite dismayed by her unveiling...

For he knew this woman...

Thankfully t’was not the maid the Amhersts were interested In. Rather, their attention was focused on the children. A delicate looking pair for sure, certainly no older than 8. Both bore eyes of red, hair of orange and were outfitted in sleepwear typically reserved for the upper-class. These factors lead little doubt concerning their identities. Like the maid, their mouths remained silent but instead of fury in their eyes, terror took front stage. This fear intensified as the short man in black approached them, his great red tome tucked under his left arm. Kneeling down to the boy, he gently grabbed the lad’s chin and studied. The boy, whose eyes were tightly shut, began to cry...

“Open your eyes boy!” The man asked sternly.

He did as asked and was instantly met by the man’s emerald gaze. He stared intently before breaking his gaze and looking up to the Shrouded Man, who’s head bowed in respect.  

“There is no mistaking it. This is indeed Lord Ville’s son...”

Raising to his feet, he ordered all present save his nephew, Lagnus and the shrouded man to leave. Once the tent was emptied, he gave the order to a nearby sentry to escort the children to one of the prisoner’s tents and double camp security. He was taking no chances. As the children left the tent, the shrouded figure snapped his fingers and suddenly, their tears and sniffles were now audible. The display brought a rare smirk to Lord Victor. A silence incantation? Very clever indeed...

“Remove those rags and rest yourself. You’ve more than earned it...”  

The figure did as commanded and discarded his concealments, revealing a young man with short chestnut brown hair and piercing brown eyes.  Seating himself at the table, he proceeded picking at the ham as Lord Victor wandered over to the maid, eyeing her curiously...

“Who is this?”

The brown-haired youth looked upward and responded, “A servant who got a bit too nosy for her own good...” The cup now full, he took a quick swig and continued, “Give her credit, she was the only one in the Ville household that didn’t buy my story...” Breaking eye contact, he looked downward, “When the opportunity to abduct the kids arose, she was waiting for me in the girl’s bedroom...” He paused briefly before finishing “Not wanting to take any risks, I brought her along...”  

The maid glared furiously at the man, struggling to free herself while her mouth silently flapped like mad. Lagnus tightened his grip, garnering him an ugly look from the young woman before she returned her gaze to the brown-haired man. Without warning, she suddenly felt a vicious strike against her left cheek. The blow was strong, so much so, her head swung as she fell to her knees. A red bruise burned brightly on her face and as she struggled to open her left eye, she felt someone grip her cheeks. Orbs of green gazed into her sole opened eye, a horrifying fire having awakened within them...

“If you value your life wench, you will compose yourself...” The Lord Amherst growled. “The Golden Flame has no time for fools. I suggest you prepare yourself for questioning...less you want something unpleasant to befall those children...”

As the maid was escorted out, Lord Victor returned to his seat. Albus took a seat next to his uncle whilst Lagnus sat across from the Brown Haired Man. Lord Victor eyed him inquisitively before asking...

“Have you charted the city’s entire sewer system?” Nodding, the man pulled out three folded papers from his pocket and set them on the table. A brief smirk crossed Victor’s lips upon seeing them. It had been three months since he departed for the city. An insider them tipped off that the city intended to declare for independence. Only the royal family was privy to the city’s one weakness, and even then, their knowledge of it was lacking. Victor sent his newest acquisition into the city before the drawbridges were rose, complete with fake identifications to clear him as a Ville servant. Needless to say, the lad passed with flying colors. Passing the pitcher of wine around, all four pour their goblets and the Lord Amherst raised a glass...

“To you Canne, let us celebrate this moment as one!”   “Here, Here!” Albus chimed. “Aye...” Lagnus agreed quietly. Canne kept his silence, his eyes closed as he sipped his wine. Once everyone had their fill, he asked...

“Will the children be harmed?” The question surprised Albus who softly chuckled. “Well, that all depends on Lady Ville! As we are all privy, every woman’s sole weakness is their children...Why else would we assign you to her?” Albus smirked as he raised to goblet to his mouth for another sip before continuing. “I’m rather shocked Canne! Even after three months as a servant you still possess that small-town naiveté? I would think it quashed by now...” Though he did not see it, Canne shot Albus an ugly glance as the noble returned to his cup...

“Is it not strange though?”  Lagnus interjected. “What is?” Albus eyed him. “How many of the council seats have changed in the past 6 months? Lord Ville’s sudden death notwithstanding, both the Rochester and Hanniver heads passed away two weeks apart! The Cushings being replaced by the Lees? The disappearance of Lord Dolle and his daughter? And the Monevs being given a seat?! So much has happened amongst the city’s top brass that it’s near impossible to ignore!” Looking at Canne, Lagnus asked “Did you hear anything notable during the past three months?” Canne simply shook his head...

“Nothing significant save rumors and gossip. Amongst the staff, the prevailing belief was that Lady Ville poisoned her husband, though just as many say otherwise. Though the daly atmosphere amongst the household was fairly dismal...”

“Our mission is quell the uprising, not speculate on it.

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

The chapter would have ended with Victor sending Canne eastward to acquire some “important desirables” his majesty requested in the letter (though what they were would not be revealed). 

The only noteworthy thing about this was that in earlier stages, Lemres was present. Originally, Lemres was the one training the mages and would pose the question if Lagnus was comfortable with the situation. These interactions were repurposed for Albus with minor adjustments (Albus was always intended to appear, instead he would have been introduced in the Amherst tent). 

Why was this changed?

1.) I have reservations about Sega characters appearing in the story so early. Maybe further down the road but not so soon.

2.) Lemres serving in the Legion is just too out of character of him. Also, the implication that he would have no problem blasting rebels on the grounds of treason was just pushing it.

[lostinfic]

The Raven and the Goldfinch | 1

Part 1 of 3 | Ao3

Summary: In turn-of-the-century London, the famous illusionist, Peter Vincent, must use his skills to reclaim the love of his life, a woman he thought was lost to him. Now that he’s given a second chance, he won’t lose her again, not even when supernatural forces get in the way. 

Genre: childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, Victorian Era AU, movie AU (The Illusionist), supernatural elements

Rating: mature 

Word count: 5k

Ship: Peter Vincent (Fright Night) x Jenny (Spirit Trap).

Why this pairing? Peter Vincent witnessed his parents get killed by a vampire, but lived in denial of this until reality caught up with him in the movie. Jenny’s mother was a medium, but Jenny refused to believe it (just like her father, who left because of it) until she experienced her own encounter with ghosts in the movie. I think this similarity between their personal stories is interesting and a good starting point for a ship. And that’s all you need to know about these characters.

A/N: @ktrosesworld prompted: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hrmm Vamp!Rose with a HEA ... umm umm ... is that a stake in your pants or are you just pleased to see me ;) ... or wherever you muse decides to take you with smutty Peter Vincent.

So many things about that prompt were out of my comfort zone, but I really wanted to write it for KT who is always so lovely and supportive. So, I stretched that prompt as far as it would go, but I promise there shall be smut, a HEA, and that quote, but I tried writing it with Rose, and it wasn’t working. 

≒

The Sunday Herald, 31 October 1895

A NIGHT OF MYSTERY.

Some Curious Facts Concerning All Hallow Eve.

The Night When Maidens Try to Find Out Who Will Wed Them— A Curious Circumstance— Tricks Played.

From its first origination, Hallow eve has been invested with a peculiarly mystic character. It is an almost universal superstition that supernatural influences then have unusual power— that devils, witches and fairies are abroad, that all spirits are free to roam through space, and that the spiritual element in all living humanity can be detached from corporeal restraint and made to road its own future or to reveal to others what fate may have in store for them.

As there is nothing in the Church celebration of the ensuing day of All Saint's to justify these singular ideas and customs associated with Hallow eve, and none of them are of a religious character, we may justly regard them as relics of pagan times.

In all ages and countries, Hallow eve has been deemed, as it still is, the occasion par excellence for devilling the answer to that momentous question which absorbs so large a share of the thoughts of romantic young men and maidens, "who is to marry whom?" The means employed to gain this much desired information are as quaint and curious as they are numerous and varied.

Water, nuts and apples bear a prominent port in the spells and charms of Hallow eve. A quaint old book of charms, published in Edinburgh in 1070, entitled: "Old Father Time's Bundle of Faggots Newly Bound Up," declares that an infallible means of getting a view of your future husband or wife is to go to bed on Hallow eve with a glass of water, in which a small sliver of wood has been placed, standing on a table by your bedside. In the night you will dream of falling from a bridge into a river and of being rescued by your future wife or husband, whom you will see as distinctly as though viewed with waking eyes.

≑

Jennie hated All Hallow eve, but she loved a good party.

She crossed the reception room to refill her glass of wine. Her black silk cape, shaped like bat wings, floated behind her. She pulled the hood over her blond curls, hoping to escape Lady Rothermere’s attention. But no such luck.

“Iphigenia, dear, I believe it’s your turn to play.”

Thankfully, no one at this gathering, in London, knew of Jennie’s mother’s reputation or else they might have asked her to perform the same divination. Tonight, the guests’ interest in the permeability between worlds resided in predicting one’s luck in love rather than honoring Pagan gods of old.

Still Jennie could not entirely enjoy the festivities for it reminded her too much of her mother’s lunacy. A terrible illness of the mind had afflicted the poor baroness until her death, she would hear voices and see strange things to which she lent some mystic signification. The superstitions surrounding October 31st used to worsen her symptoms, and those who believed she had a supernatural power would flock to Featherstone Hall. They only increased her suffering, and caused Jennie to flee her own home for the night.

Jennie’s plan for Lady Rothermere’s party was simple: avoid anything to do with spirits except the alcoholic kind. But peer pressure threw a wrench in that plan.

Jennie’s friends thrust an apple and a knife in her hands with excited giggles. The game involved going alone in a dark room in which there was only a mirror and a candle, then trying to peel an apple all in one piece. If successful, one’s true love’s face would appear in the mirror.

“Why does she have to go? She’s already betrothed,” a girl pointed out, but the other ones were already pushing Jennie towards the door.

Her friends shut the door behind her. Despite the candle flame, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to darkness. She sat on the floor in front of the small mirror propped against the wall, and started peeling the apple. The peel curled around her hand like a scarlet ribbon. Although, she didn’t believe in these silly games, she still applied herself to the task.

It would be a relief to see Richard’s face in the mirror, so that, despite her doubts and reluctance, she would know accepting his proposal would end happily. He was a decent man, willing to overlook shameful things about her family to acquire her father’s lands. And his fortune wasn’t uninteresting.

But in her heart of heart, she knew whose face she wished to see, a face she had not gazed upon in twelve years.

Moving to the underside of the apple was the most treacherous part, especially in the dark. Almost there. She cut off the last inch of the peel with too much pressure, and the blade hit the pad of her thumb. It sliced through her skin. A crimson drop rose to the surface.

The mirror shimmered.

Jennie held her breath and looked closer. It was only fog on the glass. She wiped it with her sleeve, but it stayed there. The fog moved, like smoke from a pipe, it unfurled along the edges of the mirror in a rough oval shape. Then it started to clear from two points in the center, leaving two holes in the fog, like hollowed out eyes. Blood drained from her face as the smoke gathered in an increasingly precise shape. The shape of a skull.

≑

The master of ceremonies introduced Peter Vincent to the crowd gather in the Sofia Theater, in the Bulgarian capital. The illusionist waited for a few seconds, letting the anticipation rise in the public. Once the chatter died down, he walked swiftly through the curtains. Fog rolled under his leather frock coat as he crossed to the stage apron in long strides. He wore a pair of black gloves which he removed and tossed into the air above the spectators, where they turned into a pair of ravens.

He bowed dramatically to the applause, then addressed the crowd in Bulgarian (a local friend had translated his text, though Peter was familiar enough with Slavic languages to understand most of the words).

“I thought we might begin this evening with a discussion of the Great Beyond. All of the greatest religions speak of the soul's endurance beyond the end of life. So, what then does it mean... to die? Tonight is a special night. A night when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is lifted. Let us see, if we can cross this barrier between realms and call forth some spirits.”

An assistant rolled a small table onto the stage. A paisley cloth covered it, and a crystal ball sat upon it, larger than normal to allow the audience a better view.

Peter stretched his long hands above the sphere, with each flourish of fingers, mist rose inside the crystal. The spectators had yet to be impressed, most squinted at the ball and exchanged comments, but Peter’s focus didn’t waver. The mist inside became more opaque, then turned from white to gray, to lilac and deepened to purple. Suddenly, the crystal cracked, a sharp pop of glass followed by gasps. The glass was cleaved and the fissure grew in a fractal pattern with that slow, spine-chilling creak. Pressure grew inside the ball, the smoke pressed against the edges. Everyone held their breaths, bodies tense, anticipating the explosion. The crystal ball shattered, and all the fog rushed out of it taking on ghostly forms that grew high above the stage. Three pairs of red eyes appeared, and then Peter was knocked off the stage.

He fell.

And he fell.

A never-ending descent. He landed under a bed, years earlier, knees to his chest, hands clapped over his mouth to keep his breathing and sobs silent. He heard his parents’ screams and that horrible gurgling noise. Hot tears ran down his cheeks.

Then it stopped. They stopped kicking and screaming. His mother’s arm fell limply off the bed. The murderer stopped drinking and smacked his lips.

The boy cracked open an eye. Blood dripped along the bedframe, thick and scarlet. Drip. Drip. A drop morphed into a raven and it perched on the headboard. The black bird turned to the child and spoke in a young girl’s voice. “Make us disappear.”

Peter woke up with a gasp.

“Are you quite all right, old sport?” asked his manager, Ingwer, sat next to him.

“Yes. Of course,” Peter replied though his heart still hammered in his chest. “That lass after the show tired me out, that’s all.”

He winked at Ingwer, who didn’t seem convinced, he twirled the end of his sandy mustache, looking Peter over. Peter turned away from his manager and towards the train window. It was night so it only returned his own reflection, blurry and immaterial, gossamer.

It wasn’t uncommon for Peter to dream about a performance going wrong: a defective prop, a mocking audience or being stark naked on stage (though that often turned into a wonderful dream). But it had never morphed into a flashback to the night his parents died.

Peter reached inside his jacket for his good luck charm, a raven carved out of ebony, flat like a coin and not much thicker. Absentmindedly, he manipulated the object. He turned it between his knuckles, from thumb to pinkie and back, then made it disappear in one hand and reappear in the other. The wood was smooth from years of use, the varnish long gone. It soothed him.

Not long after his parents’ death, a travelling showman had stopped in his hometown in Northern England. He’d performed a few magic tricks in exchange for a hot meat and ale, and like any eight year-old boy, Peter had been fascinated. The old magician had pulled a wooden raven from behind Peter’s ears. He’d hidden it between his palms, said a phrase in latin then blown on his hands, and a bird had flown out.

“Nothing is what it seems,” he’d said.

And Peter had thought, if one’s senses can be deceived so easily, then perhaps he had not really seen a monster that night, in his parents’ bedroom.

Sensing the child’s sadness, the old magician had patiently taught him a few tricks. And Peter had never stopped after that.

“We’ll be crossing into Serbia soon,” Ingwer said.

“That’s two nights in Belgrade, then Sarajevo?”

“Yes. Then Sarajevo, Budapest, Vienna, Innsbruck, Venice, Berne and Paris.”

“I want to go to London.”

Though he’d uttered the words casually, like a mere technicality, his manager’s pale eyebrows rose.

“Erm, well, I have some contacts there, maybe we can arrange something for December or January…”

“No, I want to go now.”

“You haven’t set foot there in over ten years. Always refused offers. Why the sudden urge?”

“I’m homesick,” he lied.

≑

London Daily News, 20 November 1895

PETER VINCENT’S FRIGHTFUL ENTERTAINMENTS

Egyptian Hall, London.

Saturday and Monday evenings. Doors open at 7:30; commences at 8 o’clock. Carriages at 10.

For the first time in England: Peter Vincent in his Extraordinary Sorcelleries or Creatures of the Night.

Peter Vincent’s astounding feats in natural magic are based on principles not within the power of any other Artist in the World, and declared by the Press to be of so singular a nature as to be past all human conception, and that in an age and country less enlightened, they would inevitably have appeared supernatural. Mr. Vincent who, alone, unaided by confederates, and without all ordinary apparatus, deceives the eye, amazes, bewilders, and baffles the keenest observers, will display his truly miraculous acquirements in Prestidigitation, which surpass everything hitherto presented to the Public, in fact exhibiting powers that seem impossible to be achieved by human agency.

With regard to the moral bearing of the performance, it is only necessary to intimate that the Very Rev. Dean Stanley, in his sermon preached the act as it demonstrates the power of our Lord over Evil.

The Proprietor feels justified in calling attention to the fact that no expense has been spared in this production. Endorsed by the entire Press as being most mystical, mirthful and marvelous.

≑

“And for my last feat, I need a volunteer,” Peter declared.

Spectators avoided eye-contact with him and shook their heads until a young man raised his hand. He walked from his seat to the stage with a smirk. A little shit who thought it was all a trick; Peter loved to scare them.

The illusionist uncovered a tall mirror and placed the young man in front of it.

“What is your name, Sir?”

“Walter Gardiner.”

“Mr. Gardiner, if you would be so kind as to inspect this mirror and assure our dear spectators tonight that it is not tricked.”

Walter walked around the mirror, inspecting its gilded frame and knocking on the back.

“Now, do you see your reflection in this mirror, Mr. Gardiner?” Peter asked.

“Yes.” He waved at himself.

“And do you also see our esteemed audience behind you?”

“Yes.”

“And now you see me too in the mirror?” Peter placed himself behind the young man.

“Indeed, I do.”

With the help of an assistant, Peter turned the mirror around as well as Walter so that he had his back to the stage curtains, with the mirror between him and the crowd.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror, Mr. Gardiner, and let me know if anything in the reflection changes.”

“Righty-o.”

Peter pulled on heavy silken ropes, and the green velvet curtains behind Walter parted.

Loud gasps rippled through the theater. In the third row, a woman fainted.

Walter laughed uneasily. “I don’t see the curtains anymore,” he said.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Behind you!” shouted someone from the balcony.

On the stage, three young women, all dark hair and pale blue skin, wearing only nightgowns had been revealed. They snarled at Walter, displaying long canines. Their shackles clanked as they lunged forward.

Mr. Gardiner scurried off the stage, and nearly broke his neck in the stairs.

"Back, spawn of Satan!" Peter shouted, brandishing a crucifix.

The three vampires retreated with loud hisses.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my vampiresses!”

The audience applauded with some restraint.

“It is well-known by the Slavs that certain dead persons possess the power of returning by night to molest the living, to suck their blood, and by such refreshment to continue their own terrestrial existence, at the expense of their victims. These creatures do not have a reflection in a mirror.

But the worst part remains to be told: this faculty proves contagious; and those who have been sucked by a vampire, feel themselves condemned to become vampires, in their turn.

I saved these poor girls from the power of their sire in a remote corner of Transylvania. Animal blood furnishes them with the means of subsistence.”

Spectators flinched and covered their mouths.

“Thanks to my powers, and the power of the Christ, I can control these creatures of the night and make an example out of them. A cautionary tale. So you might recognize them and not fall prey yourselves.”

Peter stretched his arms and hands towards the three wild women, his face scrunched up with effort.

“Thou shall rise from the dead.”

A vein throbbed on his forehead. As he raised his arms, the three women slowly lifted off the floor and levitated high above the stage.

≑

As soon as he exited the stage, Peter collapsed. He didn’t even have the strength to remove the wig that scratched his scalp.

As usual, Ingwer ran up to him with a flask of whiskey and a cool, damp cloth.

In the theater, spectators were still applauding and talking loudly. Peter let their appreciation wash over him as he recovered from the exhausting performance.

The theater’s director came up to him and announced the Earl of Westmorland was here and wished to speak with him.

“Give me a minute,” Peter said.

“The Earl will not wait that long.”

With Ingwer’s help, Peter rose to his feet. They both knew the approval of the aristocracy could open many doors and make him a rich man.

A group of people awaited him in the salon, the Earl at the center. He held his head high perhaps to compensate for his small stature. Generous sideburns covered part of his cheeks down to his jaw.

“Your lordship, may I introduce Peter Vincent, the Illusionist?”

“Fascinating demonstration,” the Earl said.

“Thank you. It’s not easy keeping these lasses under control.”

The Earl chuckled, but it wasn’t genuine.

“It stimulated a great debate amongst us.” He gestured at his entourage. “Rainier here thinks you have supernatural powers? Do you claim supernatural powers?”

“Well, I can certainly do things on stage that mere mortals can’t.”

“Then you won’t mind a question or two. You needn’t divulge anything I cannot guess.”

“Shoot.”

“Mr. Gardiner was in league with you. Or there were lights in the mirror frame perhaps and angled mirrors.”

“I’m sure there are illusionists who would do it that way.”

“I think I understand it all. Except the gloves turning into ravens at the beginning. Where did they go?”

“Right here.” Peter pulled his gloves out of his pockets, much to the amusement of the Earl’s entourage. “Maybe you will understand it next time. Another viewing?”

“You must come to St. James’s Park. We'll gather our best minds next time. You'll really have a challenge then. What do you think, Iphigenia, dear?”

The Earl turned to a woman sitting a little farther in the room.

When he saw her, Peter forgot to breathe. Those plump, pink cheeks, and that gorgeous mouth, but her golden eyes had lost their mischievous glint.

Jennie.

Peter’s heart swelled with hope.

She was a woman now, and what a woman. The low neck and short sleeves of her elaborate green dress, showed off skin so creamy and fair he wanted to dip a spoon in it-- actually, to hell with a spoon, he would lick it.

He kissed the back of her gloved hand more slowly than decency allowed. He didn’t miss the way her chest rose with a sharp intake of breath.

She narrowed her gaze, and he realized she didn’t recognize him.

The Earl put a proprietary arm around her, and Jennie smiled sweetly at him. Peter’s heart plummeted.

“I shall like to see these creatures of the night for myself,” the Earl said.

“Another time, perhaps. If you will forgive, I must see to it that they cannot escape... And I need to go look for my birds.”

He held Jennie’s gaze for a moment, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but her face betrayed nothing. She averted her eyes and clasped her hands.

Peter returned to his hotel. He discarded his wig and fake beard and loosened his neck tie. Only one thing would do to deal with this: la fée verte. He poured an inch of absinthe into a crystal stemmed glass and placed a slotted spoon across the rim with a sugar cube over it. He liked the ritual— at least for the first glass or two, then it was straight from the bottle— like a magic trick, positioning precisely each piece, then as he trickled cold water over the sugar, the liquid turned cloudy unlike his mind. Absinthe produced such a sharp sort of drunkenness, and his memories became that much more vivid: the green, dry scent of sawdust in his father’s workshop, the ribbed smoothness of a grosgrain ribbon between his finger, her laughter in bursts of light.

≑

The first time they met, they were only children. Her straw bonnet hung crookedly over her messy blond curls, and blue ribbons floated beside her cheek. She introduced herself as Jennie, but he knew who she was: Iphigenia Goldfinch, daughter of the Baron. Her father owned most of the hamlet where they lived, a remote corner of Northumberland, between the Scottish border and the North sea. Peter worked for him. He was but a farm boy, having to earn his own living now that he was an orphan. Other children never spoke to him, they thought him a bit odd, and the circumstances of his parents’ death didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him flip the wooden raven between his fingers.

“I’m looking for my bird,” he replied. “Do you think it’s in the bushes?”

Jennie followed him to the edge of the forest. Peter picked a small purple flower.

“Perhaps it made its nest amongst the petals.”

“What are you talking about?”

He struck a match and lit the flower. With a flourish of his hand, it vanished in a puff of smoke, and was replaced by a black feather. Her hand flew to her chest, followed by delighted laughter. He decided then and there to make her smile and laugh as much as possible.

They became inseparable. Jennie would bring him food and blankets, and whatever material he needed for his latest magic trick. She dreamt of becoming an actress, so they would put on elaborate performances. As they grew older, their act became more and more complex, lengthy skits with scenarios, costumes, decors and monologues heavily borrowed from Shakespeare. Sometimes for an audience, but more often for their own entertainment. She never asked for the secret behind his tricks, and sometimes he wouldn’t have known how to explain, cards floated in the air, handkerchiefs vanished and wilted flowers bloomed anew.

The other peasants warned him to stay away from her. “If the Baron finds out…” they said. But neither of Jennie’s parents seemed to care. Her father was never home, always in London, allegedly on business. The baroness preferred the company of ghosts. Even at a young age, Peter wondered which was worse: that one’s parents had died or that they didn’t care about their child. They were both orphans in their own way.

And so, Jennie and Peter sheltered each other from the harsh and confusing realities of adulthood. They surrounded themselves with magic and forgot all the rest.

As Peter grew older, he began to understand what he’d been warned against. What they said he would want but couldn’t have.

When she turned thirteen, her father hired a chaperone, and they had to find creative ways of meeting. An abandoned hut in the forest became their refuge after the chaperone had dozed off for the night.

For his fifteenth birthday, she gave him his first kiss, and he promised they would always be together.

For her fifteenth birthday, the baron came back to Featherstone Hall and announced his intention to take his daughter away to London. That night, Jennie ran to him with her jewels wrapped in a piece of cloth.

“We have to go!”

She was always more courageous than him. He hesitated for too long. Her father’s men came after them. They hid in their secret hut, huddled together in the cold night, as dogs sniffed and barked around.

“Make us disappear,” she begged. “Please, Peter, make us disappear.”

He tried.

He failed.

He waited for her.

But she never came back from London, and so, without an anchor, Peter drifted away.

≑

An insistent knock at his hotel door woke Peter up. His head hurt from too much absinthe. He’d slept the morning away. On the doorstep, he found a simple, handwritten note: “Meet me”.

He quickly washed the smudged eyeliner off his face and changed out of last night’s clothes before heading out where a coach awaited.

The cold november wind whipped the tail of his coat about and he held down his hat as he stepped inside the carriage. It was empty.

The carriage drove around for fifteen minutes, Peter rubbed up and down his arms, looking out the window for clues of his anonymous caller. He dearly hoped the message was from Jennie, but it wasn’t rare for some married women to seek him out after a show. His act thrilled them, reminded them that life was too short for a boring husband.

They reached a busy thoroughfare. Peter huffed impatiently at being stuck in traffic. Suddenly, the carriage door opened and someone slipped in directly from the coach beside his. A woman in a garnet-red dress, a veil concealed her face. Peter put a foot up on the bench, sprawling with a cocky smile, a reflex in female company.

When she lifted the veil, he recognized Jennie. Though the carriage was in motion, she had yet to sit. The feather on her hat wobbled and brushed against the ceiling.

“Are you Peter McHoolihee of Northumberland?”

“The one and only.”

She inspected him with narrowed eyes.

“It really is me, Jennie,” he assured her.

She sat on the bench opposite him.

“No one has called me that in ages,” she said.

She didn’t look as happy as he expected her to be. Staring down at her hands, she fidgeted with her wedding ring. The size of the gemstones was an unwelcome reminder of all the things Peter couldn’t buy her despite his fame.

“How long have you been back in England?” she asked.

“Three days.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I’d been gone long enough. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Although she’d learned to mask her emotions better, he recognized that slightly puckered forehead that belied her words.

“So, you’re Peter Vincent now.”

“And you’re a countess.”

“Only since last week.”

“I’m too late, then.”

“Twelve years too late. At least your magic tricks have improved.”

There was a bitterness to her tone he matched in his reply.

“So have your acting skills.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you must have done something to make an Earl want to marry below his station.”

“Must you be so unpleasant?”

“Must you be married?”

They outstared each other. The carriage creaked and horseshoes beat the gravel path, filling the silence. Jennie broke the staring first and looked out the window.

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked after a long moment. “I wrote to everyone in Featherstone for news of you, but you had left without a trace. I tried to find you.”

“So did I. I went to London.”

“You did?” Her face broke into a grin.

Since their first kiss, he’d learned how to seduce women, but now, one smile from her and he was a fumbling teenager again. His palms were clammy, and he couldn’t think of a single smart thing to say. Just like the courageous but naive seventeen year-old lad he had once been, the one who set out for London with only the clothes on his back and a literal ace up his sleeve.

But the city was much larger than he’d anticipated, and the sight of rich gentlemen-- the kind she may be presented to-- discouraged him. He found work on a cargo ship sailing to Denmark; if he traveled the world, educated himself and became rich, then he might be worthy of her. He roamed the Continent, taking odd jobs and performing magic tricks. But as he journeyed East, he started hearing legends of blood-sucking creatures, and his purpose evolved.

In Poland, he met Emily de Laszowska Gerard, a writer and literary critique. Scottish by birth, she took a liking to Peter and his skills, and hired him to work in her home. Her library contained many a book about myths and legends that they read together. When her husband, a Polish chevalier, twenty years her senior, was stationed in Transylvania, Peter followed them. Still officially a member of staff, but in fact, he and Emily researched the local vampire lore. She even published a book about Transylvanian superstitions the next year. She was the first person, after Jennie, to whom Peter revealed what he had seen kill his parents. She was also the first person, after Jennie, to kiss him. She was older than him by six years and taught him how to give a woman pleasure. They enjoyed each other’s company, but he didn’t love Emily as he had Jennie. Eventually, her husband found out about the affair and kicked him out. Armed with a new confidence and knowledge on two equally mysterious creatures— vampires and women— he started his life as Peter Vincent.

He didn’t confess his insecurities and affairs to Jennie, only summed up that he hadn’t found her in London and then started travelling.

“No wonder you could not find me in London. Father hired this dreadful tutor, and locked me up for hours with her so she might teach me everything a lady should know.”

“So he might offer you to the highest bidder?”

She didn’t deny the allegation, but amended, “He wanted a better life for me, better than I had with Mother. But I did not want it.”

“I’m sure you managed to sneak out every once in a while.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and his stomach swooped. Even if she spoke like a proper lady, in his presence her northern accent and idioms resurfaced. And he laughed, still incredulous that the baron’s daughter was so bold, and that she even deigned talk to him. Him, a peasant boy. It felt like they had never been apart. As he spoke, he lost his cocky façade, and Jennie leaned towards him, elbows on knees.

“I never escaped very far. Not as far as you did.”

“I crossed the continent. I saw Russia and the Ottoman Empire. Always searching… I learned about myths and the origins of faith and fear in men.”

“And vampires?”

“I saw what looked like the victims of vampires: illnesses that medicine has yet to explain, and corpses that decomposed in odd ways, but no real vampire. I must have imagined it all. It became inspiration for my show.”

He switched seat to be next to her, his legs pressed against hers, but she didn’t move. Head cocked to one side, she openly studied him. He didn’t feel unrecognized by her anymore. Her honey-brown eyes warmed him more than the autumn sun shining on his stubbled cheek.

“All that wandering, did you ever find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“In some measure. But something was always missing.” He brought her hands to his lips, holding her gaze, and turned on the charm.

Jennie chuckled softly. “I see you learned about more than folklore.”

“Shall I demonstrate?”

He scooted closer to her, Jennie instinctively leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially.

“You may.”

He ran his hands up, from her wrists to her shoulders, and rested them on her neck. His thumb brushed her jaw, and her lips parted. He had dreamt of those lips. He kissed her as slowly as his weak restraints allowed. He needed her to think about this kiss for days and weeks to come. He needed her to blush every time she was with her husband, and take pleasure in tasting the memory on her lips. He kissed her deeply, adoringly, and feeling her melt against him was his reward.

Too soon, the carriage stopped.

“I have to go,” she said.

Peter caught her arm to stop her, though his grip was light, she winced as if he’d hurt her which alarmed him.

“Rough honeymoon?”

“My husband is… mercurial.”

“Run away with me. I’m rich now.”

“You think that ever mattered to me?” She swiped his fringe to the side and kissed his forehead, but the gesture was too forlorn for him to enjoy. “I wish I could-- there’s so much to explain... Richard would hunt us down.”

“Jennie…”

“Goodbye, Peter.”

“When can I see you again?” he pressed.

“I don’t know.”

And she vanished into the street crowd.

≑

Part 2

[imagine-loki]

Two Tutors

TITLE: Two Tutors CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter One AUTHOR: SassyShoulderAngel319 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine somehow obtaining magical powers and watching Loki and Doctor Strange fight over who gets to take you as their apprentice. RATING: K+/PG NOTES/WARNINGS: No warnings to speak of except for a single reference to Thor: Ragnarok without being too specific. As well as police stations and daggers if anyone is uncomfortable with either of those. Side note: Tumbler is actually a last name that is, apparently, on the brink of extinction?(I’d have to fact-check that but that’s one of two reasons I chose it.)-(Oh MAN it’s been a long time since I wrote for this blog! Good to be back!)

^^^^^

I sat boredly on the chair in the police station and stared straight ahead at the wall opposite me, chin in my hand. I was just grateful they hadn’t handcuffed me. The officer sitting on the other side of the table repeated his question. “Where were you the night of the meteor shower?”

I glanced at my other hand, which was resting on the table. “Yes,” I said.

“Yes?” the officer challenged. “Yes what? You’re finally going to answer?”

“Yes, I understand that I have the right to remain silent,” I replied coolly.

The officer growled in frustration. “Look, the night of the meteor shower, a lot of weird stuff started happening. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed that a lot of it seems to happen around you. This is a small town, Miss Tumbler. Everyone knows everyone and people have seen that you’re at the center of the blackouts and the auroras and that explosion. Now where were you that night?”

“Under the stars,” I answered sarcastically.

The door burst open and two men strode in, wearing suits. They were… remarkably similar. Tall, slim, pale, black-haired (though one’s was long and the other’s was graying at the temples), blue-eyed, with sharp cheekbones and the same arrogant expressions. They even dressed similarly. Though, to be fair, most professional men did. Men’s suits didn’t generally have a lot of variety to them. That being said, the man with the longer black hair—that fell to his shoulders—was wearing a sharp black suit with a black shirt and narrow black tie. The graying-haired man’s suit had a white shirt and a tie so dark blue it was almost black. He also wore leather driving gloves.

The officer looked up in surprise. “Who are you?” he snapped.

“We’ll take it from here,” the longer-haired man said in a snobby British accent.

“I said, who are you?” the officer retorted.

The men glanced at each other. “Hard way it is,” the graying man muttered, his accent distinctly American.

The man with the all-black suit flicked his wrists. Daggers fell into his hands from his sleeves.

I leaned back in my chair. “What the h—!”

“Silence, mortal, let us handle this,” the man with the daggers interrupted.

“Mortal?” I demanded.

“Don’t mind him,” the man with the blue tie remarked, his hands making shapes that I thought were sign language at first—and then realized weren’t as light in intricate patterns appeared at his fingertips. I gasped.

“Who the f—” the officer began, only to be cut off by the man with the daggers shoving him against a wall.

He moved as though to stab the policeman, but the man with the light around his hands grabbed his wrist. “No mess, remember? We’re here for her,” he pressed. My heart started pounding. Here for me? Were they going to stab me too? What was the light for? How was that even possible? The light was just there, following the man’s movement.

I scrambled out of my chair and as far away from the weirdly-similar men as I possibly could.

The longer-haired one hid his daggers back in his sleeves and approached me with his hands out in truce. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he said.

“Forgive me if I don’t have too much confidence in the word of a man who just called me ‘mortal’ the way someone might hiss in frustration at finding gum on the bottom of their shoe,” I retorted, edging down the wall away from him,

“Loki,” the graying man warned, grabbing the longer-haired man’s suit jacket. “Stop. You’re scaring her.”

Panic hit my system. “Loki?” I exclaimed. “As in the Asgardian who tried to take over New York a couple years ago?”

“Get off me, Strange,” Loki snapped, jerking his wrist out of Strange’s hand.

Strange looked thoughtful. “Mmm… more than just a couple years now.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But it doesn’t seem like that long when parts of the city are still recovering from it.”

Loki looked irritated. “We’re not in the city, for Valhalla’s sake!” he snapped before looking at Strange—which I thought was a bizarre name—in exasperation. “Let’s just grab her and go before the whole station realizes what we’re up to!”

“Best idea you’ve had all day,” the other man replied. Strange pulled an odd two-fingered gold ring out of his pocket, slid it onto his hand, and started drawing circles in the air with his other hand.

With a shriek, I fell through a hole in the wall that had not been there before.

I landed hard on my back, nearly smacking my head on the floor.

I stared at the fiery circle now in front of me. Around the outside of its edges I could see dark wood and horrible old wallpaper, but inside the circle was the police station. “What on Earth…?!” I breathed, sliding back on the hardwood floor as best I could as Loki and Strange stepped through the spinning circle as casually as going through a doorway.

Strange offered me his hand, not removing his gloves. I took it warily and let him help me to my feet as the circle spiraled out of existence, leaving behind just the dark wood and old wallpaper.

I gulped. “Okay, who are you two and what is going on?!” I demanded.

“Have a seat, Miss Tumbler,” Strange invited.

Suddenly we were in a different spot, sitting down on armchairs.

I hadn’t even moved—I was just there.

Strange steepled his hands together and regarded me over the tops of his fingertips. Loki had crossed his legs with his ankle on his opposite knee, looking bored and a bit frustrated.

“My name is Doctor Stephen Strange,” Strange began. “I am a master of the Mystic Arts—or, magic, if you will. I am also nearly the Sorcerer Supreme.” I had no idea was he was talking about, but I was too freaked out to say anything. “This is Loki, Prince of Asgard, and himself a gifted sorcerer.” Loki narrowed his icy blue eyes at Dr. Strange, expression thunderous.

“What… what do you want with me?”

“Well, it has come to our attention that you have magical abilities, likely stemming from the meteor shower.”

Loki scoffed. “You mortals are all the same level of ignorant. That wasn’t just a meteor shower,” he snapped at Dr. Strange. “It was Asgardian Bifrost shards entering the atmosphere and burning up, dispersing their particles into the air around where they burned. My brother and I had a fight in the Bifrost with… an enemy, and shards went spiraling off into space. Since we were coming from Midgard, that’s where most of them ended up. The Bifrost has more magical properties than most Asgardians do, and some mortals are predisposed to harnessing magic.”

Dr. Strange raised his hand slightly. “Myself included,” he observed. His voice was considerably deeper than Loki’s, something I was only just picking up on because my freaking out was slowing down slightly.

Loki rolled his eyes and looked me directly in the face. “You, I assume, are one of those mortals. Your instincts have been wreaking havoc over your town; and without proper training, you could do serious damage.”

“And that’s where we come in,” Strange interrupted. “We’re here to teach you.”

“Well, I’m here to teach you,” Loki corrected.

Strange knitted his eyebrows together. “What? No. I’m teaching her as well,” he said.

“Don’t be a fool, healer,” Loki snapped. “Earth’s wizardry is nothing like Asgardian magic, and now she has Asgardian magic.”

“Mind who you’re calling a fool, you snake. She’s human. A human should teach her how to use human magic because Asgardian magic will be more strain on her physiology.”

“Do I get a say in this?” I asked.

They ignored me.

I narrowed my eyes as the two continued to argue, getting fed up with their attitudes really quickly.

I clenched my fists and slammed them on the arms of the chair I was sitting in. “SHUT IT!” I shouted.

The bookshelves rattled and a vase on a table wobbled.

Loki and Dr. Strange both froze and turned to look at me.

“I don’t care who you two think you are. I’m an adult with a free will and you will not talk about me like I’m not here when it’s my life you’re talking about. You’re both lucky that I even believe you. If my sister was in this same situation, she’d call the psych ward on you two. She doesn’t believe in magic. You should consider yourselves lucky that I do. But I will not let you carry on without listening to me.”

“But, you see—”

“Clearly, if you must make a choice—”

“Nuh-uh! I’m still talking,” I snapped, raising my hand.

There was a weird shimmer of greenish-gold light, and Loki and Dr. Strange both had a wardrobe change. Loki was in black leather with green accents and gold armor. Dr. Strange was in some weird blue outfit and a red cape.

“What the… what just happened?” I asked.

They looked down, seeming to realize the change. Then they looked at each other—and then back at me. “You’re stronger than we thought,” Loki remarked in his British accent.

“What do you mean?”

“You just revealed our actual clothing. The other outfits were an illusion,” Strange explained.

I cleared my throat. “Oh. Uh… okay cool,” I muttered.

“So?” Loki pushed impatiently. “Who do you want to tutor you?”

“Um… I, uh… don’t know,” I admitted. “Can’t I… have both?”

Strange scoffed. “Of course you would say that,” he muttered.

“Okay, so why not?” I challenged. “Because you both have a point. The magic I have is Asgardian, so Loki teaching me how to control it would be wise, but I’m not Asgardian, so having Dr. Strange help me with the human part of it would also be a really good idea—because I don’t have the endurance of an Asgardian. I think it’s a decent idea.”

The men glanced at each other, and then back at me.

Strange relented first. “She has a point. And I’m willing to concede. I still want to teach her my ways but Asgardian magic is different to mine,” he said.

Loki sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. We can both instruct you,” he relented.

I grinned. “Fantastic. When do we start?” I asked in an actually-decent-imitation of Loki’s British accent.

Loki smirked slyly. “We already have.”

[olicitysmoaky]

The Summer People has been --

UPDATED with, Chapter 9, Bait, at AO3!

Below is Chapter One, The Queens and Movie Star, in case you have read it yet.... Happy Hiatus!

The Summer People (1/?) Olicity AU Fan Fiction

by Olicity Smoaky

Rated: M for later chapters; This chapter rated: G

Felicity plays nanny to her movie star cousin’s kids and meets a billionaire playboy trying to find his way in the world, Oliver Queen.

Read on here or at AO3

As the Hampton Jitney slid down Montauk Hwy, Felicity Smoak pondered a difficult equation: How did an MIT top-of-her-class graduate with two masters degrees (acquired by the age of twenty), plus two years of experience running the IT department at Wayne Enterprises, equal a summer job as a nanny? Not that being a nanny was beneath her in the sense of being a human being, but Felicity was meant for other things.

The bus pulled into Southampton depot. The passengers filed out one-by-one. The air was warm and muggy. Felicity stood on the sidewalk, trying to spot her Hollywood starlet cousin, Susan. She said she would come to get her, which shocked Felicity. Susan rarely did anything for herself, and Felicity wasn’t even sure that she drove. As she stood waiting, she saw a black Porshe pull up to the curb. Sure enough, it was Susan – painted up, model trashy without a trace of fat anywhere, except maybe in her collagen lips, Susan. Of course, she wasn’t behind the wheel. There was a captivatedly attractive man in that position. That came out wrong, didn’t it? She thanked God that no one was close enough to hear that particular unfiltered remark fall out of her mouth. Felicity had the tendency to mutter the things on her mind, particularly the embarrassingly inappropriate ones. Before she could dig herself further into a think-hole, a young girl with brown shoulder length hair in perfect summer dress and shoes, popped up beside her.

“Are you ready for it?” the girl asked smoothly, hitching a bright blue leather bag on her shoulder. Felicity recognized it as a Ferragamo. She had never had enough money to purchase one, but her mother had taught her about such things at an early age.

Felicity frowned. “Ready for what?”

“Summer in the Hamptons? I so am,” said the young woman. She looked to be about eighteen or so, possibly twenty.

“Felicity!” Susan squealed, waving her floppy sun hat like a flag. Felicity groaned. She certainly wasn’t ready for it. This was going to be a terrible summer.

“Looks like we’re sharing the same ride,” said the girl beside her.

“We are?” Felicity asked, perplexed.

“That’s my brother driving that car, and I take it you’re Felicity since you’re the only person shrinking back from the attention of Susan Fitzpatrick rather than gawking at her.”

The young woman held out her hand. “Thea Queen.”

Felicity blinked for a moment. Thea Queen? As in Queen Consolidated heiress to billions Thea Queen? What was she doing on the Hampton Jitney? Luxury bus or not.

“And that’s my brother Oliver,” Thea explained, gesturing toward the convertible.

Felicity’s gaze homed in on the handsome face of the man behind the wheel. “Oh, he’s very…”

“Yeah, so they say,” said Thea with a smirk. “I guess we better go. Susan looks… frustrated.”

Frustrated? She was with Oliver Queen. Felicity knew all about him since his father’s company had been one of the places she’d had her eye on for a job post-MIT. Or at least, that’s the excuse she gave herself for knowing all about the guy. She’d never admit that she spent study breaks reading TMZ headlines between Dr. Who episodes. She also would never admit that she found Oliver Queen incredibly hot. Ridiculous. Likely an asshole but extremely hot.

“Felicity, pumpkin pie! Hurry up!” Susan called with a dramatic pout. Susan’s personality reminded Felicity of a less down-to-earth and morally intact Cameron Diaz. Beautiful, dramatic, full of light, and did whatever she felt like. Unlike Cameron – that moral thing not getting in the way maybe – Susan, who knew she shouldn’t have been a mother – had three children. No husband any more. That didn’t matter though. As far as Susan was concerned, that made her twenty-one again. And Susan was not twenty-one.

Thea laughed out loud at Susan. “She’s a trip.”

“Yeah, I agreed to nanny for her this summer. I’m starting to think it was a big mistake,” said Felicity as they began toward the car.

“Why? You don’t like kids?” asked Thea.

“Wouldn’t know. Never really had the chance to babysit,” said Felicity. “I’ve spent the last twenty-two years of my life behind a book or a computer. She’s the only person with kids I really know.”

Thea lifted her eyebrow. “Well, if you need help…I guess give me a call. I’m not that good with kids either, but maybe we can make sense of the whole thing together,” she said, stopping behind the trunk of the car. Her comment surprised Felicity. Why would a billionaire heiress want to help a nanny? Probably an eccentricity of wealth.

Oliver popped out of the car and took their bags, securing them in trunk. He smiled at Felicity then winked. “All set, ladies,” he said as they all slipped into the car.

“Pumpkin,” Susan said leaning over the back and puckering her lips. Felicity turned her cheek, letting Susan slap a wet kiss on it. She immediately wiped her face. If it was one thing the women in her family had in common, Felicity included, was a propensity to wear gobbed on bright lipstick – usually red, pink or fuchsia. Susan turned to Thea. “Susan Fitzgerald. Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks. I’ve seen your movies. They’re great.”

“I like her,” Susan said to Oliver, who chuckled, looking in his rear view mirror at Felicity in a way that made her squirm. She’d never seen eyes like that before in her life. It was like they were looking straight through her and doing crazy things to her insides. She had to look away.

“Oliver, this is my perfect little cousin,” Susan said, her voice a bit sarcastic. Felicity pinched her lips together. She was not going to embarrass herself by replying. Susan was doing a good enough job for her already. She looked down into her lap. She really wasn’t used to feeling so small around people. She was strong-willed, held her own at work. But these people just weren’t the types of people she was used to – privileged and way too sure of themselves.

Oliver turned around. “Oliver Queen,” he said, which forced her to look up. She took his hand, trying hard to ignore the sensation that climbed over her skin at his touch. “You okay?”

Felicity blushed hard. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Felicity, she’s always been a little – well, like I said, she’s our special girl, isn’t that right, Felicity?” Felicity groaned inwardly. Her cousin was half-giving her a compliment and half-insulting her. She treated her like she was a socially awkward underdeveloped cute little genius girl. It irritated Felicity to no end. Her mother was Felicity’s aunt, and Susan, well, Susan was a movie star, an A-lister, which was something Felicity would never be. Sure, they both came from work-class existences, and Susan showed Felicity there was always a chance to change circumstances, but Felicity was more into what her mind could bring her, not her pretty face.

Oliver pulled the car out of the depot and took off down the highway, heading east.

“So, Ollie, where we going?” Thea asked enthusiastically.

“You are going to the house after I drop these lovely ladies off, then I am going out with Tommy.”

“And I can’t come why? I just spent two hours on a bus after finishing a god awful final this morning – I go to Barnard,” she side-noted to Felicity, “and I want to have fun.”

“Because you’re nineteen, Speedy, and we are going to a club.”

“Like that’s ever stopped me before,” she muttered, slumping back in the seat. “How old are you, Felicity?”

“I’m twenty-two,” she said, clearing her throat.

Oliver glanced at her in the rear view mirror again. It was getting a little unnerving.

“Maybe you should go with Ollie.”

Susan guffawed.

“What’s so funny? She’s old enough,” Thea replied. “My brother Ollie’s twenty-eight, so he thinks he rules the world. And Susan, you’re what? Forty-one?”

“Speedy…” Oliver warned.

“Maybe if you didn’t treat me like I was eleven…”

Susan chuckled. “I’m thirty-seven. But Felicity here’s a bit of a goody-two-shoes, isn’t that right, baby doll?” Before Felicity could respond Susan went on, “And little miss thing, I hear forty’s a riot. I, for one, can’t wait,” she said with a flick of her wrist. Felicity and Thea shared looks.

The rest of the car ride continued like this – Susan chirping the strangeness of her mind, Thea dryly quipping her comments at Oliver rather than Susan, Oliver chuckling, then eyeing Felicity in the rear view mirror. Felicity decided to lock eyes on the sea of trees going by until they reached Susan’s compound.

“Bye, Oliver. Thanks for the ride,” Susan said, turning his face to hers and slapping a full kiss on his lips. If Felicity did not know better, she’d say that Oliver stiffened at the interaction. It was probably in her head. What guy wouldn’t want to kiss her perfect cousin? Even if his name was Oliver Queen.

“Nice meeting you, Thea. Let’s go, pumpkin,” Susan said, striding up the walk toward the massive front entrance to her Cape Cod-style mansion.

Before Felicity could follow, Thea called out. “Wait! Here’s my number. Call me and let’s hang out. It’ll be fun.” Felicity noticed she did not repeat her offer to help with the kids. Maybe she’d just said that.

“Sure,” Felicity replied. “If I have time, I guess.”

“Make time. Bye, Felicity!”

“Nice meeting you, Felicity,” said Oliver.

“You, too,” she said, urging the flush she felt rising up her cheeks to cool down then walked up the path into her new world.

***

As Oliver pulled away from Susan’s mansion, he tried pushing away the impure thoughts he was having about the girl he’d just met. She was too young for him, right? A candidate for friendship with Thea. She said she was twenty-two. She was grown. He half-wondered what Susan would think if he tried asking her out. If Felicity was anyone else, Susan wouldn’t have cared. She and Oliver weren’t together. Susan was about fun and the next good thing, but she seemed to be very opinionated about her cousin.

His phone flashed on the console coupled with the familiar sound of an in-coming text. Thea swiped it up. “It’s dad.”

“Ignore it.”

“It says, ‘you’re lucky you’re not six feet under, kid,’” Thea read the text off. “What did you do, Ollie?”

“It’s none of your business.” He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t. He was afraid she’d look at him differently. Not that she didn’t know he was a screw-up. Everyone from the tabloid journalists to bartender at the Green Derby, a dive bar down the road, seemed to expect Oliver Queen to make a mess of things. His phone blooped with another text.

“This one says, ‘If it weren’t for you mother, I’d disinherit you. Just do me one favor. Keep your sister out of trouble this summer.’ What is that supposed to mean, Ollie? What happened?” asked Thea, her voice softer and less accusatory this time.

Oliver snapped the phone away from her. “It’s adult business, Thea.”

“When are you going to accept that I’m not a kid anymore, Ollie? Or better yet, that you’re not an adult,” she responded, arms folded and looking out of the window.

Oliver glared at her for a moment but couldn’t help but crack a smile. He loved his sister and was glad she was there with him. “I know you’re not a kid, but can you cut me some big brother slack?”

She turned, beaming at him. “Only if you promise not to take me to Hodown Hot Dogs before we head to the house.”

“Do you want Tommy to meet us there?” he asked. They both knew Hodown was Tommy’s favorite food stop outside of Big Belly Burger back home in Starling.

“Nah, let it just be us for now. I missed you, big brother.”

“Missed you, too, Speedy.”

“Next time we go, we can invite Tommy and Felicity.”

Oliver shot her a look.

“My friend, your friend. What’s wrong with that?” she asked a little too innocently, making Oliver wonder and somewhat worry about what was going through her mind. He hoped Thea wasn’t already playing matchmaker. She had this notion that Oliver just needed the right woman to straighten him out. She was such a kid. Oliver didn’t need anyone. He could take care of himself. But he was intrigued by Felicity. He wanted to know more about her, but at his own pace, not at the hands of his meddling little sister.

“Nothing at all,” Oliver replied. “Just behave yourself, and we’ll all be fine.”

“You follow that rule, and I’ll make sure to do the same.”

@miriam1779 @hope-for-olicity @callistawolf @latinasmoak

[inashen-blog1]

The Virtuoso's Dilemma

ch.1 pt.1

The sun was setting.Painting the blue skies to a vibrant red, bright sphere descended slowly.It was past six now, a normal hour for dark to fall.

While light leaving the sky, cold evening settled slowly onto the warped streets of Zaun.Only few people were still on the outside and most of them running.Everyone just wanted to get inside some walls, saving themselves from night of the Zaun before the light completely dies out.Nights are dangerous in Zaun and none can guess what ill will befall on those who stay outside...

"Hmph." Stooding tall before the sole window in the room Khada Jhin looked upon running Zaunites.Heavy mask on his face strangling his already low voice, turning to a throaty whisper.A whisper suitable for the mysterious figure in a play.Suitable for making people shiver.Oh how he loves his mask...

"Let me go..." said other person in the room half crying half begging."I'm no one."

Hearing desperate plea, virtuoso turned around to see her face.Big black eyes filled with tears nearly to the brim.Tears of desperation and fear.Coupled with long ravenous hair her face may found appealing by others but not by Jhin.Not in that form anyways.While sitting on bed, bounded, she is just a canvas for him to paint.A tune to compose...She was nothing.But at the end of the night, she'll be unforgottable.

Jhin smiled at her comment under his mask."You're right." he said taking a dancing step forward.

"Then why are you doing this to me?" she asked struggling to holding tears back.Jhin told her to do so, and noted if she were to disobey, a punishment will be waiting her.'Scream, shout, sob, kick, run...Act as you wish.' he said, while covering her bruises with a fluffy brush.'But never cry.It will ruin the make-up.'There was no words of warning, but the tone of his voice made up for the lack of it.

"Because no one will ever miss you." Cutting Jhin, the other man in said.An albino with platin hair and red eyes resembling droplets of blood.

Ignoring him "You are...pure." Jhin said, started walking in the small room.He's always talking in a polite manner."You have no home, no family, not even a name other than the ones customers gave you.What do they call you?"

"Apple, mostly..." Started sobbing despite all of her attempts to stop it, a single tear roll down onto her cheek.

Jhin turned blind eye to little taint caused by lone teardrop."And what is your real name?" His voice was low, yet melodious and sweet.Like an actor...Even in the situation she found herself, Apple can't help but liked the way he talk.

"I don't know." she answered."I am an orphan..."

His only eye fixed on her face and "From Ionia?" he guessed after a moment of halt.War between Demancia, Ionia and Noxia left many children without family.Demancians took their kids under the wings of unyielding Demancia army while Noxians enlisted theirs, training little boys and girls turning them into ruthless soldiers.

On the other hand, peace loving Ionians were acted differently.Following Ionian ideals, they sent childrens to orphanages around the country, hoping Wuju masters and Kinkou Order would protect them.To their luck, ninja order fall apart when Zed compromised with brotherhood and Yasuo killed his master just when Noxia invade Ionia.Left alone, Wuju masters can't stand against legions of Noxian soldiers... At the end most of the orphans killed by the very war Ionians sought to protect them from while others escaping untouched countries like Zaun, joining drug cartels as rookies or Yordletown.

"How'd you know?"

"You have the face of an Ionian." he said, never stopping his walk."Round with hawk like features, especially at eyes, and dark but not overly, like Zaunites."

A moment of silence fell between the artist and the girl before she mustered her courage and speak."What will you do to me?"

"I certainly will not do anything to you."Stopping his aimless walk, masked man went to corner of the room and reach for a bag.While pulling the zipper of leather, tied girl can hear his breathing, ragged, and heavy."I will make something 'with' you.I'll take your insignificant being and turn it to something...beautiful.When they found you, they will cry."

"Will it hurt?" She managed to stay still but with last syllable, one after another drops of salty tears started running down on her cheek.Fearing that will anger Jhin, Apple gasped in fear and making him look at her unintentionally.

"What did I said to you?" he asked, droopping things he holding back to bag.

"I'm sorry..." Shivering in fear she squealed.

Jhin got onto his feet and walked to her.Expecting that he would hurt her, Apple get back till her back hit the wall.When realized that she can't escape shut her eyes tightly and wait for her painful punishment.

But instead of a slap, or worse, what she felt on her face was just the soft hairs of a brush.Opened her eyes to see whats happening, Apple saw Jhin kneeling on bed covering her bruises that become visible again."Do you know have any idea about how hard painting these?Your skin is oily and it's not accepting the paint." Huffing under his mask, virtuoso keep painting her face diligently."And why did you tried to escape?You think that I'm going to hurt you?For this small of a thing?"

Not wishing to disturb brush, Apple nodded slightly.

"Hmph...I never touch someone so beautiful, even if my own life at stake." Jhin uttered a scorning murmur."Did Liev's gang hits you much?"

"Occasionally." she answered."Mostly if someone got snatched during a job.Or they heard you coming to town.."

Jhin let the brush go."So they beat you for relaxation." His only eye, green as the seas,was fixed upon her face."Or out of frustration."

Apple nodded again.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that ever again.For I found you." Jhin said, softly touching her face.Virtuoso's fingers were long and nimble on her skin."Nobody will hurt you again."

Holding her by the ropes around her body, Jhin bring Apple closer to edge o the bed then reached beyond girls shoulder and cut the ropes.Loosened ropes around her body fell to her legs and to bed.Letting girl, the man turned back to leather bag he left.

He's looking like searching something inside that bag, not that Apple can tell his true intentions.

"Get naked.Lost everything." He ordered nonchalantly.Between his sentences Jhin was murmuring, sounding like he was debating ideas with himself."And don't go crying again.I'm not about to rape you."

"But maybe I'll." man in red capes talked.

"No he won't." Jhin assured the girl much to Vladimir's dismay."He's an eunuch."

Still the fear of pissing Jhin lingering deep in her loins, Apple did as ordered without saying anything.She lost her white shirt first, then discarded grey skirt clunging to her legs loosely.

Hearing the sounds of opening buttons Jhin looked upon his shoulder.Terrified girl standing next to bed with the underclothes are the only things on her body.She really are good looking, he had to admit.In addition to beautify of her face also her body was curvy at the right places."Lost everything." he repeated."Call me when all done."

Slowly Apple lost her undercloth too."I-I'm done."

Without turning his back, or giving a look, he threw her things he took from his bag.A high cut silk dress, colored rosy pink and a silver crown adorned with little diamons pieces here and there."Dress up."

Fabric of dress was better than anything Apple wore in her short, miserable life.It felt like water flowing between her fingers...And the crown, craftmanship was incredible and the diamonds shining like they are real.

"Dress now, gawk in ave later." Jhin said, when he heard no noises of movement behind him.

"S-sure..." She started slipping into the silk, noticing that, dress fitting like it was made for her body.

"Did it fit?" Jhin asked, still not looking.Art or not, watching a young women while dressing is an inappropriate act.

"Yeah." Apple replied."How did you know my size?"

"Eye of the artist.Also my dashing friend over there has a deep understanding about human physiology." He closed the zipper then went to the mirrored desk in the room, pulling a chair."Can I look now?"

"S-sure..."

Virtuoso turned around at once."My, my, it looks good on you." Studying details of her body, Apple felt crushed.It was amazing that his gaze was this intense.She could only image how strong it will be, if his whole face were open."Sit in front of the mirror."

Taking comb in front of the mirror, Jhin started combing her long hair.He was careful in his movements, Apple's hair tangled more than one place and a strong tug at the strings could hurt the girl.Of course he can pull tool harder, forcibly unraveling knots without caring her cries.But there was no need.Jhin got all the time in world...

"Tell, what you mean when you say, Liev and boys beat you because of my arrivals to Zaun?"

Girl looked Jhin upon mirror, making an eye contact."Probably out of fear.Even saying your name is enough for getting Liev angry."

Virtuoso smirked under mask to girl.Not that she can see..."My name has that kind of effect on people." (English is not my native language so go easy on me)(Probably post it in my native language later)