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snowbellewells · 4 years

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A Cottage by the Sea {Part Five}

Here we are at last! After months off (I’m truly sorry for that wait, by the way!) I’m back with the next to last addition to this @cssns20 story - only the final part/epilogue left to go. I meant to have this up much earlier today, but I had several different things come up that made me later. I hope you all who are still reading will enjoy... :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the sand near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the beach, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half. But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…

From the beginning on AO3, and here on Tumblr

Part Five

Calypso looked on with a mother’s concern and doting affection, treasuring the chance to see her son happy. After so many years separated from her children, to have one of them here on her island where she could speak to him each day, brush back the wild dark hair from his face as she had done when he was just a little boy, no longer having to miss him, and knowing he would always be safe. It was nearly inducement enough to put a protective barrier up around her hidden home - an enchantment as she’d had before letting it down to allowing Killian’s princess passage, that would keep others out, and her son and his beloved in.

Yet, tempting as it was, the sea nymph knew better than most that she could do no such thing. Killian might find contentment here, now that Emma was by his side, but she could never force him to stay in such a manner. She would be parting him cruelly from the life he had worked hard to make for himself, and from the people who had taken him in - those who had become hs family when Davy had taken he and Liam from her arms. Having been forced to live with such loss, she would force no such thing on anyone else.

No, she would not make her beloved boy - long since become a man - remain here. She knew he would go, and even as she feared what might await him on his journey back to Misthaven; almost sensing that the threat from the deep was not yet over, she could only treasure this interlude she had been granted, to see Killian again, and to let him know he and his elder brother had always been loved and wanted.

~~***~~

Far below in the depths, fathoms beneath where Calypso watched anxiously, eyes drinking in every second of her son’s presence she could, and where Killian Jones and his royal lady love splashed and frolicked in the tide, another pair of eyes waited and watched, biding his time. True, he used supernatural means to do so - a dark orb of swirling greenish water housed in a gigantic open half shell platform brought the image to his underwater lair - but it was just as effective. Twice his younger son had escaped his clutches - once washed ashore as a youth before he could drag Killian down in his watery hold, and the second time foiled by the righteous nymph who fancied herself saving the whelp’s life. ‘Saving him? Bah!’ Davy’s glowering evil mind recanted. What could be more glorious than receiving his destiny? Sitting at his other side with Liam, ruling over the deep?

All these years, he’d been missing the set, the pair; he had his elder son - the wreck nearly a decade ago had seen to that - but he would not rest until both his sons were with him, his rule and legacy complete.

Of course, though he might hold his firstborn in thrall - unable to escape and return to the land of the living unless Davy released him, not after so long under the sea - that did not mean his eldest remained willingly. A dark glance over his shoulder gave him a view of Liam silently waiting and watching until orders were given him. Brooding, was more accurate, the immortal fiend thought angrily. Unlike the other souls lost and gathered into his unholy crew, Liam still looked much as he had when he had first been pulled below. He was not a mindless shade, hollowed and twisted beyond recognition as many of Davy’s captives for any length of time became. He still stood young, proud, and tall; broad-shouldered and handsome, just the sort of right hand a king of the deep would require, and Davy knew it well; it was just as he had envisioned long ago when he sent the typhoon that had claimed Liam’s young life. Unfortunately, the flaw in his plan was that it was meant to have brought him Killian as well, both his heirs to flank him and support him - his powerful living legacy. Instead his youngest had slipped through his clutches by chance or Fate - or interference from the dratted creature he had once charmed into loving him, who had borne him two strapping lads. To his way of thinking, Calypso had known full well just who he was and the darkness within him, but had then grown a conscience and set herself to oppose him at every turn.

“Liam!” he bellowed. Though he knew his eldest lingered just nearby, rekindled temper made his voice boom and reverberate in the small space, bouncing off the cavernous rock that encased his throne room. “It’s time my boy,” he pronounced, evil fire lighting eyes that had once been as blue and mesmeric as either of his sons’ but were now clouded and dark - foreboding whatever his mood. “Kilian will join us soon, as he should have long ago.”

The elder Jones brother, face steady and resolved, without flicker of emotion to betray his true thoughts came to stand at his father’s side dutifully when beckoned. He nodded at the boastful proclamation without comment, though if one looked closely - as Davy was too absorbed to do - they would have seen the strain in Liam’s every muscle, the tension radiating from his clenched jaw and tightly balled fist. His concern for his long-missed younger sibling would have been evident if one were watching, though he had learned long ago that luckily his power-mad sire noticed only what pleased him and related to his own concerns. He didn’t want Killian with him out of any genuine desire to reunite his family, but through some twisted ideal of dynastic completion.

Though he couldn’t hide all of his concern, Liam schooled his face into a mask of bland curiosity and obedience as he looked to Davy who growled, “You remember the job you are to do?”

“Aye,” Liam affirmed simply with a curt nod, leaving out that he had every intention of doing the opposite when the moment came.

He left soon after, knowing his keeper - all the moniker his pitiless sire truly deserved - would never suspect him to do anything other than exactly as he decreed. ‘Thank the gods for small mercies on that score,’ Liam thought as he swam from the lair with unnaturally strong, tireless strokes. Such blind tunnel vision was all he really had to count on in his hopes to turn the tide.

~~***~~

Emma was genuinely surprised by Calypso’s warmth and affection as the gracious sea numph accepted her thanks for her aid and guidance in finding Ogygia before drifting lost at sea interminably. Of course this otherworldly being - uncannily graceful and stunning in all respects - was Killian’s mother! Not wonder he had always been able to charm any person he met with a mere smile or twinkle of his eyes! The part that staggered Emma was that the woman would embrace her and bless them as a couple rather than begrudge her pulling Killian away when she had just found him again. Princess trained in regal bearing and dignity she might be, but all the same, Emma could only tightly hug Killian’s mother in return, blubbering an apology about not being able to desert her parents and her people, which Calypso acknowledged with a calm gesture of understanding, and then boarded the ship, trying to quickly wipe away the stray tears that had escaped down her cheeks. She was glad to be able to say she had met his mother, and Killian deserved a moment alone to say his farewells - at least for the moment.

“Your princess is truly a lovely young woman,” Calypso told her son warmly, squeezing his hands in her own, hating to think that soon Killian would once again be out of her reach. “She is as enchanting and kind as her lady mother, Misthaven’s Queen, is reputed to be. I have no doubt that she will rule justly and well when the time comes.”

“Nor do I,” Killian agreed softly, his assurance, and the pride her felt for his beloved clear in word and tone. “But Mother, I…”

“And she loves you,” Calypso continued, cutting him off because she knew she must tell him all before her emotions choked her. “Above all else, she holds you closest to her heart, my son. Right where you deserve to be. It does a mother’s heart good to see it.”

Killian bowed his head, flushing to the tips of his ears, pointed like hers he realized now with pleasure to have a trait in common with this mother he hated to part from. “And I love her,” he replied without hesitation, “But you know that I love you as well… don’t you?” He pressed their joined hands to his chest, just over his heart. “That I do not wish to leave you? Emma’s people look to her; they need her… and I have responsibilities as well. Her parents, they took me in…”

“Never fear, Killian,” Calypso soothed her son easily. “I do know. And you will never fully leave me. You will always be my baby boy. You - and she - will always be welcomed here, should you ever wish to return.”

For a long, heavily charged moment mother and son leaned into a lingering embrace - full of comfort, which neither wished to let go. Foreheads touching, Killian tried to breath in her scent, to memorize the sound of her voice - all the things he had forgotten before.

“I will always be here for you, Son,” she promised as he turned to stride across the sand and into the ship to sail home. “You know where to find me… whenever you need.”

Her son waved one last time before joining his princess at the bow, and soon their little ship was no more than a speck on the horizon, drifting further and further away.

~~***~~

They had been on the water some hours when a gentle bubbling and foaming disturbance of the surface appeared just ahead of their boat. Both Killian and Emma noted it, but were not terribly concerned at first. It was only when the waves around them began to roll and grow choppy, forcing Emma to grasp the sides tight-lipped and white-knuckled and Killian to eye the frothing, churning, and ever-expanding disturbance with worry he did not wish to voice. This was clearly no mere passing dolphin or larger tide as he had first hoped. He remembered too just how malevolently and suddenly the storm which wrecked his vessel and drowned the rest of his crew had blown up. He could not bear to see such a calamity befall Emma.

Glancing to his side, Killian’s heart swelled with admiration and affection for her as she braced herself and remained calm, neither crying nor panicking as many an untested sailor might have done. She was silent and steady - every bit as determined to hold her own as he was to see her home safely. However, he was about to caution her to wrap a length of rope around her oar-lock and then her waist securely, so that if she were tossed overboard he could haul her back in before she was lost, when suddenly their small craft bucked and lurched so strongly that she was thrown to the deck on hands and knees, and he nearly toppled down on her, despite his own more seasoned sea legs.

Before Killian could even reach to help her up, some unknown form broke the surface in the center of the spinning waters, and once it did, the worst of the pitching and rolling calmed. A head, then broad shoulders, emerged seemingly from the deep - as impossible as it should have seemed. However, they did just leave the island of his mother the sea nymph, so neither felt quite as supported by usual logic as they once had been. It was only as the figure glided toward them on the waves, as if they could simply float atop the water weightlessly without the effort of swimming, that Kilian recognized its build and look with a shock of disbelief. As the mysterious arrival raised unmistakably blue eyes to meet their awestruck gazes, the single word fell from his mouth on a harsh, ragged breath. “L- Liam?”

Emma’s head whirled to stare at him, then the aquatic visitor, and back, slack-jawed and goggle-eyed. She wanted to make sure she’d heard him correctly. Liam? The brother who had died when Killian was a child? Who had been lost to the sea at the same time it brought Killian to her? How was that possible? The thoughts cropped up in her mind one after another, but turning to see the intensity and confusion, the pain and the dawning joy on Killian’s face made her hold her tongue.

Tears started in the corners of her own eyes all the same, though he managed to speak again softly, “Brother? ...Is it really you? You- you drowned.” His face almost crumpled, and Emma wanted desperately to take his hand in comfort, but she held back, sensing that the brothers needed this moment - however it was happening. “I thought you were lost.”

Somberly, the shaggy head of hair lighter and curlier than Killian’s nodded to confirm his words. “Aye, it’s me, Little Brother.” He glided closer, out of the water up to his waist, until he was right next to their vessel, facing Killian as he reached out tentatively. “I was drowned… more or less. But I have not really died, not as one normally understands it. Oh blast, am I buggering this up!”

Emma knew her face must match the look of perplexity covering her sailor’s. The words this man was uttering didn’t make sense. And yet, Killian would not - could not - leave him hanging, regardless of his confusion. He reached forward and met Liam in a tight, frantic hug of reunion after so many years apart, She heard a strangled sob leave the younger Jones, muffled against his elder brother’s shoulder, which was in turn shaking rather markedly with a soundless anguish and relief of its own.

When they finally parted, Liam’s hands were resting on Killian’s shoulders as he peered into his brother’s eyes intently. “I will explain all - as best I can anyway. I swear it, Killian. I am sorry I could not make myself known to you sooner.”

Killian nodded in acceptance of those words, looking almost dazed - as if afraid to even blink or speak for fear his beloved sibling would vanish from him again.

“But first,” the elder Jones continued, “I must tell you how I have reached you now - and warn you to be on your guard.”

Tremors ran down Emma’s spine at the words themselves, and the tone in which they were spoken. This was not idle chatter, but a true threat, and she could only imagine who, or what, he might warn was coming their way.

Killian gave his older brother a curt nod of understanding, urging Liam on. It was clear how they would have worked impeccably well together - an unstoppable team on any ship - if things had been different, if they had been allowed to sail into adulthood side-by-side. They do not argue or waste time, but instead each obviously trusted the other at their word, without a second’s hesitation, and moved forward without fail toward what must be done - not allowing room for doubt nor fear.

Liam cleared his throat, eyes lowered to avoid quite holding contact with either of their faces when he continued, voice gravel-rough and low. “Of course you know of Davy Jones and his infernal locker…” he began..

Again, Killian nodded in confirmation, “Aye, naturally.”

“What most do not know - what I myself could not have known all those years ago, still just a lad, and would never have believed, is that Davy Jones and the legend surrounding him - his locker, his cursed crew, the Flying Dutchman - all of it is true.”

Neither Killian nor Emma spoke to interrupt him, though it was a near thing, both of them staring frozen and gobsmacked, trying to figure out how they must have misunderstood Liam’s words. Finally, Killian gathered his wits enough to sputter incredulously, “You mean to say that you’ve been held prisoner - a part of that villain’s crew all this time? How - how is that possible?”

Liam shook his head resignedly, answering with little more than a shrug and a low voice. “I do not begin to know the whys and wherefores, Little Brother. Until seeing you here before me, I had genuinely lost all sense of time passing, and much memory of who I once was and what I felt long ago - a sort of suspended animation, if you will.”

Emma had remained quiet throughout their exchange - partially stunned into speechlessness and partially from a desire to allow Killian the time and space to be reunited with the sibling he had mourned as long as she had known him. Yet, with this revelation, she found her curiosity overruling her previous restraint. “What allowed you to come to us now then?” she questioned, tilting her head as she attempted to study his face - familiar, but not as open to her as Killian’s had ever been. She didn’t mean to be mistrustful, but all of this tale was strange - straining belief, in fact - and his arrival to warn them at just the opportune moment seemed almost too much a coincidence.

“A fair question indeed, your Highness,” Liam answered respectfully, with a slight dip of his chin in differential bow. For a moment, his gaze slid back over to Killian with such proud approbation, as if congratulating him in finding such a sharp lass and valuing that about her, that Emma felt herself flush with pleasure.

He granted her a small but transformative smile; in truth, the way it lightened his whole aspect made him seem an entirely different person. Not only that, but the familial similarities between he and the brother she had grown up beside became all the more evident when his expression drew her in just as Killian so easily did. “In answer to your question - as fair warning, as much as it is in my power to offer you - Davy sent me to the surface anyway. He made me have you in my sights, ready to do his bidding at the moment he chooses to strike. I did not know whether I would be able to thwart his intent and show myself or speak to you ahead of when he wished, but it seems I can, and it was worth any effort for me to at least try. I believe he knows my loyalty is not fully his, in whatever degree I am free of his influence, and so he has not told me all. Have no doubt he will attack when you are weakest though, when the moment is most opportune for his victory. Please, both of you, be wary and ready. I will help you in any way I can, but I can never be fully assured how much of my will might be my own.”

Kililan’s brow furrowed in anger and disgust, his concern for the sibling he loved clear as he asked disbelievingly, “He controls you?”

Liam bobbed his head in grudging confirmation, but he wanted them to know as well as possible just what they were up against. “To a large degree, yes. If he wills it, that seems often to be the case, at any rate. Thankfully, he has numerous minions, most much more eager to serve as they are grateful to be - at least in some measure - alive. He is often distracted and not actively ordering me to do anything, and as such, I am often able to do as I will. Not that I have much to see or do here trapped within the ocean. It would have been better for me to have perished outright, but he did not allow that - not when he sent that storm to gather us both to his side.”

The elder Jones shook his head in frustration, gritting his teeth before concluding ominously, “I fear he will never rest until he has captured your soul as well, Brother… And I do not know how much I will be able to aid you or resist his orders when he directly states otherwise.”

Before he could divert his gaze, obviously ashamed that he could be used as a pawn, made to hurt those he most wished to protect, Killian brought his hand quickly to grasp his brother’s forearm, bringing Liam’s stormy gaze up to look on his own, clasping his long lost hero’s hand in a firm, brotherly grip. Killian vowed solemnly. “Understood. We will be on our guard. But do not think for a moment we will hold you to blame for something beyond your control, either.”

Emma stepped closer, looking into the slightly greyer, more muted blue of the brother she had just met’s eyes as well. “Take care of yourself too. See that you weather the storm as well so we can meet again. And thank you… for the warning.”

The shaggy head, which had once been carefully close-cropped and tended light brown curls nodded, seeming to know better - just as his younger brother always had - than to argue with a princess so prepossessed and determined. There was a sheen of unshed tears filming those wise, weary eyes as he hesitated every second he felt able, but in the end he dared not linger further, loath to draw Davy Jones’ attention to the princess and lieutenant if they could by pass his waters undetected.

Unfortunately, the entire sea was the evil being’s domain - and all those upon it a part of his purview. All three of them knew - and Liam from a sickening knowledge of seeing and living the aftermath of when struggle against Davy for survival ultimately failed - it was a battle that would take all they had, with the outcome Emma spoke of anything but assured. Still, the fact that they knew it was coming, could steel themselves and prepare for the worst, somehow steadied them. Neither Killian nor Emma had ever been people who had backed down from a fight - and they were calling on every bit of that resolve in the moment.

Though Liam was more than reluctant to leave his brother and Killian’s beloved - a princess! And a woman he already found himself feelings brotherly affection for - he knew he must do so soon. The last thing he wanted was to destroy their one advantage and let Davy know they were aware of his plot. Nor did he wish to lead his predatory sire right to Killian and Emma; let them get as close to their home and safety as they could before the nefarious, supernatural captain caught them up.

“Aye,” he finally managed to choke out harshly. “May we do so.” One more quick bow of his head, reverence in the gesture before he offered a warm, loving smile and then sunk so smoothly beneath the surface of the water that it barely rippled, unlike when he had appeared. Almost as though he had never been there at all; leaving Killian and Emma to turn to each other, vowing to fight through together, to find Liam again, their eyes promised it even if no words were spoken, whatever they were about to face.

~~***~~

Sure enough, they might have hoped otherwise, Killian and Emma felt Davy Jones’ presence approaching before they reached Misthaven’s shores. The otherworldly menace’s arrival was heralded as much by the change in the wind and the waters around them as the chill of foreboding that made the hair at their napes stand on end. Though he had not yet shown his cursed visage, the way what had simply been a pleasant breeze now picked up to whip at the sails, their hair and clothes, and to howl in their ears, and the way what had been a light blue sky turned a sickening chartreuse full of scudding grey clouds ever-darkening with ominous intent.

For an extended moment, Kilian’s eyes sought Emma’s across the small hull of their rolling vessel, being tossed more and more as the waves crested higher. “If we capsize, Emma,” he spoke slowly, firmly, as if to imprint his words on her memory if he were not still there at her side. “Swim for land in this same direction,” he indicated the way they had been traveling, over her shoulder. “We nearly reached the harbor. A strong swimmer - which you are, Love - might yet make it on their own strength.”

She wanted to ignore his words, to shake her head in wild denial that she might need knowledge he wouldn’t be there to provide. She had no intention of losing him again. And yet, the confrontation they had hoped to avoid was surely coming any minute; they would not outrun the master of those lost to the Deep. The little vessel that had taken her so far, and had nearly borne them home again was no longer managing any progress forward, merely struggling to remain afloat as it rode wildly up and down on the ever-rising swells.

And then, at long last, with a loud, whooshing roar, it was as if the ocean itself parted, a huge, dark shape, which solidified into the monstrous hulk of a ship surged up from the depths of the open chasm. As it leapt to the surface, righting itself to mount a wall of water, the split in the waves fell closed once more, leaving the blackened, ruinous black ghost of the Flying Dutchman towering before them not more than fifteen feet away - like a shark poised to swallow smaller fish too stunned or too late to flee.

No sooner had Emma been able to swallow hard in a throat suddenly parched with apprehension, her fingers clenched in the material of Killian’s sleeve, above all else determined she wouldn’t let him be taken from her again, when everything around them went horribly, unnaturally still. The waves, the wind, all their surroundings silently seeming to hold their breath before all chaos broke loose. For one last moment, she and her lieutenant fixed their eyes on each other; wordlessly swearing to see each other on the other side, whether or not it was within their power to follow through on such a promise. Then he turned to face his sire - if one could truly be made to believe that the monstrous captain towering over them at the prow of the other ship could have had any connection to the true and honorable man Killian had become. Intending to remain at his back, to do whatever she could to help him fight and keep them afloat, Emma straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine as they waited and watched.

Sound and fury returned to the world around them as the accursed captain reached the very helm of his ship, bringing him fully into view as his low, malevolent chuckle at their show of resolve seemed to set the waves crashing and churning once more. “Oh ho, Killian, you’ve brought your intended to our long-awaited reunion, have you? Not particularly well-advised, but she is a pretty wench. I supposed I can see why you’d be loath to leave her behind.”

Killian’s frown deepend, the muscle in his jaw working as he bit down on his anger. Those eyes that she usually likened to the brilliance of a summer sky or the blue of his beloved ocean were instead lit with the pale fire of the hottest of flames at Davy’s callous words. “Hardly,” he clipped in a low growl. “I had no intention of meeting you at all. And I’ll not have you getting anywhere near Emma.”

“Is that so?” Davy snarled, his own temper seeming to erupt at his offspring’s defiance. “We’ll just see about that!”

The waves their little boat floated upon suddenly seemed propelled forward, rising on a towering crest of water as if drawn to Davy’s hand. Skilled a sailor as Killian was, there was no steering them anywhere else when the very elements were turned against them. The air seemed to quiver just as Emma found herself doing, in spite of her best efforts as they came face-to-face with the accursed being. The boards of the vessel beneath their feet groaned and creaked as the frothing sea bearing it seemed ready to dash it to kindling. The air whistled and howled, whipping her hair against her face until she was nearly blinded. And yet, she saw the horrifying shade who faced them, the dark cloud of obsession clouding eyes which might once have been clear and striking as the sons he claimed as his own. He stood taller than the average man, seeming even larger with the wild hair and wide-brimmed, ostentatiously old-fashioned hat atop his head. All his dress was from a more ornate and bygone age, and yet looked gone to ruin rather than impressive, almost mildewed, or perhaps it was a growth of some sort of moss or coral upon his apparel after so long within the sea. Beyond the visible appearance however, the aura of evil power practically radiated from his being, and Emma felt herself draw back before even realizing she had done so.

Pleased with the nightmare impression he never failed to make, Davy Jones chortled in maniacal glee. “Oh yes, I see you there, Princess. Try not to fret overmuch. No matter how brave, they always cower before me in the end.”

She wanted to contradict his words, to call back that Killian wasn’t afraid and that she believed in him, but Emma found her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, speechless and unable to react other than to stare, frozen, until with one last murderous crow, Davy cackled, “You’re both in my clutches, and no hope to escape. Look your last on the world above.”

Then they were falling, plummeting back to the surface with such speed and force that the boat rolled and cracked in two when it hit the water again. Swept underwater and swirled around dizzyingly, Emma fought to retain any sense of which way was up and to break free of the whirlpool ravenously threatening to suck her further down.

Her lungs burned; her rational mind knowing she would have to draw breath soon - and that it would be nothing but saltwater and spell the beginning of the end. She paddled madly, flailing for some sort of light, when suddenly, a solid arm caught her around the middle and pulled her back toward the air at last.

Certainly she had expected for Killian to have somehow reached her, though she couldn’t begin to account for the strength and speed with which she was fished from the drink. However, upon gulping her first sweet breath of air and catching a glimpse of her savior, she found not Killian, but his brother keeping her afloat. Coughing up the water she had somehow swallowed and attempting to speak her thanks, the words died on her tongue at the seeming blank and unknowing countenance Liam bore, nothing like the warmth with which he had looked at her mere hours ago.

“Liam?” she attempted to gain his recognition, even as an awful feeling stole her breath yet again. “What’s wrong? It’s Emma… don’t you remember me?”

Still he made no response, solidifying the frightened certainty that he was under Davy’s control once more and no longer acting of his own volition. Wriggling and kicking to try to break free, Emma found quickly that her efforts were useless. There was no escaping the iron grip he had on her.

Yet, even as her own panic rose to as crescendo, Emma found herself needing to find Killian, to know if he were better or worse off - and already praying that he had not somehow been swallowed by the vicious waves his sire had conjured to claim them. As her eyes flew across the distance, they came to rest on both a thrilling and blood-curdling scene. Her love stood feet planted on the overturned shell of their boat, splintered oar in hand as the only weapon available to him, and waiting as Davy drew near, magically skimming across the tops of the waves, ready to face him once again and for all.

She struggled anew against Liam’s iron hold, but he barely moved; her efforts to free herself having so little effect they might as well not have happened at all. He didn’t speak, though his expression was tormented, torn as if he were indeed in conflict between what he wished to do himself and the command that decreed his actions otherwise. Yet that did not stop Emma’s trying to reason with him, trying to break through. “Liam, please. You know me. I’m on your side, remember?” she pleaded, even as she continued to try to escape his hold. “We want the same thing. Let me go and we’ll help Killian, alright? Look, he needs us.” She flung her arm out desperately, hoping to make him see the real place they should be focused.

Liam’s gaze did move to his younger sibling for a moment, and Emma’s heartbeat quickened at the longing she saw in the elder brother’s countenance; the aching need to stand shoulder-to-shoulder and fight together for something good and true once more. But then he jerked his gaze from the scene of impending conflict once more, muttering to himself as if to drive home a point he would not have himself forget. “Not yet, not yet,” his lips were moving as he repeated it almost like a mantra. “Must wait for the opportune moment…”

Puzzled, Emma worried that she had heard him say that very phrase before, when cautioning them that Davy would choose the opportune moment to strike. All she could take from that was the fact that he woudln’t release her and hadn’t yet gone to his brother’s aid was that his father did have him under his command. Yet, Liam also looked far from peacefully mindless; he might be under duress, but he was aware and hating every second of it. Even as she was in danger from him, even as every fiber of her being clawed to get to Killian’s side and help him any way she could, her heart still broke for Liam.

“You can beat this, Liam,” she murmured fervently, trying to catch his gaze and ceasing in her struggles to rest her hand over his much larger one in solidarity. “You’ve fought him this long, hang in there a little longer.”

Something sparked in his gaze at her words, something Emma didn’t fully understand - and yet, it gave her hope. It was conscious and alive, and truly him, not Davy holding his mind captive. Had she gotten through? Had he already broken free? Then what was he waiting for?

Both of their attention snapped back to the battle sides drawn before them once more at the taunting voice of Davy Jones. “Come now, boy. You had to know you would lose to me. A mere mortal - and with something so precious to lose. Join me, part of the ship and crew that sails forever, scourge of the sea. You’ll have power, your birthright, your brother with you again. Plus, as you can see, Liam holds my ace in the hole. We’ll see your princess safely to shore if you join us. Refuse and fight, and she becomes one of us as well.”

Even at a distance, Emma could see the rage in Killian’s eyes at the demon’s words - the threat to himself already known, but unwilling to stand for the threat to her. He glanced their way only briefly, but it was enough for Emma to see Liam give the tiniest jerk of his head to the side, an unspoken denial to whatever Killian had asked with his look. “Opportune moment,” she heard him vow in a whisper once more as he held his younger brother’s stare for a resolute second longer.

Then Killian whipped back to face their sire once more with a defiant glare and what could only be called a battle cry. “Never!” he snarled, fire in his eye and retribution in his bearing. Though Emma could do nothing but watch, and though the dire situation seemed completely unchanged, she was galvanized by her love’s certainty, believing that he would prevail. Whatever had passed between he and his brother, it had been the final push he had needed.

With a roar of vengeance, the taker of imperiled souls surged forward, Emma’s gasp swallowed by the howling, churning elements at his command swelling along with his ire. As certain as she had been mere moments ago that Killian could stand firm, she was terrified that she was about to see him consumed, and the rest of them with him. Still, just as Davy’s huge bulk and accompanying wave towered over her sailor, ready to cascade over his head and bury him in the rolling depths, Killian released another feral howl and charged forward himself, meeting his villainous father head on. Boldly welding the broken spar of the boat before him, he stabbed with a force Davy could not have reckoned on, sinking the jagged tip of the wooden stake into the monster’s chest.

For a horrible beat of time, their foe appeared unfazed, and then it was as if he began to deflate, then shrink - as if no one had managed to strike such a blow before, and his defenses were not actually equal to the task. Lurching with outstretched hand to grasp either Killian or his weapon in a final strike, there was suddenly an explosion so loud it seemedd to shake the very atmosphere. A blinding flash of light radiated from where man and monster grappled to the death, then darkness fell - equally blinding - and Emma was suddenly adrift. No longer held, unable to place anything in the black night that had suddenly engulfed her, she paddled to stay afloat, and seemingly alone. Lost and completely at sea.

Bobbing aimlessly on the surface, it was hard to tell how much time had gone by, or how far she had been carried by the waves. The huge crests and white caps had receded, leaving it a gentle rise and fall that Emma was in no danger from, yet she could not feel that all was well until she understood what had happened, where she was - and where Killian was as well. Trying she might to strain and peer through the darkness however, she couldn’t make out any recognizable landmarks; nothing but the waves surrounding her and buoying her up. It was as if she had gone from the center of battle to being the only person left on Earth or sea, the silence and dark felt so immense.

Eventually, the repetitive motion of the gently rolling swells soothed her into a doze, her eyelids fluttering closed. Despite her concern for her beloved lieutenant and her occasional unconscious paddle to stay upright, after all she had been through, Emma succumbed to a restless sleep.

~~***~~

Her eyes didn’t open again until her feet drug across rough stones, having finally been carried into the shallows and touching the rough bottom not yet become sand. She jerked back into awareness with a gasp; alarmed and not at all sure where she was. Blessedly, when she looked around herself, Emma could see once more - the endless horizon stretched out before her streaked with peaches, yellows, and pinks as hte sun rose over the ocean. Even more relieving, at her back she could see rocky, deserted coastline. Devoid of people or buildings, but land all the same.

She struck out for the shore, gladly swimming toward the land that was nearer than she could have guessed. Was this Misthaven yet? Had she been carried elsewhere as she drifted and slept? There was no way to know, and she found she didn’t even care in comparison to simply getting out safely. If only she knew where Killian was…

She had barely scrabbled out upon the rough, sandy beach, feeling water-logged and half alive and at a lost for what to do, when she heard her name called over the water. “Swan!” the moniker that only he had ever used, an affectionate shorthand between the two of them, hit her ears with the welcome impact of beautiful music.

Turning, her mouth fell open in awe at the sight of him rising out of the water with otherworldly grace - as if right in his element (which, in truth, he must be). There was an ethereal glow about him, gleaming from his dark hair and the tips of his rather pointed ears, outlining his strong arms and slender waist as he emerged from the deep, sent back to her on the tide once more. “Emma” he repeated, voice low and ragged with emotion though relief and joy showed across his face. “We made it, Love. He’s gone and we’re still here!”

Unable to hold back any longer, as impossible as it was to believe, when he opened his glowing arms in welcome, standing in the ankle deep water, she felt tears of joy spilling over as she cried out his name on a sob and ran to meet him.

Feet splashing through the shallows, the slap of her skin against the near-velvet texture of the wet sand as the water splashed up with each steps, Emma was laughing and crying all at once as she gained speed. The exhaustion and defeat that had dogged her mere moemtns before completely gone at the sight of his smile. She hit his arms in a flat out run, bowling them both over and into the water again, witha yelp of surprise from Killian, a laughing tangle of limbs.

She was kissing across his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, anxious to press her lips to every bit of his skin, having feared that he had finally disappeared where she couldn’t follow. Pulling back fro only a second as he tangled his fingers in her wet hair and cradled the back of her head in his palm, she tried ot splutter out enough words to make sense. “H- how is this possible? How did you - How are you here?”

Killian chuckled, a low, comforting rumble that vibrated from his chest to her palm where it rested over his heart. He licked those gorgeous lips, parting them to answer her, and suddenly she couldn’t stand not to be kissing them for even a moment longer. The explanation could wait.

Surging forward, she captured that luscious mouth with her own, just barely murmuring, “Never mind… it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Killian might have been taken aback by her enthusiasm at frist, but he recovered admirably. Pushing back, his tongue entered the fray in a delicious bid for control of the kiss, which she ceded, humming in pleasant abandon as he rolled her to her back in the sand and surf, breaking lightly and pleasantly against their bodies. Hovering over her, his eyes sparkled in enchanting glee, and he had the audacity to lick his lips as though she were a delicacy laid out before him. “Emma, my love,” he breathed hoarsely, lowering his ips to graze along her collarbone, licking and nipping in a way that made her squirm with blissful anticipation. “We’ve made it home.”

“Mmm,” she tried to answer, but the wordless sound was all the confirmation she could muster with her body humming pleasantly from his attentions.

“We should go to your parents, Love,” Killian suggested, though half heartedly at best. “Let them know we’re alive.”

She nodded, but made no move to go anywhere, merely sinking her fingers into the muscles of his forearms, gasping and arching toward him in supplication as his nose pushed aside her wet and slightly askew bodice and that wicked mouth latched onto the flesh it had been covering.

“Later,” she finally managed breathily, having all she could do to hold on for dear life to him. “We have all the time in the world.”

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @jrob64 @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @drowned-dreamer @shireness-says @thisonesatellite @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @xsajx

#cssns20 #cs au mc #cs au ff #a cottage by the sea #part five #enchanted forest au #lieutenant duckling au #fic update

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

She Walks In Beauty (Ethan x MC)

Regency Era AU

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Miss Lilac Allende) Word count: 3,000 Warning: None, this is just long. Sorry. Premise: At a ball, Doctor Ethan Ramsey is entranced by her beauty, not knowing there is so much more to her than meets the eye.

____

“Her father might be wealthy, but we are all in agreement that she is not nearly as beautiful as Miss Cecilia Haddington,” a high pitched voice was saying, so loudly that it grated on his ears.

Ethan disagreed with the ridiculous statement.

He glared in the direction of the speaker, a proud-looking woman with feathers in her hair that made her look like some kind of over-sized bird. The simpering women around her looked just as ridiculous, beady eyes observing the dancing couples as they listened.

“And Spaniards,” the woman added, her voice lowering at the last word. “What a shame. Her skin is not quite as fair and her nose not as graceful. It's no wonder she is fast approaching spinsterhood.”

Ethan's fingers clasped around his drink with excessive force. Jaw tight, he considered the scandal of throwing the group out of his estate. If he was being forced to throw this inane ball in the first place, then he could at least have a right to throw out the vermin.

Applause rang around the grand ballroom as the Minuet came to an end, interrupting his furious thoughts.

Even more distracting, his gaze met a pair of bright eyes from across the room. Ethan had lost count of how many times their eyes found each other that evening, her beautiful mouth turning into the briefest of smiles before she looked away. In a gown colored the deepest wine, her dark hair and graceful neck adorned with gold, she was a vision of loveliness unlike anything he had ever seen before.

He forced his gaze away, aware that many eyes around the ballroom were on him. The last thing he wanted was to willingly give them more to gossip about.

“Lovely creature, isn’t she?” an older gentleman said at his side. Perhaps Ethan was not as swift or discreet in looking away.

Ethan said nothing, the response so characteristic that his companion did not wait for anything else. Instead, the older man watched her through the rim of his glass, watery eyes alight with an expression Ethan did not quite like.

“It's a marvel that a beautiful, young woman such as that remains unmarried,” the older man continued unprompted.

A swig of his drink was all the reply he was going to get from Ethan. Any of the pompous guests who laid eyes on him would assume he was disinterested, which is how he preferred it.

He was interested, however. Ever since their brief introduction earlier that evening, Ethan found he could not keep his eyes away from her. To his utter dismay and surprise, he sought out the beautiful young woman he had seen a handful of times before at other social gatherings. Except, he had never stood so close to fully appreciate the graceful slope of her nose, the beautiful shape of her lush mouth, or the alluring glint of her clever eyes.

Those clever eyes had assessed him so thoroughly at their introduction that Ethan became obsessed with knowing her every thought. Now, he stole glances at her, hoping to do just that, the urgency of it something he would never admit out loud.

“Or perhaps not so much a marvel,” the older man said with a chuckle. “Beautiful as she might be, she fancies herself much cleverer than any sensible woman should. No eligible man in his right mind would take a wife like that, impressive dowry notwithstanding.”

The man laughed and perhaps expected Ethan to join in. Again, he wondered how scandalous it would be to punch a guest.

“She appears cleverer than everyone here combined,” Ethan retorted instead, not bothering to look at him. “I have only spoken briefly with the young woman and her words had more merit than the vapid conversation others insist on having with me.”

The man's laughter turned into a hasty cough. His attention snapped up to assess Ethan's expression.

“Yes, well,” he started nervously when he could not discern the full meaning of Ethan's words.

Before he could, Ethan briskly said, “Excuse me,” and took his leave. He determinedly walked away, making his way through the many elegantly dressed guests— guests decorum mandated he should be entertaining with conversation.

Ethan could not consider this any further, because just then he caught a glimpse of scarlet and gold by the exit of the ballroom. This time, she wasn't looking at him, instead glancing around nervously to ensure no one was watching her, before she made her escape. Without much thought, Ethan followed her.

To his complete surprise, she wandered the hallways of his estate, curiously peering into rooms until she found his study. Satisfied, she disappeared behind the door.

Ethan allowed a few minutes before he followed, quietly opening the heavy oak door. She stood by his desk, on the tips of her feet as she pursued his bookshelves. Attention rapt as it was on the titles, she did not notice him enter.

“Ah,” she muttered quietly, hastily pulling out a volume he did not recognize from the distance. With shaky fingers, she opened it and began to read by the candlelight. In one hurried motion, she produced a small book and stubby pencil from her reticule.

She had just started to scribble swift notes when Ethan’s curiosity won out.

He cleared his throat loudly to make his presence known.

Ms. Allende let out a startled cry at the sound, dropping his book and sending it skittering across his desk until it landed at his feet.

“I–” she started as she whirled around, all words dying at her throat when her eyes fell on him. In a panicked whisper, she said, “Doctor Ramsey.”

In her shock, she seemed to have forgotten to curtsy because she did after a brief delay.

“Miss Allende,” he returned with a bow.

The gestures seemed overly ridiculous in their current predicament.

In the loaded silence that followed, she regarded him with wide, terrified eyes that were almost comical to him. He schooled all amusement from his expression as he watched the color blooming on her cheeks and neck, almost matching the color of her gown.

Finally, he said, “Did no one tell you it is unspeakably rude to leave a ballroom in favor of meddling through the host's study?”

Her lovely face looked mortified. “I wasn't meddling,” she began to explain.

Ethan arched an incredulous brow at her.

Their eyes fell simultaneously to the book she had dropped, now resting at his feet. Ethan bent down to collect it, ignoring the slight intake of breath from Miss Allende.

“The Anatomy of Humane Bodies by William Cowper,” he read out loud, examining his book with renewed interest. He glanced between the old tome and the young woman, who guiltily stared at the carpet as if willing it to swallow her whole.

When she said nothing, he sarcastically added, “So you decided to trade dancing for a bit of light reading?”

No response.

“Were your suitors really that dull that you prefer an ancient medical text to their company?”

Her eyes flew to his then, the embarrassment slowly dissipating into something else. Her spine straightened slightly and she opened her mouth to offer a response. However, she must have remembered she had just been caught in his study, rifling through his library because she closed her mouth at once.

“Why are you in my study unchaperoned, Miss Allende?”

Belatedly, he realized the implications of the word unchaperoned. Ms. Allende must have caught it too because her face grew impossibly brighter.

“I was studying, sir.”

“That much was apparent,” he returned at once. “What was not as obvious was studying what precisely?”

A small pause before she said, “I intended to study your medical books.”

“Why?”

She considered the question. “Because medical books are exceedingly difficult to find, particularly good ones,” she explained in a rush, still sounding quite breathless. “Given that you are the only physician nearby, I concluded your library would be the most appropriate place to find something useful.”

“And why are you this determined to acquire medical texts?”

There was a long pause, one so vast that he started to doubt if she would answer.

At least, her pretty mouth set in a determined line, she seemed to decide something.

“Because I want to be a physician.”

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

The words echoed heavily between them, almost deafening in the silence. For a brief, panicked moment, Lilac wished she could take them back, cursing her recklessness.

Why had she felt so compelled to tell him?

No one knew about her ambitions, except her chaperone, Mrs. Martinez. And this was for good reason. Lilac was already a social outcast on many fronts. One was her status as a foreigner in a society obsessed with birth and status. Forget that she had been in England since childhood, learning and enduring its rigid societal expectations. The only reason her family received one half of the respect they deserved was the wealth her father's hard work had earned them.

Lilac was also the subject of much gossip for making her disinterest in marriage abundantly clear. Never with words but with her skillful avoidance of courtships. This endeavor proved far more challenging as the years went by since suitors were increasing instead of decreasing in numbers. Add to all this a desire to practice medicine and her father's reputation would be ruined almost as badly as if she was found in a man's bed.

The thought prompted her to look at the impossibly handsome man currently in front of her.

Those striking blue eyes assessed her quietly, his face betraying nothing of what he was thinking.

“It is unorthodox, I understand,” she started with dignity when she could bear the silence no longer.

“It is unorthodox, Miss Allende,” he agreed.

The words, expected as they were, stung.

“And, to be honest,” he continued, “I am not convinced you will ever be a proper physician.”

Lilac blinked, a wave of shock paralyzing her where she stood. It wasn't long, however, before surprise was replaced by an unbridled, righteous anger.

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, palms itching to connect with his beautifully structured face. She had the imperious, mahogany desk separating then to thank for stopping her. The scandal that would provoke would be insurmountable and impossible to recover from.

“That is quite a shocking assumption considering you only made my acquaintance today,” she said scathingly.

Doctor Ethan Ramsey looked slightly taken aback by the sudden vehemence in her voice. His piercing eyes studied her wordlessly as she glared up at him, chin pointed with stubborn dignity.

“What prompts you to believe I would not be an efficient doctor?” she challenged angrily. “Is it the fact that I am a woman?”

Something flickered in his gaze.

“Miss Allende,” he began but Lilac gave him no room to continue.

“Because I am far more learned and capable than most of the guests currently in your ballroom,” she continued, incensed, her ears crackling with the sound of her wild pulse.

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

She only half heard his words, determined as she was to spill the anger and terror his proclamation inspired in her. “Or is it because I am not fully English?”

It must have been a laughable sight. He was entirely too tall and broad shouldered for her to seem like a real threat. If she was lucky, the top of her head would only begin to reach his impeccably tied cravat.

To her utter shock, however, he laughed. A quiet, restrained laugh but a laugh nonetheless.

“I'm not fully English either,” he explained quietly. “And neither is my mentor, who is quite possibly the most talented doctor in the country.”

Once he mentioned it, she could pick up the almost melodic inflection of a dialect in his words, so imperceptible she would have not realized it was there. It was one she recognized from fellow merchants her father traded with, originating from Scotland.

“None of the reasons you so passionately listed matter in being a good physician, Ms. Allende,” he continued, taking advantage of her pause. “And as you correctly pointed out, I have only just made your acquaintance today.”

She only stared at him, still recovering from the shock of his laughter.

He raised The Anatomy of Humane Bodies to her eye level. “However, hastily taking notes from Cowper's book is not going to take you very far in medicine,” he continued casually. “That is what I meant when I stated my doubt.”

Her face flared with embarrassment again. “In my haste, I chose the first book I could find on the shelf. My true hope was finding something by Edward Jenner.”

Dr. Ramsey froze. His dark brows rose briefly in surprise before he cut her an almost impressed look.

“You have an interest in Jenner's work?”

She nodded earnestly.

“What aspect?”

“The works I have read by other physicians strongly suggest Jenner has traced heart problems to arterial narrowing,” she explained. “I wanted to confirm if those suspicions were indeed correct.”

“They are,” he returned at once. Without waiting for a response, he moved around the mahogany desk separating them. He was so close to her that she was convinced her reputation would be ruined beyond repair if someone was to walk in.

Lilac swallowed, attempting to regain control of her breathing, heart beating so furiously against her rib cage, it was a miracle he could not hear it. The nearness of his body, the smell of his cologne, the sight of his sharp jaw– all of it could have scorched her on the spot.

Dr. Ramsey, however, narrowed his eyes in concentration, scanning the shelves behind her. He found what he was looking for, pulled the book from the shelf, and placed it gently on her gloved hands.

Slightly dazed, she glanced down at the title.

An Inquiry Into the Causes and Effects of the Variolae Vaccinae by Edward Jenner.

Lilac continued to glance at the leather-bound volume, somehow feeling heavier than was possible. At last, the information she longed to know for so long was right there, in her very hands.

Throat oddly tight, she glanced up at Dr. Ramsey, who was still standing closer than convention deemed proper. Their eyes met and at this proximity, the effect of his blue eyes was almost destructive.

He seemed to realize how close they were because he hastily took a step back. Clearing his throat loudly, he said, “The theory you read about is outlined in his work. He reached that conclusion through his own experience and observation.”

She was still at a loss for words so she said nothing.

Dr. Ramsey continued, “Which brings me to the real substance of a good physician.” He fixed her with a very solemn look before continuing. “Reading all the texts in this library will not be enough, Miss Allende. In fact, I give permission to take as many books as you wish for however long you need them.”

Her breath hitched at her throat. If she was speechless before, it was nothing to how she felt at that very moment.

“That still won't make you a doctor,” he warned her. “A doctor learns best through practice. To learn about the disease, first you must listen to the patient. Every word is a clue you must weave together for a cure.”

The elation swelling inside of her deflated at once.

“I am afraid I do not possess the opportunity to observe and learn, sir,” she said, keeping her voice as even as possible. She refused to sound as pitiful as she felt. “For the reasons I so passionately listed before.”

Dr. Ramsey considered her then with a scrutiny so acute, she wished to vanish into the shadows. Very quietly, he asked, “Why do you wish to be a doctor, Ms. Allende?”

She had never considered the question before. All she knew was that she longed to practice medicine with a yearning so powerful, it consumed her every motivation.

“I wish to solve the mysteries that cause so much suffering,” she finally responded. “Illness does not discriminate between social status or wealth, yet it seems medicine does. I hope to bring aid to people who are not fortunate enough to be Earls or Dukes.”

Dr. Ramsey contemplated her answer for a long time, expression as indiscernible as ever. It set her nerves on edge and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing. At last, his blue eyes seemed to reach a conclusion. “I can teach you.”

“What?”

“I can teach you medicine,” he repeated patiently. “An apprenticeship, of sorts.”

Lilac opened her mouth, aware she must look like some sort of fish out of water. Even with her limited knowledge of medicine, she knew a heartbeat so turbulent could not be healthy.

“How would that work?” she asked when she found her voice. “Your reputation–”

“My reputation does not concern me in the least,” he deflected with a small shrug. “Besides, it is very damaged as it is as I insist on being ‘surly’ and ‘unsociable.’”

Vaguely, she considered he was using someone else’s words and not his.

She tried to blink away the haze. “Where is this to take place?”

“This study,” he answered simply. “I am sure you agree with its usefulness given that you broke into it.”

“My father would never allow me to study medicine,” she blurted, the proclamation one of many thoughts speeding through her mind.

“He is blissfully unaware his daughter has been secretly studying it all these years,” Dr. Ramsey argued reasonably. “There is no reason he should learn of it now.”

“But my family will wonder why I am here all the time,” she said. “What pretense will I use to merit so many visits here?”

At this, he offered her a smile that was too devastating to be permissible. “You strike me as a clever girl. I am confident you will figure it out.”

_____

Read Part 2

_____

Author’s Note: Sorry! Once I started typing, I couldn’t stop! I was thinking of writing a part 2 where she is his apprentice? IDK IDK

THANK YOU for making it this far

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#Open Heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #My writing #ethan ramsey fanfiction #Ethan ramsey x mc #dr. ethan ramsey #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Monstrous Consequences

I almost forgot to put the text version on Tumblr!

Here’s chapter 2 of Of Monsters and McGuckets. The next chapter will probably be a big one, since I have a better idea where the story is going now, so it might take longer than just a couple of days for me to write and edit.

Don’t worry, folks. I fully plan on seeing this fic through.

Chapter 1 on Tumblr, if you don’t use/like Archive of Our Own.

Fiddleford usually made a point to ignore the way the Pines brothers acted on the rare occasions where they all shared a meal, despite the offense it was to his Southern upbringing. His Ma would’ve slapped him across the head if he didn’t chew with his mouth closed or say grace before every meal (a habit he kept even long after he stopped going to church).

He’d hate to imagine what she’d do if he ever ate like his two housemates. Stanley paid as much mind to table manners as he did the law, which was none. Sometimes he’d chew with his mouth open just to tick Fiddleford off, and even go as far as putting his muddy boots on the table if he really wanted to get a rise out of his boyfriend. On the other end of the spectrum sat Stanford, who either inhaled his food in a hurry to get back to his research or left it on his plate until it got too cold to eat while he made field notes.

Yet even those memories were not nearly as bad as the scene unfolding in front of him. Stanford had his paws splayed on the table, his face shoved on to his plate. Egg and grease smeared all over his mouth, and Stanford didn’t seem to notice. The silverware lay unused next to Stanford’s plate, jingling whenever he shifted to get a better angle.

Fiddleford held the edge of the table in a death grip to prevent his employer from tipping it over, and only for that reason. It certainly wasn’t because he was getting very uncomfortable staring at those large, powerful jaws rip into his bacon with a growl, while he held it in place with one paw, like a lion would, he imagined, tear into a dead gazelle. Nor did it have anything to do with the earlier, far too casual comment about Stanford wanting to maul things.

Not at all. If Fiddleford happened to take a big gulp of coffee that felt like tar coming down his throat, that was just because of something else.

He took a chance to see how Stanley was doing. His boyfriend poked at his food with the edge of a claw, and Fiddleford wondered if he could even eat, or if he needed to in this form. Just as he meant to ask, Stan chewed his bacon, shrugged, tipped the contents inside his mouth, and swallowed his entire breakfast and the ceramic plate with a loud crunch. And burped afterward.

Fiddleford quietly sipped the rest of his coffee for the remainder of the meal and made a note to avoid eating with them until they got turned back to normal.

After the ordeal that was breakfast, they finally began retracing their steps to the lake. The woods in Gravity Falls managed to have an underlying, buzzing energy to it. It felt as if everything, even the trees themselves, were teeming with life, a fact that used to fill Fiddleford with wonderment. However, as he became aware of the fact that not everything in the forest was as keen as respecting sentient life as he was, that excitement got replaced by the kind of dread that settled heavy on his shoulders and wouldn't be shaken off until he was back in the safety of their home.

Stanford was excitedly talking about the notes he’d just made as they walked. Even with his ever-present anxiety, Fiddleford still found himself listening to what little they knew of their most recent discovery.

“I’ve decided to call the mysterious liquid in the lake Fluvius Cantatis,” said Stanford, ducking under a branch. “Judging by the fact that I saw a few deer drink from the lake and suffer no outward symptoms, I’m guessing the water only affects humans.”

Stanley walked right through the branch, snapping it by just walking into it. The man didn’t flinch. Heck, Fiddleford would be surprised if he’d noticed it.

“That’s mighty interestin’,” said Fiddleford. “Perhaps the water’s been enchanted? Or…cursed?” He shuddered at the thought. If exploring Gravity Falls had taught him anything, it was that curses were stubborn, tricky things that weren’t dealt with so easily.

“Both are a possibility,” said Stanford, nonplussed. “If it was, indeed, enchanted, then there’s a good chance that we may be able to figure it out with some study. I’ve learned a few spells from the walls of that cavern we explored while finding Mothman, so it may help us get back to normal.”

“I sure hope so,” said Fiddleford. “There ain’t no tellin’ what might happen if ya stay like this too long.”

“Yeah, like how I’m going to use the toilet when I’m a giant rock,” said Stanley with a smirk.

Stanford rolled his eyes and continued forward.

“Don’t be crude, Stanley,” said Fiddleford.

The gargoyle shrugged. “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He noticed Fiddleford adjust his backpack for the third time in the last minute. “You, uh, need help there, Fidds?”

“If yer careful,” he said, placing the heavy bag on the ground. Now that he was free of the weight, his shoulders began to ache something awful. Fiddleford cracked his back as he straightened up, groaning. For the fourth time that week, he thought about finally getting around to making that appointment with the town chiropractor.

“Jeez, what’re you carrying in this thing?” Stanley picked up the pack and flipped the top open.

Inside were two pairs of thick rubber gloves, a few beakers wrapped in bubble wrap, metal tongues, a thermometer, glass jars with lids and an entire hazmat suit that Stanley had “borrowed” from some godforsaken government facility one night he and Stanford had gotten while drunk out of their minds. (Those were the only details he'd been given in regards to what went down that night, and after careful consideration, Fiddleford decided that it was probably for the best that it stayed that way).

Stanley raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “A bit much, dontcha think?”

Fiddleford huffed. “One of us has to be careful. That lake don’t sit right with me, an’ it’s better if one of us isn’t affected by whatever yer afflictions are.”

Stanley swung the backpack over one shoulder. “Relax, I’m pretty sure ya gotta bathe in this stuff for it to do anything. Me an’ Ford jumped right into it.”

“We don’t know that,” said Fiddleford. “An’ I don’t want to take any chances.”

Stanley cast a glance at his brother, who was walking ahead of them, focusing on re-discovering the path they’d went on yesterday. He put a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. Even with Stanley being as gentle as could be, the weight of his hand felt crushing. He sucked in a breath.

“Sorry! Shit, I didn’t mean—”

“I-it’s okay. Yer just stronger than usual, s’all.”

Stanley’s joints made a grinding sound as he retracted his hand and let it fall by his side. He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m right here whatever happens, alright? And uh,” He cleared his throat. “If Ford gets carried away, just let me know and I’ll wrestle him back to the shack with us if I haveta.”

“I-I may frighten easy, but there’s no need to be tip-toeing around me as if I’m some sorta newborn kitten.” He forced himself to fake what he’d hoped looked like a reassuring smile.

Stanley frowned, and Fiddleford didn’t need a magic spell to know that the man disagreed. “Look, Fidds. I guess we haven’t really talked about this, an’ this might not be the best place to have this conversation, but…I can’t help but notice you’ve been more on edge lately.”

The way he said those things made the Southern man bristle. He crossed his arms. “I don’t follow.” Fiddleford’s tone was about as inviting as a grizzly bear in a picnic. “Whatever happened to me bein’ more assertive?”

“Hey, I meant that. But…” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. The friction made a grinding sound that only served to worsen Fiddleford’s nerves. “Fidds. Come on. You jump outta your seat if you so much as see a gnome—”

“Those little devils kidnapped me, if ya haven’t forgotten!”

Stanley winced, probably remembering the “Gnome Incident”, as they all called it. It was a sore subject for Fiddleford. Not only did he get mistaken for a woman, but he also ended up getting dragged halfway through the forest by an army of small but astonishingly strong men while tied up like a hog. When Stanley and Stanford came to help after at least a half-hour of humiliation, they’d gotten so many bite marks and bruises from the whole rescue mission that they’d almost considered going to the hospital. The remaining shred of their dignities had been the only reason they hadn’t.

As if that all hadn’t been bad enough, the ropes had left some nasty cuts on Fiddleford’s wrists and ankles. It took weeks for them to heal, and to this day Stanley would still punt away any gnomes that were unfortunate enough to be in Fiddleford’s vicinity.

“Yeah, that’s my point. You’ve just been more jumpy, and…” Stanley seemed to be struggling to get the words out of his mouth. He was squirming where he stood.

In other circumstances, Fiddleford wouldn’t have given him such a hard time. Stan was being more open with his emotions, and that wasn’t easy for him. The young scientist just wished it hadn’t been this particular subject he’d decided to be open about. “An’ what?”

“Look, I’m getting’ kinda worried. You looked like you were about to have a heart attack this mornin’ when we came to the shack.”

Fiddleford set his jaw. “Is that what this mornin’ was? Ya thought that I’d still have my tail stuck between mah legs even after I knew it was you?” He hadn’t expected his anxiety to be so obvious, and now that he knew it was, it was like having someone tear his clothes off in the middle of the town. “Well, excuse me for exercisin’ some caution!”

Stan raised his hands at him, defensively. “Hey, that ain’t what I meant.”

Fiddleford squared his shoulders. “You think that just ‘cause I’m not as well-adjusted to this town’s strangeness as the two of ya, I should just stay inside and have my nose in a book or tinkerin’ away while ya and yer brother do all the dangerous work!”

In actuality, the thought of him doing just that appealed to him greatly, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “I’ll have ya know, I’m an inventor! I’ve made things that could fry a man in two flicks of a lamb’s tail!”

Stanley’s brows furrowed. “I have…no idea what that means.”

“It means, Stanley, that I ain’t some dainty thing that ya need to protect. I’m a grown man with a son of mine own, and I’m more than capable of lookin’ after myself!”

“Fidds, come on! Don’t be like that!”

But Fiddleford had stomped past Stanley, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He caught up with Stanford, who had just came across a couple of bushes that Fiddleford assumed concealed the entrance to the lake.

“Ah, perfect,” said Stanford, blissfully unaware of the tension between Fiddleford and Stanley (business as usual, then). “It’s right past here. Allow Stanley and I to go first. After all, we have already been exposed, and there’s—”

That was it. Fiddleford walked ahead, ignoring whatever was about to come out of Stanford’s mouth. Which was not, he quickly realized, an intelligent thing to do, as his next step sent him sliding down a steep dirt slope that had no business being there.

The twins called his name somewhere behind him, but it was too late. He was tumbling down, the world a blur of browns and greens. He inhaled some dirt and coughed in a vain attempt to clear his burning lungs. Just as he thought he’d be doing this forever, he splashed into a body of knee-deep water and stopped moving.

And now there he was, on his hands and knees, looking like a right fool, in front of his boss and boyfriend, no less. He sighed, bringing a shaky hand to his face, staring down at his reflection. The water had a strange purple hue. Wasn’t that just his luck that he wiped his face with water that had probably been contaminated or—

“Oh,” he said, staring at his palms. The skin began to tingle, glowing with a soft purple light. “Shit.”

A headache that felt as if the Devil Himself had just driven spikes into Fiddleford’s head had him doubling over. The pain was strongest on the left and right sides of his skull. His legs ached, and his feet felt numb. He watched with detached, morbid fascination as they broke through his shoes and got longer, until he was staring, slack-jawed at a set of rabbit feet. He wiggled the toes, his brain still struggling to process his new, horrifying reality.

The entire bottom half of him was part hare, tufts of chestnut brown fur poking out of the waistline of his now torn-up pants. He tried standing up, gasping as his head swung back, heavier than he’d ever remembered it being. He quickly held it in place with his (thank goodness!) human hands. Licking his lips, he brought his hands up to the top of his head. His fingers caressed what felt an awful lot like two large antlers, and a pair of rabbit ears.

A jackalope. He was a jackalope.

Of all the things, of all the mythological creatures in all of existence, he was a goddamn hare with antlers, because life had decided that Fiddleford McGucket hadn’t suffered enough today. The only solace he found was the fact that his face was still human, if the reflection of the lake was anything to go by, which was at least something. He’d probably drown himself right then and there if he had a rabbit nose or some other nonsense like that.

Fiddleford dragged himself out of the lake. The water didn’t drip or fall off his skin. Instead, his body seemed to absorb it. That wasn’t worrying at all.

“Fidds, are you okay? Shit, hold on, I’m almost there!”

Stanley skid down the slope and ran towards him. His wings were raised off the ground so he could run without tripping over them, and his eyes glowed more intensely than he’d seen them yet. Stanford wasn’t far behind, his wings occasionally flapping to help him keep his balance.

The usual sense of relief he’d get whenever Stanley came to his aid was, to his increasing concern, being overrun by something else. It was like somebody had flipped a switch inside of him, activating a strong, fight-or-flight instinct that Fiddleford couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to.

Suddenly, his mind didn’t see Stanley Pines, his beloved partner, and Stanford Pines, his good friend and employer. All he could take in were teeth and jaws and claws that could gut a creature like himself in seconds. This new instinct was worse than any panic attack he’d ever had, his throat tightening, his breathing labored, his head throbbing, seemingly taking over his own body, which began to move as if on its own accord.

He ran back in the woods, getting as far away from Stanley as his legs would carry him, which turned out to be incredibly far, incredibly fast. His heart thumped against his chest as he kept moving forward, crashing through bushes, any coherent thought was far gone, replaced with the need to get away now.

Had he been in his right mind, he’d have noticed Stanley’s big, heartbroken eyes on his back until he was out of sight, swallowed up by Gravity Falls’ forest.

Stanford caught up to Stanley just as the latter watched his boyfriend run into the forest at a pace that would almost put Stan’s car to shame. He’d barely seen what Fiddleford had turned into after falling into the lake, but whatever it was looked like some weird bunny-thing that probably had little to no way to defend itself. Well, he guessed running like hell was a damn good way to defend oneself. Couldn’t argue with the results.

“Great.” Stanley held his head. “Just fuckin’ peachy.”

“That could have gone better,” said Stanford.

“You decide to become Captain Obvious today or somethin’?” snapped Stanley. He gestured towards the direction Fiddleford went. “How the fuck are we gonna find him?”

“Calm down, Stan. I have a plan.” Ford pushed his glasses up his nose. “Do you remember those microchips that Fiddleford made?”

Stanley stared at his brother as if he’d just started speaking another language. “Sixer, this ain’t time for your nerd talk, Fidds could get eaten by a mountain lion or bear if we don’t do somethin’!”

Ford glared at him. “This is why I’m bringing it up. Fiddleford it to help us track each other in the case that one of us gets abducted again.” Ford rummaged through the knapsack he always brought with him and pulled out a clunky metal remote with a glass screen. He turned it on. “Aha!”

“What?”

“It’s working magnificently! Fiddleford will be pleased to know that the remote has no problems picking up his signal.”

Stan loved his brother, he really did, but it was shit like his brother managing to be excited about some science gizmo while his friend was hopping around the woods in a panic that really tested his patience. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d also love to be alive to talk about it, so why don’t ya shut yer yap for five seconds so we can get him?”

Ford huffed. He stared back down at the screen. “He’s going towards the middle of the forest, so at least he isn’t near any caves.” He stopped talking, eyes widening. “We need to move. He’s coming across Manotaur territory.”

Stanley swore. “Then let’s go already!”

“Stan, you’re slower like this. You should let me—”

“Oh, hell no, Pointdexter. I’m not waitin’ here while you go off after him. He’s gonna freak out if he sees you alone.”

Ford opened his mouth, saw the expression that Stan had on his face, and let whatever stupid thing he was going to tell Stan, die. “Fine but try not to lose me. I’m going to have to…” He sighed. “Run on four legs.”

Even in his state of mind, Stanley couldn’t resist grinning. “Maybe this situation isn’t all bad.”

Ford took off his boot and threw it at his brother. It bounced off him. Stan didn’t even feel it.

“Fiddleford better be grateful for this,” muttered Ford as he freed himself of his other shoe and began to—there was no other word for it—gallop in the direction Fiddleford went.

Filing the mental image of his brother running around like a giant housecat for later, Stan lumbered behind him. He was determined to keep up, not wanting to waste more time.

#of monsters and mcguckets #fiddlestan #mystery trio #mystery trio au #monster falls #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #young fiddleford #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #young stan bros #gargoyle!stan #sphinx!ford #jackalope!fiddleford #archive of our own #my writing

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moodyvalentinestories · 4 years

Text

Direction – Eleven| Hunt x HWU MC (Danielle)

Summary: Thomas did a bad thing and Danielle is not amused.

Words: 1900+

Notes: I’d say I’m sorry but my mum told me lying was bad so...

❥ Previous Chapter: Ten ❥ Moodyvalentine’s Masterlist

Halfway through their lunch, Viktor received a call from his secretary that had him leave right away. He’d assured her that he would call on her again soon, and that their plans were simply postponed rather than cancelled, but Danielle knew better. She’d heard the woman on the other end of the line talking about a security leak at the office, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think it was a coincidence. No, somebody was meddling with her plans, and she had a pretty damn good idea who.

She finished her lunch first – it tasted much better than when Viktor had sat opposite her – before she called a cab to take her home. She needed to take care of this, she knew, and perhaps she should have gone by his place first, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he would be waiting by her apartment door, ready to scold her for what she’d planned to do.

Unsurprisingly, she was right. As she stepped out of the elevator, she found him standing just where she’d imagined, looking not even a smidge contrite. “Ethan.”

“Danielle,” her agent – because he was most certainly not here as her friend just now – returned before he went in on her. “You are, without a doubt, the absolutely dumbest person I’ve ever met in my entire career – no, my entire life.”

She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Could we go inside for this?”

“Oh, we better. Because you’re going to want to sit the fuck down,” Ethan said severely, and she got the feeling that perhaps this wasn’t just about her plan.

He went in ahead of her once she had the door unlocked and motioned for her to sit on the couch. She didn’t put up a fight, throwing herself onto the cushions. “I was handling it, you know,” she said, fully aware that she sounded like a kid.

“You were getting yourself into a dangerous situation is what you were doing,” Ethan countered and it was obvious it cost him a great deal of effort to speak as calmly as he did. He sat down in the chair across from her. “What were you thinking, Dani?”

She didn’t answer his question and she figured he didn’t need her to, anyway. He knew damn well what she’d been thinking and why. “How did you know, anyway?”

“You were seen leaving with Viktor. I knew you had to be up to something.”

“Who told you that—” She didn’t need to finish her question, knowing the answer already, and groaned. “Nora.”

She had been right to be wary, then. Just not for the reasons she’d thought.

“I had to have somebody keep tabs on you, didn’t I?” Ethan said. “Clearly, I was right.”

Danielle huffed again. “It would have been just fine. And it still doesn’t explain how you knew to call the leak in.”

“We’ve known each other for a while, Dani, and I’m familiar with the way you operate. I called Dean, and he told me about the cameras.” He shrugged. “The rest wasn’t all that hard to figure out.”

She sighed. “Well, I guess there’s nothing I can do to change what you’ve done. I’ll just have to figure out a new to—”

“I doubt you’re going to want to do that,” Ethan interrupted with a shake of his head. “Not after what I have to show you.”

Danielle looked at him questioningly as he opened his messenger bag and took out a dreadfully familiar cardboard box. Her voice trembled when she asked, “Where did you get that?”

She knew, of course, where he’d got it. She knew, deep down, but she couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. But he held the box out to her and that could only mean one thing.

“You’re lucky Hunt gave it to one of my contacts rather than anyone else, or this would be down at the police station right about now,” Ethan said, and her heart sank further upon hearing it. “He was going to release it all, Danielle. He was going to ruin you.”

Thomas was about three sheets to the wind by the time he heard the doorbell ring and he couldn’t be entirely certain whether it was real or he’d only imagined it. Either way, he figured, it couldn’t hurt to check.

That assumption turned out to be gravely wrong, however, when he opened the door to see none other than Danielle Allen on the other side and felt like someone had reached right into his chest and ripped his heart out. She was quite clearly furious, if her expression was anything to go by, and it took him a few more seconds to notice the box in her hands.

“So that was a trick, too?” he said – or, at least, he hoped that was what he said because his speech wasn’t quite so clear as he wished it to be. It didn’t matter anyway, he thought, he would just slam the door in her face and go back to pour himself another glass of Scotch. Thinking about just how she’d got her hands on that box again, and why she’d brought it to him, could wait until tomorrow morning. Or perhaps the late afternoon, as he wasn’t so sure he’d be good for anything before then.

Just now, all he knew was that, of course, she’d tricked him again. He should have realised that she wouldn’t have given him the bloody thing if she hadn’t had a way to keep its contents from being released. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But, again, further examination of that train of thought would have to wait. He made to shut the door only to realise that Danielle had already pushed past him and was standing in his entryway expectantly.

“Sure, come in, make yourself at home,” he grumbled as he closed the door and led her to the lounge. He hadn’t the energy nor the inclination to throw her out, and she wouldn’t have let him in any case.

He sat back down on his sofa – though perhaps it was an action far less graceful than sitting down – and motioned for her to sit opposite him. She remained standing and set the box down on his coffee table, right next to where his half-empty bottle of Scotch stood. Hadn’t it been nearly full earlier? Surely, he hadn’t had that much of it. Perhaps he simply misremembered.

“You’re drunk,” Danielle stated, as if it wasn’t obvious, and Thomas knew very well it wasn’t what she’d meant to say to him first thing.

He simply shrugged but didn’t answer. She wouldn’t have understood what he would have said, anyway, at least not without difficulty.

“I’m not having this discussion with you when you can’t even fucking think properly,” she told him, and he felt like a little child being scolded. She had no right to make him feel that way, she didn’t. “How much have you had to drink?”

“D’ know,” he said, and this time he knew he wasn’t articulating his words properly.

She let out a sigh then turned her attention to the bottle on the coffee table, picking it up, along with what appeared to be a little piece of plastic of some sort next to it. Had the bottle been unopened? Perhaps it had. “Christ, Hunt,” she said exasperatedly and it did nothing to make him feel less like a little boy. “You’re steaming drunk, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he replied, only half aware of how much he sounded like an indignant child. Perhaps she was right to treat him as such.

She huffed, muttering something to herself that sounded suspiciously like, “Great, just what I wanted to do with my night.”

Thomas didn’t see where she went, feeling as if he would throw up if he turned his head too sharply, but he supposed that was her intention when she returned without the bottle. As if he couldn’t find more alcohol in his own bloody house if he’d had a mind to! Just now, though, he felt rather queasy, and he didn’t think he’d have another glass after all.

“Get up,” she ordered, standing right in front of him again.

He shook his head. The wave of nausea that followed made him wish he hadn’t.

Danielle rolled her eyes before telling him, very slowly, “I’m going to help you up and take you to the bathroom. You’re going to thank me tomorrow for saving your stupid fancy furniture.”

He highly doubted he would but, then again, he doubted just about everything that came out of her mouth after today. Nonetheless, he let her take his hands and pull him up – slowly, which was one thing he would have thanked her for were he not sure he was angry with her for one reason or another – and he let her lead him to the bathroom.

They got there just in time for him to lurch towards the toilet and empty the contents of his stomach into the bowl. She didn’t come with him to hold his hair or rub his back as he’d imagined a friend would have but rather stood in the doorway, arms crossed and watching him as if he would run away first chance he got.

He might’ve, had he been able, with the way she’d looked at him when he’d opened the door. He wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t murder him in his sleep. Then again, he imagined that couldn’t possibly be good for her career, either, so she likely wouldn’t chance it.

“Are you done?” she asked eventually, and Thomas made a noise somewhere between an amused snort and a pained laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. Do you need help getting up?”

She sounded so bored with it all, as if she couldn’t care less about how he was, and he supposed that was the case.

“I can get up by myself,” he muttered, knowing full well it would have been far easier to just let her help. With a bit of effort, he managed, and he went over to the sink to clean himself up as well as he could.

She put her hand on his upper arm again then, non-too-gently leading him to his bedroom. He didn’t ask how she knew where it was – a memory of one of his end-of-term dinner parties surfacing in the back of his mind. He wasn’t in the least surprised to learn that she’d quite clearly been snooping around when he hadn’t looked.

“I’m going to see to it that you’re not going to drown yourself in your vomit,” she said as she pushed him towards the bed. “You’re not getting out of this.”

He didn’t see the need to answer and simply laid down – he intended to hold onto whatever dignity he had left and would not strip down in front of her – and pulled the blanket over himself.

Danielle knelt down by his bedside, making sure her eyes were level with his when she said sternly, “We are going to have that talk tomorrow, Hunt.”

Thomas didn’t think there was a point in arguing, and he would have been too tired to do so, anyway. “We’ll talk,” he mumbled in return. “We will.”

He saw her expression soften then, just before he closed his eyes, and he could have sworn he felt her hand brush a strand of hair out of his face as he drifted off to sleep.

Tags: @lilyoffandoms @oneemofungirl @trappedinfandoms @alj4890 @alleksa16 @silversparrow02 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

#hwu #hwu hunt #thomas hunt #professor hunt #danielle

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sunflowersupremes · 5 years

Text

I’ll Bite You in the Ear!

Now listen, you brat, in a minute, I’ll put you across my knee, pull down your britches, and tan your backside.

No one will stop me from doing it, because this isn’t the royal court, and I’m not your flunkey or servant. You’ll soon regret you didn’t stay in Nastrog. You’ll soon see it's better being a princess than a snot-nosed kid who got lost in the forest.

Book Based

Characters: Geralt, Ciri

Notes: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Geralt threating to whip people is my favorite part of the books. Hands down. Also threatening to whip her takes place before telling her his name, because that’s just Geralt.

“Do you know who’s sitting on your back?”

Geralt said nothing, although he did roll his eyes a bit. He couldn’t care less who was sitting on his back - she was sitting on his back, after all, and should be thankful for it. He could have made her walk. Perhaps he still should. Her foot was injured, but as long as it wasn’t broken, walking for five or ten minutes wouldn’t harm it, and might teach her a lesson.

He was still mulling over dropping her on the ground and making her walk when she shouted, “I’ll bite you in the ear!”

Deciding he’d had enough, Geralt pulled Ciri off his back. It was rather like pulling off a leech that tried to cling to him, but he was bigger, stronger, and soon she was standing on the ground, pouting at him and making a show of favoring the leg she’d sprained.

“Now listen, you brat,” he said, unbuckling his belt. He fumbled slightly, too irritated at the girl to focus clearly, and it took more effort than it should have to remove it. “In a minute, I’ll put you across my knee, pull down your britches, and tan your backside.”

Ciri yelped and looked to Braenn as though the dryad might help her, but the woman only made a show of vanishing into the forest. It seemed she’d had enough of the princess’ antics as well.

“No one will stop me from doing it, because this isn’t the royal court, and I’m not your flunkey or servant. You’ll soon regret you didn’t stay in Nastrog. You’ll soon see its better being a princess than a snot-nosed kid who got lost in the forest.” Geralt pulled off his gloves, tucking them into his waistband, not once taking his eyes off the troublemaker. “Because, it’s true, a princess is allowed to act obnoxiously. And no one thrashes a princess’s backside with a belt. At most her husband, the prince, might with his own hand.”

“Well?” he asked, wrapping his belt around his hand. “Are we doing to behave with dignity and temperance? If not, we shall set about tanning Her Majesty’s hide. Well? What’s it going to be?”

“You can’t-”

He could.

Geralt wasted no time in wrapping an arm around the girl’s midsection, pulling her off her feet as she wined and protested, shouting out more threats. Truth to be told, he’d wanted to avoid thrashing her, because despite what people might think about him, he wasn’t heartless, and her fright pulled at something in his stomach. But her constant whining was worse than Dandelion at his worst and far less endearing.

“My grandmama will have your head!”

He placed one foot against a fallen tree, still standing as he tossed the squealing girl over his knee.

“You peasant! I’ll-”

Whatever she was going to do, Geralt never found out. Her sentence was cut off by the crack of his belt and turned into a sob, then a wail.

“Calling people a peasant just because you don’t like them isn’t very noble of you and hardly-”

“You are a peasant! And I am-”

The next blow was slightly stronger, causing her to try to scramble off his knee. Geralt grabbed the back of her shirt to hold her in place. “Don’t interrupt me, imp,” he said sharply. “If her highness is good and lays still, I’ll let her keep her britches.”

“You can’t!”

“Can’t let you keep your britches? I suppose not.”

Ciri struggled and fought as Geralt pulled at her pants, managing to wriggle off his knee and end up on the forest floor. He placed his boot on the small of her back, putting barely enough pressed to pin her in place. “Princess, if I’m to take you alive through the Brokilon, you will need to learn some respect for a lowly peasant such as myself, even if I have to thrash it into you myself.”

She sobbed and pushed herself onto her elbows, but didn’t appear to be actively trying to flee. He removed his foot, then bent to pull Ciri to her feet, ever mindful of her hurt foot. Her face was streaked with mud, tears, and snot, which she tried to wipe on her sleeve, but to no avail.

Out of habit, Geralt nearly reached for a handkerchief to offer her, then remembered what he was doing. She must have seen his fingers twitch toward his pocket because she whimpered and looked down.

“Now will Her Majesty pull her britches to her knees, or shall I do it for her?”

Ciri seemed to think, and Geralt gave her a moment to come to a decision. Finally, when his patience was almost out, she pulled her pants to her knees, still not meeting his eyes.

Geralt grabbed her and once again turned her over his knee, bracing one foot against the tree. Her skin was pale, except where two long red lines traced across it. No doubt she’d never gotten anything worse than a switch on her skin, so he’d have to be careful not to take things too far. She wasn’t one of Vesemir’s Witcher foundlings, after all, who could take a great deal of whipping.

She was silent through the next two strikes, then let out a whimper at the third. After the fourth, she sobbed, “Please, noble lord-”

“I’ve been promoted to lord now?” Geralt asked, pausing to rest his hand on her back. Ciri sniffed. “Is the princess trying to bribe her way back into my graces by offering favors?” He snorted, almost grinning.

“No, sir!”

He stuck the belt over her backside again. “Don’t lie.”

“Please!” she sobbed. “Please sir, I- I-” but she fell silent of her own accord, sniffling and whining.

Geralt patted her back. He suspected she’d learned her lesson - baring her backside seemed to have done the trick - but if he stopped now, she’d think she’s won him over by calling him a lord. “You’ve had six strikes so far, so I’ll think we’ll go for a nice even ten.” Vesemir would have given Geralt at least thrice that for the same behavior, but she wasn’t Geralt and he wasn’t Vesemir.

Ciri sobbed and grabbed his ankle, wrapping her hands around it to stabilize herself. “Sir,” she pleaded. “Sir, I don’t know if I can-”

He landed the seventh strike and she gasped, a spasm running through her slight body. “You can,” Geralt promised her. “And then I’ll wipe your face and set your clothes to rights.”

Ciri seemed to be beyond words, especially once the eighth strike landed. His belt was nearly half as wide as her backside, and he did not envy at all how she was going to feel come morning. But she’d earned it herself, despite multiple warnings from the Witcher, so he landed the ninth strike without hesitating.

But he paused before the tenth, made up his mind, and - before he could talk himself out of it - scooped her up, cradled her to his chest, and leaned back against the tree. He supported her with one hand under her legs - careful to keep his hand under her thighs, not against her sore backside - and one against her back. His belt he dropped to the forest floor.

“N-nine,” she sniffed.

“Hmm, yes,” Geralt agreed, brushing hair off her forehead. “I’ve only given you nine strikes when I promised you ten. Does that disappoint you, princess?”

“N-no sir.”

“I didn’t think so. Here’s what I shall do: so long as you’re a good and obedient brat, we’ll count this as your last strike.” He removed his hand from her back and smacked it against her bottom, but there was little force behind it.

She whimpered anyway, but mumbled, “Thank you,” once she’d caught her breath.

He rubbed her back, but when she made to hide her face in his shoulder, he clucked his tongue. “You’re far too snotty for that,” he said. “Here- reach into my pocket - the left one - and get out my handkerchief. Wipe your face with that - mind you, you’ll be the one to clean it - and then I’ll let you have a cry.”

She did as she was told, wiping her face until the cloth was filthy, then hiding her nose in Geralt’s shoulder and sniffling. He rubbed soothing circles on her back, shushing her as she began to weep in earnest.

“Remember this princess,” he said, brushing her mousy hair, trying in vain to neaten it. “There will always be far more peasants than princesses or queens, and it’s likely they will be stronger than you.”

“They won’t be stronger than my grandmama!” she said, sniffling and looking up at him.

He considered telling her that grandmamas wouldn’t live forever, but that seemed excessively cruel to tell a child who just been whipped by a stranger, so he only patted her shoulder. “Wouldn’t you rather have friends than enemies?”

She considered. “You can be my friend!”

“Oh, I could?”

Ciri nodded, seeming pleased with herself. “You can go back home with me and protect me from the peas-”

He cleared his throat. “Ciri, what have I said about calling everyone you don’t like peasants?”

“Not all of them,” she said. “Only the bad ones.”

“And how many of them are bad, do you think? Answer me truthfully, imp.”

“Grandmama would say most of them.”

“And what does Ciri say?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Less than most.”

Geralt sighed, sitting her on her feet and pulling up her pants. It was a start, he decided. When he bent to pick up his belt from the ground she whimpered.

“Now, now, princess, I’ve given you ten strikes and that’s all you’ve earned. I’m putting my belt back to rights before my pants come off is all.”

Once his belt was back in place he stooped, letting Ciri crawl back onto his back. “Now let’s find our guide,” he said, scanning the trees for Braenn. “She can’t have gone far.”

The dialogue up through “Well? What’s it going to be?” is borrowed from the book The Sword of Destiny. In the book, she ends up giving in and apologizing (sort of) but she’s such a spitfire that I could imagine her carrying on even more. And then, once he started whipping her, she’d just keep making more trouble (because she’s my stubborn baby asshole).

In the book he notes he doesn’t have a handkerchief to give her, but meh, this is cuter.

#my writing #witcher one shot #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #the witcher #geralt #ciri

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 5 years

Text

Into the Dark (9/?)

A/N: Thor is comforted knowing you never found him especially attractive anyway. Also T’challa is a cutie pie and I love him.

In the morning Loki and Brunhilde wound their way up the hill to your cottage. They weren’t sure if they were going to have to help you hide a body or not. Loki had come to check on you and had peered through a window to see Thor looking deep in thought on one end of the sofa and you on the other looking like you were on the verge of a complete mental break. But he couldn’t make himself walk into the house. You didn’t like having an audience when you’re breaking apart. The fewer people in that house the better. He just hopes Thor knows what he’s doing, given that he caused most of the pain that caused the breaking.

They quietly planned how to deal with this on the path, “What if they fucked?” Brunhilde asked, “Like what if he managed to fix it.” Loki looked towards the house and shook his head, “I don’t think Thor is going to be able to fix it just by fucking her brains out.”

He quickly and quietly explained everything that had happened before. He left out some details. The child you had lost and your journals, things that felt too private to share. But he told her all the rest. The pain you’d borne because of your husband’s foolish pride. The Valkyrie listened quietly. She hadn’t known all of that. She figured your marital problems were more a clash of personality and a symptom of an arranged marriage. You’d never told her anything otherwise. The other woman suddenly felt like the world’s biggest bitch for thinking you were insecure when you were awkward around her at first. Brunhilde had no interest in Thor that way but, it wouldn’t have been the first time Thor had brought home a lover and just trailed them in front of you. “Fucking hell,” she breathed, “How has she not just killed him?” Loki chuckled darkly, “For the love she had for our mother because this is her duty, because; as she told me once years ago, she’s still holding out for a fairy tale. And this is her only chance.”

“Don’t tell her I told you all this,” Loki said quietly, “I think, if any of new Asgard bothered to think about it now, Thor would have an open rebellion on his hands and with the Wakandans coming to discuss trade, we can’t afford that. Not after her majesty has worked so hard.”

Brunhilde nodded, “Of course not,” she said, “If she wanted me to know she’d have told me.” She looked towards your cozy little house, thinking of all the times she’s come to check on you, all the times you literally flinched away from Thor touching you, all the vile things she’s heard Thor say to you in the depths of his grief, and she feels angry. You are his queen. He should have cast all the others aside and protected you. Loki gave her hand a squeeze. He knew that pain. He had watched it all happen in real time.

He had been the one person you could even try to put feelings into words with and even then, you were forbidden by hospitality from saying too much.

So, when Thor walked out of your house, intact but sleepy and looking content, neither Brunhilde or Loki no what to say. Thor had spent the night giving you tea and holding you to him. From the shocked looks on his friend’s faces, he assumed they had expected to be hiding a body this morning. “Good morning,” he said yawning, stretching. His shirt riding up to show a sliver of his belly.

“Good morning,” Loki said cautiously, “How is her majesty? Any better this morning.” Thor paused, tugging his shirt back down and sighed, “Functional, I think,” he said, “But I’m hardly an authority on knowing how to read her.” The Valkyrie snorted and looked away. She wanted to punch him. Thor had the grace to look ashamed of himself, “I-” he started but the other woman pushed past him and let herself into the house. Whatever he wanted to say, she was in no mood to hear it.

Thor cocked his head at Loki, trying to decide if this was something he should be mad about. “She wanted to know if we were about to walk in on you having sex,” Loki said holding his hands up, “She needed to know so she didn’t try and joke about it with Y/N.” Thor felt his cheeks color. There was some comfort in the fact that you hadn’t really wanted to have sex with him before either. At least, despite how much his body had changed, that was still the same. He nodded, half listening to you talking with Brunhilde. Your voice was calm but the Valkyrie was careful, mindful of your still tender heart. He turned back slightly and she’d pulled you into a hug and appeared to be trying to squeeze the life out of you but then she murmured something and you laughed as she wiped a tear away with her thumb. The King felt a pang of longing. He wished he could coax a laugh out of you that easily. But whenever he was near, your laugh was seldom heard. You knew how much he hated it and tended to try not to just for the sake of whatever fragile peace you may have been able to reach.

Loki grips his shoulder bracingly for a moment and lets himself in as well, helping himself to coffee and a pastry from the basket on your table. They were so at ease in your house, Thor thought, as he went back to his tower. But then, your house was made for comfort. You’d made it to be that way. Thor had scoffed at the time when you moved out of the tower he had claimed as his own, driven out by his behavior. But now, seeing the ease with which Asgardians came to your door, for food, for a chat, for advice... It made sense. Removed enough to give you peace and near enough that you can be seen.

This mornings breakfast and chat, Loki and Brunhilde are in fine fettle. They have you laughing and groaning at their antics by turns. It’s like they’re reassuring themselves as much as you. In private, Loki will kiss your head or squeeze your hands. And he does both several times. Brunhilde is less cautious of her affections. She’d pull you off your feet into a hug in a heartbeat. But then, if you were shagging the Valkyrie on the side it wouldn’t mess up the succession to the throne.

By the time you’re dressed and out and about, any evidence of yesterday erased after a hot shower and a decent meal, New Asgard is awake and humming with activity. There is a visiting King coming today and they must be welcomed properly. You take the reins and supervise with expert precision. Everything in place easily for the feast when they arrive this evening. T’challa is an ally and a friend of your husband’s. Trade can be discussed after food and rest. He’s traveling far. Thor does whatever you ask, whatever heavy lifting you need him to do. He wants to ask how you’re feeling but as you sip coffee and execute a series of frankly fascinating movements with your feet to return a stray ball to a gang of very rowdy and now very impressed boys, he just wants to kiss you. Or find the nearest soft bed to lay you on and part your thighs.

This is your element. You are a queen even if you never wanted to be.

When the Wakandans do arrive in the late afternoon, you’re at Thor’s side properly. He takes your hand and squeezes and you allow it. Your hand is so small compared to his. T’challa and his guard are greeted warmly and he greets you with a smile that makes your heart flip a little. You keep your social smile in place but Loki doesn’t miss the flash of something else, however small.

He jolts internally. You had had to plan this yourself. You had had to talk to T’challa. A lot. Even if it was just social and polite, he’d been kind. Solicitous. Even a little sweet. Such a contrast to how you were usually spoken to when Thor had first met you. He could kick himself. You might be a queen but you were still a woman and you’d spent a long time mistreated. The trickster sighed, this was going to be a fiasco if you couldn’t hold yourself together.

Thor is mostly oblivious. Mostly. He doesn’t miss the flush on your cheeks when T’challa sweeps you onto the dancefloor. And he doesn’t miss that most of the trade talks are mostly between the two of you.

It isn’t until the third day that he starts to feel uneasy. You’re in the meeting house, cutting up vegetables for the after-school program and assembling other snacks to distribute. Your other helpers having gone to get the gardens in good repair for planting. Thor watches from the door. You’re so easy around him. He says things that make you laugh and when his hand brushes yours, you blush. It’s the softest shade of pink spilling across your cheeks. It makes Thor feel like falling through the floor. He’s never made your cheeks color. Not like that.

Not with his cold clinical touches and rough words. The Wakandan King keeps a respectful distance of you and you make it a point to also keep things professional but Thor can’t fight the feeling that the last little piece of your heart, so cautiously guarded, might already be lost to him.

T’challa excuses himself to go confer with his advisors, clasping Thor’s hand on the way out, “I can only hope that one day, I will find a queen as wise and beautiful as yours,” he says glancing back to where you’re working, “This trade deal is a work of genius and I think it will benefit us both greatly.” Thor nodded, “She is very clever, I thank the gods for my parent’s wisdom in choosing her for me.” T’challa smiled and walked out of the hall, leaving the two of you alone.

The blush still hasn’t faded from your cheeks and Thor feels a pang as he walks towards the table. “Y/N,” he says gently. He can’t even be angry at you for it really. You aren’t being inappropriate. In fact, you’re behaving with dignity and grace. There are no whispered words that aren’t quiet jokes. There are no secret meetings. All your business is conducted in the open. The way Thor should have behaved.

“Yes, husband?” you reply putting cut carrots in a snack box but not looking up. Thor gently takes the knife from your hands and tips your face up, cradling it in his massive hands. “Thank you,” he says, brushing a careful kiss against your lips. You arch an eyebrow and Thor smiles, “for always treating me with more respect than I deserve.” he murmurs. Your face heats in embarrassment and you look away.

“I’m not angry,” he says, “I don’t have a right to be.” He picks up another knife and clumsily starts cutting vegetables up. “I do remember what you told me a few years ago,” he said, “When I was railing at you that you just didn’t want to have sex with me because I’d gotten fat.”

You shrug, “It’s true,” you said, “I’ve never been particularly attracted to you.” Thor snorts, “Has there never been anyone before now?” You sigh. It’s an honest question. “A few people,” you say softly, “They felt so safe and I just wanted to go home so badly...” Your hands still for a moment as a tremor of longing makes the shiver. “I never acted on it,” you said, “But goddess above did I fucking want to.” Thor doesn’t look at you. He knows you aren’t trying to hurt him but it still stings.

He’d never considered you as a being with a sex drive before. There was so much about you he never really considered that seeing you want someone that much made him hate that it wasn’t him. He cursed himself for the millionth time.

You had passions. You had needs. And it was his fault for being so wrapped up in other women that you were still practically a virgin. You knew how the parts fit together but Thor would swear to it that even with a man you felt attraction for you’d not know what to do. He sets the knife down and walks around the table, pulling you to him slowly. You don’t resist as much as he thought you might, letting your cheek rest against his chest and slowly wrapping your arms around him. “When this is over,” Thor said quietly, “You and I are going to take a vacation. Just you and I.” He brushes his lips against your hair.

“Let me have a chance to treat you like I should have treated you?” he asks. After a long moment, you pull away from him as Children start to pour through the doors for snacks and help with homework. “As your majesty wills it, I suppose,” you say guardedly. But in the back of your mind no matter how hard you try to will it away, the others you've been attracted to are there. Lurking. Reminding you that you gave up happiness for duty.

Tags: @lancsnerd@innerpaperexpertcloud@stevieang@peachykeen3502@vxidnik, @past-perfect-future-tense, @trumpettay, @buckysblondie, @golddaggers

#Thor Odinson #Loki #Brunhilde #thor x reader #angst #fluff-ish?

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hufflesmonsters · 6 years

Text

Baker and the Beast, Forever After

A/N: This has been months in the making, but I finally finished it! This story has a special place in my heart, and I can’t just casually mention an important chapter in Belle and Igrisz’s life without writing it out fully.

The lake water was calm as you walked out onto your back porch, a coffee in one hand as you held a croissant in the other. The soft wind blew the wisps of hair that fell from your bun across your face as you sat down on the chair. Several alligators swam nearby, their reptilian eyes looking at you with disinterest. You felt yourself relax against the wood as you took in your surroundings. It wasn’t often that you were the first one up, Igrisz was always a morning person, er, lizard. Today was a rare treat indeed.

It was also a calm before the storm.

Your mother had expressed interest in meeting “whoever it was that is making you smile again”, and Igrisz, for some ungodly reason, was wanting desperately to meet your family. Which meant your mother, the mother who absolutely feared the infamous lizardman, and had absolutely no idea how you’d managed to “tame the beast”. You took a bite out of your pastry. Your mother was likely to drop dead.

A strong hand landed in your shoulder, the thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. You smiled and placed your pastry on your lap before reaching up and placing your now free hand over his. “You're up early,” Igrisz's deep rumble sounded as he sank into the chair on your left.

You looked over at him, accepting the kiss he placed on your cheek. “I'm enjoying the morning,” you said simply.

“You're worried,” he stated flatly. You smiled as you stared back at the water, after two years together, he knew you inside out. “It's understandable.”

“My mom is going to be here by noon, and I don't know if she's going to survive meeting you. She claims to have a frail heart, I don't want to see if it was a joke or not. And then your brothers.” You turned to look at your boyfriend. “Thraz and Irsosz? What are they going to think?”

Igrisz grasped your hand, rubbing small circles in the skin. “Let's worry about your mother,” he suggested. “My family won't care one bit.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

He snorted. “Trust me, I know.” He stood up, his large shadow casting over you. “Bruxo will be here soon, we have to go prepare the den for Thraz and Irsosz,” he leaned over and nuzzled your temple lovingly. “I'll be back before your mother arrives.”

You grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to it. “I love you,” you told him. While you've told him that multiple times in the past, he never failed to loose the grace in his step. You watched, snickering in glee as he tripped backwards over his own tail and nearly fell into the water.

“I, uh, love you too,” he said coughing into his fist. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I’ll get going before you make me lose whatever dignity I have left. God knows you'll have plenty of time later on.”

“You promise?” You asked with a wink, chuckling when he tossed you a dirty look before jumping into the water. You shook your head as he immediately disappeared, the sap was probably hitting himself with a rock for getting so flustered. It was a good thing that he had a thick skull, otherwise he would have beat himself to death long ago.

You stood, grabbing your now empty mug and shoved the rest of the croissant into your mouth. You had a lot of work to do between now and noon, and most of it involved stress baking. You had your mother's favorite recipes all set out on the counter, hoping that when the news broke she'd be comforted by the sweets you'd shove into her face.

You set to work, putting your music on shuffle as you made your way into the kitchen. Aurora was coming by shortly to help out and to keep Bruxo out of your way. You loved him, truly, but he was a menace when it came to your baking. He was always sneaking pieces of cookie dough, slices of cake. You once caught him trying to get out of your house with two pies in hand. At least with Aurora here, you had a chance at keeping most of your goodies.

Your first recipe was a simple lemon brownie, both you and your mother loved them. You grabbed the bowl of lemons that you had bought the day before and grabbed your zester, resigning yourself with the knowledge that you were about to lose either some skin, nail, or sanity by the end of this. You were thankful that this particular recipe didn't call for much zest, only a teaspoon. But still, that took a lot of lemons.

Once you got the zest out of the way, and only lost half of your nail in the process, you quickly went to work on the rest of the recipe. You combined the dry ingredients, mixing in the butter after it was done. You whisked the eggs, lemon juice and zest in a separate bowl, possibly letting out your stress along the way who's to really say. You combined both bowls and mixed, pausing near the end to grease your pan. You finished folding the mixture, then slowly poured it into the pan. You placed it in the oven and stood back up, hands on your hips as you debated which sugary treat to bake next.

You turned, and let out a scream as you came face to face with Aurora. The other woman jumped, blue eyes wide as she slowly lowered her hands from where she'd been gathering her hair.

“I did knock,” she said after a moment.

“I didn't hear you, when did you come in?” You asked as you recovered from the mini heart attack she had given you.

“Caught you when you were beating those eggs like they owed you money,” Aurora said. “Figured it was best to leave you be.”

You nodded, mouth pressed in a thin line. “I'm just, stressed I guess.”

“Completely understandable,” Aurora said easily as she looked at one of the bookmarked pages in your cookbook. “I'm freaking out and it's not even going to affect me.” When you purse your lips at her, shaking your head when she looked back up at you. “What? You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” you said with a sigh as you grabbed the cookbook to see what to bake next. “Is Bruxo already out there?”

“Yeah, I made sure he was with Igrisz before coming in,” Aurora confirmed. “Even waited an extra two minutes just in case he tried to sneak back up to the surface.”

“Good, the last thing I need is him trying to sneak away with something,” you ran a hand over your face before sighing. You began to flip through the book, “what do you think we should do next?”

“Ooh, the apple crumb cake,” Aurora said as she pointed to the recipe that you landed on. “You baked it that one time we had a fight and I forgot why I was ever upset.” You smiled as you remembered that day, your first fight with your friend. It wasn’t over anything bad, really. The two of you were literally fighting over whether or not Cap was going to die in Infinity War or not. You ended up winning, and baked the cake to help get yourself back on Aurora’s, and Bruxo’s, good side.

“It is my secret weapon,” you said in agreement.

By noon, the two of you had finished your baking marathon with a chocolate turtle poke cake, your personal favorite and made everyone’s day whenever you offered it in your shop. You didn’t have time to use homemade caramel, but you found that using the sweetened condensed milk version was better suited for this recipe. Lastly was the chocolate chip cheesecake that you often baked once every month, or for special events. It was a fan favorite, and your mother’s absolute fave.

You bit your lip as you looked at the trays, all covered to keep their warmth. You hoped this would be enough. You glanced up as Igrisz and Bruxo walked into the living room, Bruxo rubbing a towel against his scales as Igrisz placed his around his neck. The two lizardmen looked straight to the food, a loud grumble sounded.

You grabbed a wooden spoon and held it up to them in warning. “Don’t even think about it, Bruxo.”

“Why is he exempt from this,” Bruxo demanded as he looked towards his elder brother.

“Because he has a different threat,” you said as you narrowed your eyes to your boyfriend. Igrisz gulped, but nodded all the same. Your sweets were safe at the moment. “Now, my mother called, she’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“I’ll hide in the guest room,” Bruxo said, he turned to Aurora and held out his scaly hand. “My lady?”

“I’m staying out here, as moral support,” Aurora told him as she went over to your side, wrapped an arm around your shoulder as she drew you near. “But, yeah, hide please.”

Bruxo pouted, but did as he was told. He paused by his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder and nodded in silent support. Igrisz nodded at him, patting his shoulder before gently shoving his younger brother towards the hallway.

“I’ll stay here,” Igrisz said as he stepped towards you, reaching for your hand and pulling you in. His free hand laid on your waist as he pressed your hand against his chest. “I’m here,” he said again softly.

You smiled up at him, eyes tearing up despite the absolute cheesiness of the act. “You’re here,” you said in agreement.

“You two are adorable,” Aurora cooed, ripping the two of you out of your Notebook Moment. She smiled adoringly at the two of you, a hand over her heart before she grew more serious. “Your mother is driving up,” she said as she nodded her head towards the window.

You could hear your mother’s engine now, the hum sputtering a bit. You drew in a deep breath, and withdrew from Igrisz. You turned and faced the door, coming over and exiting to greet your mother outside. “Mom!” You said with a grin, reaching down and wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Ah, mija,” your mother said as she withdrew, her brown eyes sparkling as she took you in. “You look stressed, what is the matter?”

“Nothing, mama,” you said softly as you smiled down at her. “When you meet him, just, keep an open mind?”

“I always do,” you mother said, lying through her teeth. She never kept an open mind when it came to past lovers, always skeptical of what they were doing. Granted, some of her mistrust was from several men taking advantage of your self esteem, and some women who weren’t sure if they were gay or bi and had used you as a way to tell. As a result, your mother tended to dislike everyone you brought to her.

“He really loves me, mama,” you said to her softly as you turned to open the front door. You stood to the side, watching her as she entered the house.

“Ah, Aurora, how are you darling?” Your mother said as she spotted the blonde first. When Aurora smiled and said “fine”, she searched the room for your boyfriend. You watched, tense as her brown eyes slowly went from the kitchen, to the living room where Igrisz stood. “¡El diablo del agua! Corre, chicas corren! ¡No los tomarás, tirano flaco!” (1) You watched in horror as your mother tried to take off her shoe.

“Mom!” You placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her as Igrisz took a step forward.

“Ma’am-”

“¡No te acerques más! ¡Aléjate de mis bebés!” (2)

“Mama! He’s the boyfriend!” You cried as you took her shoe out of her hand before she could throw it.

“WHAT?!” Your mother looked at you in shock before looking back at Igrisz, who was unaware of just how close he was to losing a tooth via shoe throw. “When you said you were going to bake him into submission, I didn’t think you meant all the way to the bedroom!”

“I, well,” you paused. “Not into the bedroom, no.” Aurora let out a groan from where she stood, she hated hearing about your and Igrisz’s bedroom activities. You coughed as your mother looked at you with wide eyes. “I mean-”

“Your daughter won me over with her baking, and we formed a relationship a few months after that,” Igrisz said as he saved you from nearly spilling details about your sex life to your own mother. “I care for her greatly, and I wanted to meet the woman who shaped her into the person she is today.”

Your mother paused, gathering her thoughts, before standing tall and proud. Her head was held high, and her chest puffed out in pride. “Yes, I raised my Belle into a strong woman,” she said as she reached up and pinched your cheek.

“I can see where she gets her resolve from,’ Igrisz said with a chuckle as he came closer. “Did you know she yelled at me the first night we met?”

“Of course she did, she always was a little fighter,” your mother cooed as she finally let your cheek go. She turned to Aurora, “did you know about this?”

“She’s dating his little brother,” you said.

Your mother placed a hand over her heart as she looked at the two of you. “There’s another one?” She turned to you accusingly, like you were the direct reason as to why there was more than one lizardman.

“You want to meet him?” You asked with a raised brow, knowing that Bruxo was probably halfway out of the guest bedroom by now.

“Ay dios, mija, I don’t think my weak heart could handle that,” your mother said placing a hand over her heart.

“You were about to beat the shit out of my boyfriend with your shoe!” You said as you shook said shoe at her.

“Oh, give me that,” your mother snatched her footwear back. “I might as well meet my future in law,” she said in resignation.

“Bruxo!” Igrisz called, arms crossed as his brother emerged from the shadows. “Behave,” he growled in warning.

“I always do,” Bruxo said as he came over to your mother, brushing past Igrisz who’d moved to stand behind you, and leaned down to bring her hand to his lips. “A pleasure.”

“Good job,” your mother whispered to Aurora. “Good job, both of you.”

The two lizardmen chuckled as both you and Aurora nodded. “I baked you some things, in case it went south.” You lead your mother over to the counter where you unveiled the treats, your eye caught Bruxo sneaking over, and immediately grabbed the wooden spoon. “Mama gets first pick,” you told him in warning.

Your mother cupped your cheek, a fond smile on her face, before grabbing a slice of apple cake and a lemon brownie. “My sweet girl,” she said as she stepped away. You smiled at her as she took a bite out of her cake, relief flooding through you as you took in everything.

Aurora and Bruxo shared a slice of apple cake, the blonde giggling as he tried to feed her a piece, the crumbs falling. Your mother talked with Igrisz, looking laughably small as she stood by him. Her words were fast, her eyes alight as the two of them talked about you, and your relationship. Your heart swelled with emotion, your eyes misting as Igrisz glanced over to you, his red eyes alight in happiness. You smiled widely at him, you’d never been more happy and in love with this overgrown lizard.

Your mother left hours later, but not after officially adopting Bruxo and Igrisz into the family. You were half tempted to warn Aurora about your mother’s tendency to show up out of the blue with a freshly cooked meal in hand. But, after being teased for weeks by your friend, you were more than happy to sit back and wait for the day your mother decided that a seven foot tall, nine hundred pound lizard man was in serious need of “nourishment” for he was still a “growing boy”. Igrisz had to leave the room when she had said that, and you could hear him cackling from the bathroom.

You sighed as you looked at the dishes in the sink, placing your hands on the counter as you contemplated whether or not you should do them now or later on tonight. You sighed as two strong arms wrapped around your middle, Igrisz nuzzling your cheek.

“You’re miles away, aren’t you?” He rumbled.

You turned and pressed a kiss to his snout, giggling when he licked your nose in return. “Partly,” you admitted. “This all went far better than I was expecting, I guess I’m just trying to accept it and focus on your brothers.”

“Ah, well, they’ll be here shortly,” Igrisz said as he turned you to face him, closing his eyes when Bruxo let out a gag in the background. “Brux, I will drown you,” he warned before sighing and looking back down at you. “Why is he here, again?”

“Because your brothers will be here shortly,” you reminded him with a smile. You shook your head and leaned against his chest. “And you’re sure that they won’t mind that I’m human?”

“Giving that Thraz’s girlfriend is currently halfway down our driveway, I would say, yes, I am one hundred percent sure that they won’t mind.”

“Oh, good,” you closed your eyes, only for them to shoot open as you pulled away from him. “What do you mean, Thraz’s girlfriend is halfway down my driveway?” You demanded, eyes flying to the window where you saw a jeep with the words “Everglades Sanctuary” on the side. “Who could that possibly be?” You left the comfort of Igrisz’s arms and walked over to your door, opening it as the driver got out.

She was beautiful, with a rich reddish brown skin that shone in the sunlight. Her long black hair was pulled up in a ponytail, with some strands that fell out swaying in the breeze. The woman shut her car door and stretched, a grunt escaping as she settled. She saw both you and Aurora coming close, and smiled widely. “You must be Belle and Aurora,” she greeted as she came over and shook your hands. “I’m Jasmine,” she added.

“A pleasure to meet you,” you said with a smile before cocking your head. “What brings you out here?”

Jasmine frowned. “Igrisz didn’t tell you that I was coming also?”

Realization hit you. “Oh god, oh no,” you sighed and shook your head. “He did, I thought you’d be, well…”

“Ah,” Jasmine let out a giggle as Aurora patted your back. “Not to worry,” she smiled at you warmly. “I thought you were going to be a lizardman as well up until before we departed from the sanctuary.” Well that was a slight relief.

“And where is Thraz?” Aurora asked as she peered at the jeep. “Did he not come with you?”

“He’s, ah, a tad bit too big to travel via car,” Jasmine said as she rubbed the back of her neck. She glanced behind the two of you, waving with a smile on her face, “hey Igrisz, Bruxo!”

“Jasmine!” Bruxo greeted as he leaned against the porch railing, his tail dipping into the water. He gave her a toothy grin as he crossed his arms. “Decided to ditch the old fossil?”

Before Jasmine could say a word, a large alabaster hand shot out of the water and latched onto Bruxo’s tail. In an instant, the young lizardman was dragged off of the dock and into the water with a loud scream, water flying everywhere as he landed into the water. Igrisz started cackling as two large alligator like forms rose out from the depths, one considerably larger than the other. Bruxo broke the surface, coughing and complaining as he swam to the shore, the other two following suit.

The first to leave the water was a massive lizardman, he had to damn near twenty feet long if you had to guess. Scars littered his face and body, showing just how hard he fought to live this long in the world. His amber eyes roamed from you to Aurora, before looking back at Bruxo who shook himself dry. He turned as Igrisz came walking up, and smiled. “Ah, little brother,” he rumbled as he threw an arm over Igrisz and drew him into a hug.

“Thraz,” Igrisz greeted warmly before stepping back as the second lizardman emerged.

He wasn’t as big as Thraz, more Igrisz’s height than anything else. He was white, his pearlized scales shimmering in the light as the water flowed off of his skin. Scars littered the side of his face and down his neck, the light pink contrasting nicely against his skin. His bright pink eyes glittered warmly as he spotted Igrisz, laughing as the two of them embraced.

“Babe,” Igrisz turned and held your hand, drawing your closer to the three of them. “This is Thraz, and his girlfriend Jasmine,” he nodded at the two of them. “And this is my twin, Irsosz,” he added as he nodded to the albino lizard next to him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” you said nervously as you looked from one giant to a smaller one.

Thraz tilted his head as he took you in, his amber eyes blank which spiked your nerves. Then, suddenly, he gave you a toothy smile and drew you into a crushing hug. “Good to meet the girl who put Igrisz in his place,” he said with a chuckle that rattled your bones.

“Don’t hog her,” Irsosz huffed as he drew you from the giant, engulfing you into another crushing embrace. “Thank you for choosing my insufferable twin,” he “whispered” to you, chuckling when Igrisz let out a indingant grunt. “Now, who’s this other morsel?” He asked as he focused his sights on Aurora.

“That is my sugar pie, my cinnamon apple,” Bruxo crowed as he hoisted Aurora up several feet to present her to his family.

“Hi,” Aurora said meekly.

Jasmine floated over to you, a smile on her face as the two of you watched as Thraz and Irsosz greeted Aurora. “I see Bruxo lives up to his reputation,” she said lowly.

“Oh, you have no idea,” you groaned as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m glad to see that someone in the family isn’t so dramatic,” you added as you took in Thraz’s calm demeanor.

“Yeah,” Jasmine said as she looked fondly at her boyfriend. “I’d known him for years, it’s almost unbelievable that we’re together like this,” she admitted.

“How did you guys meet?”

“He lives at an alligator sanctuary I work at, he saved me from a falling tree one day and, well, things just happened after that,” she smiled at the memory. ‘What about you?”

“He punched through my window,” you said calmly.

“He what?”

“Yep,” you nodded as you glanced over at her. “Then I baked him some cookies and he suddenly didn’t want to make me leave anymore,” you snorted as Igrisz glanced over at you, red eyes pleading with you to let it go. “But, looking back on it, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Jasmine nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. “Sounds rather impactful,” she mused. “From what I heard, Igrisz used to be a huge hothead.”

“Oh he still is,” you said. “He still terrorizes the town, but Aurora and my mother, and me of course, are exempt from his tyranny.”

“That’s because this whole family is all sorts of dramatic,” Thraz cut into your conversation, his amber eyes rolling as his younger brothers protested. “I don’t know how they ended up like this, I certainly didn’t raise them to act like, well, this.”

“That’s rich, coming from the lizard who caught a tree like it was nothing just to flex,” Jasmine snorted, snickering when he sent her a betrayed look.

“Did you really?” Bruxo asked him with furrowed brows.

“Gods, and you call us dramatic,” Irsosz rolled his eyes.

“I want none of that from you all,” Thraz growled.

Aurora rolled her eyes as she was finally put back down on the ground, smacking Bruxo’s arm lightly. “Don’t act like you didn’t give me a heart attack on the night we met,” she chided. “Standing in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t blame him, he’s an idiot by nature,” Irsosz said as he looked at his younger brother, crossing his arms. “An idiot who tends to venture further downstream than he promised to when he first came down here.”

“I thought you’d like the company,” Bruxo said in his defense.

“I like your distance.”

You clapped your hands, smiling at the four lizards as they broke out of their brotherly spat. “Well, I don’t know if anyone would be interested in some dinner?”

“Oh, I am starving,” Jasmine said as she placed a hand over her stomach. “I’d be happy to help out.”

“Same here,” Aurora said as she joined your side.

“We might go hunting, if that’s alright, babe,” Igrisz said as he came over to your side. “It’s been a while since we’ve all been in one place.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” you said as you cupped his cheek and pulled him down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back. “We can eat on the back patio, and you guys can come by when you’re done. How’s that?”

“Sounds good,” he said as he pressed another kiss to your lips before stepping back, glaring at Bruxo when he gagged. “Aurora, I might kill your boyfriend.”

“I’d understand,” Aurora said, closing her eyes when Bruxo let out a whine.

Thraz placed a hand on Jasmine’s head, a fond look on his face as the two of them shared a look that exchanged far more emotion than words could ever convey. He nodded towards you and Aurora, and then looked to his younger siblings. “Let’s go, I saw some cows on the swim up.”

Oh god, not Mr. Abernathy’s cows, you looked to Igrisz in panic.

“Let’s go a county over,” Igrisz suggested as he caught your gaze. “There’s plenty of cows and deer,” he added.

“Yeah, that’s where I saw the cows,” Thraz said with furrowed brows, rolling his amber eyes as he placed a hand on Bruxo and steered him towards the lake. “We’ll be back soon, ladies,” he said with a dip of his head.

The three of you watched as they waded into the water, and waited until they disappeared into the depths. Aurora clapped her hands, looking between the two of you. “So, let’s take a vote. Cook? Or order some take out?”

“If I have to cook again I will cry,” you said with a world weary sigh. “Count me down for take out.”

“Take out is good with me,” Jasmine said with a shrug.

“Pizza?” You asked as you looked around the three of you.

“Pizza,” came the answer.

The boys swam up three hours later, their eyes glowing in the setting sunlight as they floated down the river towards your house. You prayed to god that no one would link them to you, the last thing you wanted was an angry old farmer knocking on your door. You would absolutely die if that had happened. And then Igrisz would die for making you go through that. Jasmine and Aurora left shortly after the boys came back, taking their respective boyfriends with them. Irsosz left shortly after, bidding the two of you a good night before slinking into the water to go to the den that Igrisz had prepared earlier that day.

You smiled up at Igrisz as the two of you were soon left alone, leaning against his side as he settled down in the chair next to you. “This was a good day,” you said after a while, the two of you content to just sit there and watch the fireflies dance across the water.

“I told you they wouldn’t care,” Igrisz said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you close. “All that worrying for nothing.”

“My mother was going to knock out another tooth if I hadn’t have stopped her,” you snorted as you poked his side, smiling when he grunted. “But I’m glad it all worked out. This was a good day,” you said again.

“It’s not over yet,” Igrisz said as he stood, taking your hands in his and pulling you up. “I have something to show you,” he said with a nervous swish of his tail.

You raised a brow at his nervous tick, but nodded all the same. “Yeah, should I get in the boat?”

“Yeah, yeah, that would make it easier,” Igrisz said with a nod as he let go of your hands. He took a step back and walked with you towards the boat that floated off of the back deck. It was a little system that the two of you came up with when you first got together. There were places where he was eager to show you, and most of them were accessible via water only. Hence, the boat. Igrisz would grab ahold of the rope attached to the front of the boat and tow you to the place without much fuss.

You slowly climbed into the boat and yelped as a splash of water hit you as Igrisz jumped into the lake. He rose back up to the surface with a grin, barking out a laugh as you glared at him. “Sorry, babe,” he said as he grabbed the rope.

You rolled your eyes and settled into your seat as he set off, his powerful tail propelling the two of you across the water. You watched as the fireflies glowed against the twilight, the orange glow reflecting against the deep blue water. The spanish moss swayed in the light breeze, the owls were already beginning their nightly calls. The cicadas were loud and frequent, a sure sign that summer was truly here. You watched as the boat was taken into a cove, masked by two willows that covered the entrance.

It was a small little island, secluded near the edge of the lake closer to the forest than the roads. Trees masked the area from view, keeping it a secret between just the two of you. You waited until the boat was settled against the shore and took Igrisz’s hand as he helped you out of the boat.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as he kept a hold of your hands.

You smiled up at him and nodded. “I trust you,” you answered.

Igrisz pressed a quick kiss to your nose before turning you around and placing his hands over your eyes. “I’ll guide you,” he whispered into your ear as he slowly moved the two of you forwards. “Watch your step, there’s a log a few feet in front of you.”

You nodded and poked around with your foot as you took a step forwards, you paused as you felt the log and stepped upwards. From then on it was smooth walking, the two of you waddling as Igrisz took you to wherever, you really had no idea. This was new territory for you, Igrisz had taken you to everywhere else but this small little island. It was pretty exciting actually, you wondered what was in stow for you.

“We’re here,” Igrisz announced suddenly, stopping the both of you. His hands were removed from your eyes, settling on your shoulders as you slowly opened your eyes.

The area was beautiful, low hanging branches covered in solar lamps illuminated the area around the two of you. You gasped as you looked around the small clearing, the soft light casting a slight glow of the mushrooms that adorned the ground. A slight breeze rustled through the clearing, ruffling through your hair as you turned to face Igrisz.

“This is amazing,” you said, tone full of wonder. “How come you’ve never taken me here before now?” Igrisz rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s a special place. I didn’t want to take you here until I was completely ready to.” He held your gaze now, red eyes boring into brown. “I’m ready now,” he said as he took a step towards you. He held something in his hand, fingers closed around it gingerly.

He paused, looking down at you with pure love in his eyes. While his demeanor was calm and collected, the slight twitch of his tail gave away the nervousness he possessed. “Belle,” his voice cracked slightly but he soldiered on, “when we first met I wanted nothing more than to see you leave forever. But then,” he cracked a smile as his free hand came up and cupped your cheek, “then you yelled at me, you stood up to me. It was humbling, and then your baking…”

“Focus,” you said with a slight chuckle.

“You brought out a new side of me, a side I never thought existed. You made me calmer, I felt peace for the first time around you. I looked forward to coming to your home each night, even to the point where I was patrolling around your home during the day time.” He slowly got onto one knee, the two of you now eye level. His hand came up and uncurled, a beautiful silver necklace with a pointed ivory looking pendant hanging from the end of it shown up at you. You looked between it and him, understanding finally hitting you. “I know it’s not a ring, but it’s the closest I can get you. Belle Gabrielle Dubois, will you do me the honor of being my wife? My mate?”

You wiped the tears away from your eyes, grateful that you weren’t wearing makeup for once. You nodded, a watery smile on your face as you gave him a quick, but passionate kiss. “Yes,” you rasped as you pulled back, giggling as he kissed you again. You took the necklace and inspected it, taking notice of the pendant. “Wait… is this an alligator tooth?”

“Well, uh,” Igrisz coughed slightly. “So, according to our tradition, we exchange scales to wear over our hearts. Since that’s not the case, I thought you could, still… wear something of mine…?”

“Is this that tooth you chipped when you slipped in the road and hit that motorcyclists two months ago?”

“That’s not important here,” he said with a couch. Which basically meant ‘yes’.

You gave him a smile, and kissed him softly. “I love it, a fond memory to wear forever,” you said as you pulled away, giving him a wink as you placed the necklace around your neck, the pendant settling right over your heart.

Igrisz rolled his eyes as he stood to his full height, wrapping his arms around your middle and lifting you up to his height. You cupped his cheeks and stared down into his eyes, a fond smile on your face as the two of you just stared at each other. Words couldn’t convey how happy you were, you literally felt like you were about to combust. You were in a new chapter in your life, one that you never thought would happen. And you were so happy that it was with Igrisz.

Recipes talked about

Lemon brownie

Apple crumbs cake

Chocolate turtle poke cake

Chocolate chip cheesecake

Spanish:

(1) The water devil! Run, girls run! You will not take them, you slimy tyrant!

(2) Don't come any closer! Stay away from my babies!

#my writing #exophilia #cryptid #lizard man #lizardman #exo #terato #sfw #this took me so long but here we are #If you try out the recipes let me know

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winterisakillerwrites · 4 years

Text

Of Books and the Fine Art of Flirting

One Shot: Last Minutes & Lost Evenings 3/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Summary: Of all the things that could happen when she was already running late, a chance encounter with a handsome, and oddly familiar, stranger was the last thing she’d expected.

Rating: PG

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the third part of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Late. Late. Fucking Christ almighty, she was late.

Not for the first time Rosemary cursed the latest rounds of improvements on the Underground. What should have taken her no more than half an hour ended up costing her nearly double. That would teach her to save her errand running until the last minute. Well probably not, but still she could hope that one day she would start to learn from the error of her ways. She fumbled her phone out of her coat pocket, sending Jules a quick text apologizing profusely for her delay. Whether nor not the text would be seen before she made it in was another story.

The train rolled to a stop and she pushed her way out of the carriage following the wave of people heading for the exit mindlessly. It was only about a fifteen minute walk from the station to the shop, less if she put some effort into it. And it seemed today was destined to be one of those days.

“Excuse me, miss,” the smooth voice caught her off guard and she whirled around to face it, nearly knocking into the tall form behind her. “Whoa, steady there.” His hands were large and so very warm, even through the bulk of her winter coat. It took her a few moments to catch her bearings.

He was utterly gorgeous; a good head taller than she was, his dark auburn hair was just long enough to be considered unkempt, a few errant curls gathering around his ears; straight nose, sharp jaw and chin covered in a few days’ worth of stubble. But it was his eyes, a stunning mix of blue and green, which seemed to root her where she stood. There was something familiar about him, but fuck if she could put her finger on why.

The silence that brought her back was punctuated with the man’s expectant stare. Good God, you could get lost in his eyes for days. “I’m sorry, what?” She stammered, feeling like an absolute tit. He obviously continued talking while she gapped at him like an idiot.

If she thought his eyes were stunning, it was nothing compared to his smile. “I was just saying you dropped this back there, darling. I didn’t want you to lose it.” He held out a lone black glove. She looked at it perplexed; her hands automatically going for the pockets of her coat…where only one of her gloves remained.

“Well shit.” She stifled a giggle. God she must sound like a complete and utter moron. What the hell was wrong with her? “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiled again as she took the glove from him. “One of my many talents.”

And then it hit her. “Holy shit, you’re Tom Hiddleston!” The words flew from her mouth of their own accord. She could have kicked herself, repeatedly, when her brain caught up with her words. Of all the stupid things to say. “God, I’m sorry that was terribly rude. I just…”

If Tom had been fazed at all by her outburst, the man hid it well. His smile never wavered and neither did his eye contact. Dear lord, does he not realize what that does to people? “That’s me. And may I have the pleasure of your name?”

She blinked at him. Good God he’s smooth. “Sorry. I don’t know where my head is today. I’m Rosemary. Mathews.” She stuck her hand out, an automatic gesture that left her feeling ridiculous, and before she could second guess her actions he took it in his own. Tom’s grip was firm and she noted, with a wry humor, that his hand dwarfed her own.

“Very nice to meet you Rosemary Mathews.”

The ringing of his phone pulled Tom’s attention from her. He held up a hand in apology as he answered. “Hello?”

Figuring that now was probably the best time to make a hasty retreat before she risked embarrassing herself further, she waved a small farewell and turned to continue on her journey. She thought she heard him utter a protest but didn’t dare turn back around. No. Besides she was running late as it was.

She risked a glance at her watch. Fuck, Jules was really going to kill her this time.

Ten winded minutes later she shoved open the wooden door to Stories Untold, offering the red headed woman standing behind the counter an apologetic smile. The small shop had been officially hers for nearly three years now, though she had managed it for nearly four years prior. Rosemary still had trouble believing that it was truly hers. Jules had been working with her, and now for her exclusively, nearly the entire time. Jules was the closest thing Rosemary had to a sister and their relationship certainly reflected that. “I am so sorry.” Her words were met with Jules’ stern stare.

“And just what took you so long?” The smirk on Jules’ face told Rosemary that she wasn’t as cross as she seemed. But that did not mean she wouldn’t be raked over the coals for a bit in the meantime. Jules was punctual to a fault, especially when her weekly date night was involved.

Rosemary through her hands up in supplication, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jules quirked an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Taking a deep breath, Rosemary explained her awkward and embarrassing encounter with Tom Hiddleston. Jules eyes widened comically as the story unraveled. The urge to simultaneously cringe and curl into a ball only intensified in the retelling. Jesus, she’d been a right idiot.

“You’re telling me you just fucking walked away?” The incredulity in Jules’ eyes stung more than she cared to admit.

Rosemary paced back and forth across the carpeted floor. “What else was I supposed to do? I’d already made a right fool of myself. It was safer for all involved if I scarpered. I mean my God, I actually told him who he was to his face! Who the hell does that?”

“You, apparently.” Jules barked a laugh at the glare Rosemary shot her. Once she had regained her composure she continued, “You could have waited until he got off the phone like a normal person. Maybe chatted him up…”

“Yeah, because that would have gone down well at the rate I was going. Besides he was just being nice. I’m the twit who dropped her glove.” She shrugged half-heartedly. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. At least I got an interesting story out of it.”

Jules rolled her eyes. “You are ridiculous, you know that?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Ha, aren’t you quite the comedian.” Jules shrugged into her coat, still laughing as she settled her bag onto her shoulder. “I still can’t believe…”

Rosemary waved her opened hands toward the door. “Go. Get. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” She waved, making her way out the door into the frigid air of the early evening. Alone again, Rosemary took a deep breath and lost herself in the million small tasks of the shop around her. There was something calming about completing mundane tasks, the way they allowed you to simply be, and she relished in it. Hours could easily pass with barely a hint of recognition. And, truth be told, they often did.

She heard the soft chime of the bell on the shop door. “Hello, welcome to Stories Untold, is there anything I can help you find today?” She called, head bent to the task of price labeling the newest batch of books. Soft footsteps sounded on the carpet as the newest patron slowly made their way around the shop.

“Well, hello again.”

Rosemary felt her heart stutter at the familiar voice. You have got to be kidding me. She took a deep breath and raised her head, plastering a smile on her face. Tom Hiddleston stood a few paces from the counter, soft smile spread across his face, eyes bright. He gave her a knowing look, “You disappeared earlier.”

She shrugged good-naturedly, trying to salvage the last remnants of her meager dignity. “Duty called. Besides you were otherwise occupied and I don’t make a habit of listening in to others phone calls, famous or not.”

He had the good grace to look slightly abashed, “Fair enough.”

“Is there anything in particular that’s brought you here?” She cringed internally. That had come out far less polite than she’d intended.

Tom shook his head, “Just browsing. Though I must say it’s a nice surprise finding you here.”

“Is it now?” Rosemary had no idea just where the hell that had come from. She didn’t flirt as a rule. Mainly because try as she might she seemed to be utter crap at it. Why her brain decided that now would be the best time to give it another go, she couldn’t understand. Well, she thought, when in Rome…

It wasn’t the most painfully awkward thing she’d ever done, but she couldn’t deny she felt like a prize idiot. He wasn’t running though, so that had to mean something. Even if it was just that he was a nice guy who dealt with such things on a semi-regular basis. Their conversation had centered mainly on books, not the most inspired of conversations given the setting, and she soon found herself genuinely enjoying their banter. He was intelligent, but not arrogant, and genuinely seemed to care about her thoughts and ideas. She quickly discovered that once he got himself started on a topic he enjoyed it was damn near impossible to stop him.

She found herself watching him intently as he talked. Taking in the way his hands seemed to fly wildly of their own accord, the intensity in his eyes. He was utterly fascinating and completely unnerving. He paused briefly in his current monologue, absently rubbing the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and smiled almost sheepishly, “I’d like to take you out…For coffee, that is.” He coughed once. “If you’re interested.”

His sudden nervousness was both adorable and completely incomprehensible and it caught her momentarily off guard. “Coffee?” she repeated.

“Or tea,” he quickly added, eyes widening, “If coffee isn’t your thing.”

Rosemary bit back the nervous chuckle that threatened to erupt from her throat. She nodded, trying to get her brain to engage properly with her mouth. It took several moments. “Yes. Yes, coffee sounds wonderful.”

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Rosie #Last Minutes & Lost Evenings

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 11)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office's annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn't expect is for him to say yes

Rating: Mature

A/N: Have I ever told you guys how awesome I think you are? Because I really do think that!

We’ve got some more fluff and some conversations and a baseball game. And in the next chapter, we meet the friends...dun dun dun :D

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91@branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans, swiveling in her desk chair and burying her face in her hands, hoping that if she doesn’t move away from the desk that maybe Ruby will get up and walk away. When she doesn’t hear any movement, she peeks up, opening an eye to see Ruby still sitting in the chair in the corner with an absolute smirk on her face. “Are you five years old?”

“No, but I just saw your boyfriend slobber all over you in your office like you two are horny teenagers, so I really think I’m the mature one in this situation.”

“First of all,” she begins, sitting back in her chair and tugging at the loose strands falling out of her bun, “it was not slobber. He is not a dog. That would be disgusting. Secondly, why the hell were you in my office? I feel like you’re never down in the therapy center.”

Ruby shrugs before she blows on her nails, the picture of nonchalance as always. “I don’t have a session for thirty minutes, and I wanted to see your sex glow.”

“You get creepier by the minute. Mary Margaret is obviously the better best friend.”

“Hey, rude,” Ruby scoffs, throwing the pillow she’s holding over at her only for Emma to catch it. “We are both equally good best friends. I am the fun one who convinces us to do things like skydiving or barhopping, Mary Margaret is the mom friend who doesn’t let us go home with creepy guys, and you, my little Swan, are our brutally honest companion who, despite your sometimes prickly exterior, is a wonderful mix of both me and Marg. And come on, how can you get better than being like me?”

“How did you manage to turn that from a quasi compliment about me and Marg to it being about you?”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She turns to her computer, logging into her account and waiting for everything to boot up so she can answer the emails that she’s sure have come in since last night. “Why the hell do I have emails from people past midnight? Who is working at midnight and thinks, ‘huh, I want to come visit a children’s center?’”

“People who don’t sleep,” Ruby answers, getting up from the chair and perching herself on the side of her desk, the hem of her dress falling over her knees. “Speaking of that, I want to talk about how you didn’t sleep last night and still have this whole glow about you. You look refreshed, except for this whole hair situation thing you’ve got going on.”

“It dried all on its own and when I brushed it out this morning, it was like a frizzy bush. So the messy bun it is.”

“It looks like sex hair.”

“It is sex hair.”

“Ha,” Ruby laughs, slapping Emma’s shoulder, “I knew it.”

“Well, obviously, Rubes. My boyfriend just came into town after me not seeing him in weeks. What were we going to do? Have him sleep out on the couch after a quaint dinner full of small talk? Maybe a little handholding?”

“I bet you did all of that too.” She rolls her eyes, trying to keep her lips in a straight line. “Maybe.” “You know, I only ask because I’m the entire reason that you’re getting some. The world should thank me.”

“How the hell is that?”

“You met him because of me.”

“I got drunk and lost a stupid bet. You just happened to be…less drunk than me.”

“And then I picked your suitor for the night, who is now your suitor for…awhile? I’m not sure if we’re talking, like, the Nolans type of relationship or the Bachelor type of relationship.”

Her face immediately heats and she squirms in her chair, adjusting herself and suddenly finding a junk email about a sale on cars the most interesting thing in the world. She does not want to answer Ruby’s question, or statement really. She knows her answer, but saying it out loud seems like it’s too much too soon. She feels…a lot for Killian, her feelings teetering so close to love that she could easily be knocked over and fall head first in if she’s given the right push, but she doesn’t want to admit it too soon. She’s not sure where Killian is in that whole regard, but it’s not something she’s actively thinking about. They’re working how they are, and there’s no need for her to think otherwise.

It’s like what Killian told her this morning, just before Ruby apparently saw him “slobbering” on her, he makes her happy. It was cheesy and made her cringe a bit, but then she saw the emotion in his eyes, heard it in his voice, and she realized how sweet it was, how sweet he is. Killian’s had some screwed up things happen to him in the past, things that make her blood curdle that anyone could try to take advantage of a man who’d do anything for anyone, and he still has the ability to be that kind, if not a bit self-loathing when he doesn’t need to be.

Not that she has any right to call someone out for being self-loathing.

She pretty much has that one in the bag.

“So what’s lover boy doing while you’re working?” Ruby asks, obviously sensing that Emma did not want to talk about how long she thinks her relationship is going to last.

It’s forev…nope. She’s not going to even think it. That’d be crazy.

“I’m not sure. I gave him some suggestions on places to go, so he might go explore the city a bit on his own. But honestly with how tired he was, I’m thinking he’s going to go back to my place and crash before doing a bit of work.”

“Sounds like a hell of a vacation.” “I have Netflix and food. What more could he ask for?”

Ruby eventually has to go do actual work, as does Emma, her day passing by at a snail’s pace with little more to do than twiddling her thumbs and cleaning out her desk drawers. Some days are like this, slow and steady, something to do coming in every few hours, while others are nonstop, making her feel like she can never get a moment to breathe. If it were a perfect world, those days would blend together to make a day where she’s never overwhelmed or underwhelmed. To quote Gabrielle Union in 10 Things I Hate About You, she would just be whelmed.

(That movie came on twice in a row the other night, and she was too lazy to get up and find the remote to change the channel.)

But the world isn’t perfect so the rest of day goes by achingly slow with nothing to do, and like it’s some kind of karmic payback for her complaining about her day on Tuesday, Wednesday is a nonstop day that has her so frazzled she forgets to eat lunch and doesn’t realize it’s far past six thirty in the evening, nearly an hour and a half after she should have gone home, until there’s a knock at her office door and Killian’s standing there in a suit with two cups of coffee in his hands.

Oh shit. They were supposed to go out tonight. That’s what they’d decided on when she got home from work yesterday. He’d spent the day catching up on emails and reviewing new scripts even though he apparently promised himself he wouldn’t look at anything new for at least a month. So since he didn’t explore Boston last night, especially with the way they stayed in bed continuing to make up for lost time, they were supposed to tonight.

But she screwed it up.

She groans, throwing her head down against the desk and hiding her face in her arms, hoping that she can somehow go back in time and meet Killian back at her apartment when she was supposed to.

“I am so, so, so, soooo unbelievably sorry. Ah, fuck, I’m really late, aren’t I?”

“Well, you were supposed to be home two hours ago, so yeah, I’d say the fact that you’re still in your office means you’re pretty late.”

He doesn’t look angry or disappointed, the smallest of smiles gracing his face, and she wonders how the man who is on time for literally everything could somehow not be irritated with her.

She’s irritated with herself.

“How pissed are you at me?”

He hums, taking a step away from the door and making his way over to sit on the edge of her desk, his thighs spreading out and gray pants tightening with the movement. That’s not distracting at all. Nope. She doesn’t find the muscles in his thighs in any way attractive. She’s also a liar. “Well, I wouldn’t say pissed is the right word. I’d say more concerned.” “Why?”

He hands her the coffee then, and she notices the cups are from Iron Bank. He must have gone back there instead of going to Starbucks or something. “Because it’s seven, Swan. And I know you like your job, but I don’t think you like it enough to stay here because you want to. Not when you have a devilishly handsome date waiting for you, especially when he got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Killian’s waggling his eyebrows and smiling down at her, his hair coiffed up in a way that makes her know he put some effort into it, which only makes her feel worse. Obviously Killian doesn’t take as long as she does to get ready for a date, but still. He was at her apartment getting ready and waiting for her all while she was trying to understand why her Excel programming decided to glitch and malfunction and make none of the numbers align.

She feels like an awful human being.

“I’m sorry,” she whines again, saving the program and exiting out, figuring that she’ll fix it in the morning. She’s got to fix this now. “What time is our reservation?”

“At eight.”

“Okay,” she sighs, getting up from her seat and straightening out her pants, “if we break, like, every traffic law or maybe just make a run for it, we can get me home to change and then get there in time. Of course, if we just went to, like, one of my usual places we wouldn’t even need a reservation. So maybe if we don’t make it to Sorellina’s then we can do that. Or we can go and be late and hope they don’t give up our table, or I’ll just wear what I have on. This is fine, right?”

Killian chuckles, not even moving from his perch on her desk while she’s gathering up all her belongings, running through the scenarios again. Before she gets the chance to walk out the door, Killian grabs her wrist, pulling her closer so that she stands in between his splayed knees. Before she can even say anything, he’s pulling her wrist up to his lips and kissing right under her palm. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch, the contrast of the softness of his lips and harshness of his whiskers causing her skin to tingle the slightest bit. She didn’t realize how quickly her heart was beating, how heated her face was, but she can feel it all now as she cools off.

“Swan, calm down.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

“Love, do not apologize again.”

“I’m – never mind.”

He smiles, running his thumb back and forth over her wrist. “You lost track of time at work, something you do all of the time. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just a dinner reservation. I don’t care if we miss it. But luckily for you, I called and traded it out with someone else for a nine o’clock one.”

“You could have told me that before I felt like the worst person in the world, KJ.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have seen you sweat.”

“You’re not a kind man.”

“Never claimed to be.”

Traffic takes forever, the roads on the way back to her apartment seemingly staying at a standstill for over forty five minutes, but they do eventually get back to her apartment. Luckily, she washed her hair this morning, even curled it a bit, so all she really has to do is slip out of her blouse and pants and slip into a black dress she’s had for years. It’s a little tight, looks more like something she’d wear out to a bar, so she throws on her red leather jacket and favorite ankle boots to look a bit nicer. She knows that she has time to redo her hair and makeup, but all she does is flick on another line of eyeliner and reapply her lipstick before heading back out into the living room where Killian is typing away on his phone.

“Okay, I’m ready to go, though I think we might actually be early now.”

He looks up at her then, his phone dropped into his lap while his lips part and his eyes trace up and down her body. A shiver runs down her spine, something that happens a lot when he’s around, and she reminds herself that they absolutely have to go out tonight. She’s not messing this dinner up again.

“You look – ”

“I know.”

“And you say I’m cocky, love,” Killian laughs, looking back down at his phone and typing a few things in. “I’ve got an Uber coming to pick us up in five minutes.”

“I can drive.” “Aye, I know, but this way we don’t have to worry about parking or if we have anything to drink.”

“I like the way you think.”

It’s a relatively cool night as they wait outside for their Uber, so she’s glad that she grabbed her jacket, but they’re not outside long before loading up into Devin’s car as he takes them across town to Sorellina’s. She’s been in more Ubers than she should for someone who likes to drive herself places, but Devin is definitely the quietest driver she’s ever had. He doesn’t say much, just asking how their evening is going while they chat in the back, but she does notice him continuously looking back at them through his review mirror.

She has no idea why until they’re pulling up outside of the restaurant, and he asks, “Hey, are you?”

“Yeah,” Killian answers, quickly sliding out of the backseat and holding his hand out for her so that she can easily get out of the car. Maybe he is the gentleman he claims to be. Okay, so he definitely is. “Have a good night, mate.”

Before they go inside, she grabs onto his jacket sleeve, tugging at him to look at her. “Hey, is it okay that we’re out? I didn’t think about people recognizing you.”

“It’s fine, love.” He leans down and kisses her, making her forget her worries for the moment. “As long as you’re okay with the possibility of people seeing us together, I’m fine with it.”

“I’m fine with it too.”

“Good.”

Despite being fine with it, she does notice how Killian’s reservation is for a booth in the back, the lighting not as nice as it is everywhere else in the restaurant. But whatever works for him works for her, and she really doesn’t have any complaints about tonight. It might be a nicer place than she usually frequents, but that’s not going to keep her from having a nice time.

She gets a lasagna, though it’s definitely got a fancier name than that on the menu, while Killian gets gnocchi, which she definitely would have pronounced wrong if she had ordered it. Maybe she needs to expand her palate a little bit. But it’s fine for tonight. The food is good, the wine great, and even though she’s never been one for fancy restaurants, she finds it doesn’t matter when you actually like the person who’s sitting across from you.

Maybe that’s been the problem.

Or maybe the prices.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

“ – no, no, I’m serious. I won the spelling bee when I was in primary school. I was quite the little academic. Top five in my class, too.”

Killian’s been telling her all about his academic prowess and all of the clubs he was in when he was younger. He played a green bean in a play about how eating your vegetables is important, and she thinks that’s where he got his penchant for healthy eating. And maybe why he’s such a good actor.

“Who knew you were such a little genius, KJ?”

“I did. My entire life.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her wine to hide her smile. “So why’d you never go to college…or university? That’s what you call it, right? I know you moved here when you were eighteen to get away from…everything, but I bet you could have gotten a scholarship. That’s what I did. And a hell of a lot of student loans.”

Killian takes a sip of his rum before reaching up to scratch behind his ear, his lips ticking up on the right while his eyes squint. “Eh, it was the money, the fact that I didn’t know what to do. Liam had busted his arse to pay for me to live after he managed to get me into his custody, and I didn’t want to burden us anymore. I was good at manual labor, so if I hadn’t found the set building job, I think we would have both worked in construction. I like being able to work with my hands.”

Oh. She didn’t think of that. She should have. She went through doing it all on her own, worrying about finances and how to live, and she should have known that Killian did that too. She knows enough about his childhood to know how rough he and Liam had it for a few years. But sometimes the words just slip without her thinking.

“I’m sorry that I asked, if that brought up bad memories of something you didn’t get to do.”

“Hey,” Killian soothes, reaching across the table and twining their fingers together, his palm warm in hers, “it’s fine, love. It’s not a sad story or something I’m ashamed of. It’s my past, and I kind of like my job situation now. I don’t think I would have gotten it if I’d studied somewhere.”

“What…what do you think you would have studied? Hypothetically speaking.” “Then? English. Would have been dirt poor for my entire life, but I would have liked to have been a teacher. Now? Definitely acting. I’m pretty self taught, but the academic in me likes to always know more, to be learning.” He squeezes her hand before releasing it and moving it back to his side of the table. Sometimes she sees little flickers of darkness behind the brightness of his eyes, but he either hides it well or truly doesn’t let his past affect him too much. “But I don’t regret anything, Swan. I spent too long being bitter, and I’m not going to complain about how Liam and I made it here. Though, I would take having my mum back.”

“She’d be proud of you.”

“I’d like to hope so.” He smiles softly, almost sadly, and it breaks her heart like it does every time she thinks of Killian losing his mom, someone he very obviously loved with his entire being. “She’d love you. You remind me of her, actually, and not in some kind of weird, psychologists would study it, way.” “Well that’s good to know,” she laughs, messing with the leftover food on her plate so that she has time to process all of this. She kind of wishes she could have met his mom, too. Mostly she wishes that she was here for Killian. And Liam.

She may have never known her parents, may not know anything about them, but Killian knew his mom. He grew up with her and had to watch her die when he was ten. She can’t…she can’t imagine. But at the end of the day, she and Killian have both been left, abandoned by people who were supposed to love them and be there for them, so they understand each other. And she’s known that from the night they met when he shared with her that he’d been in foster care for awhile, something people don’t know.

He trusted her from the beginning, and that’s not an honor she takes lightly.

Oh God, she’s kind of thinking like him now.

“I just mean that you two are both bloody brilliant with huge hearts and a quick wit. And, you know, the ability to knock me back down to earth when my head gets a little too big.”

“So all of the time?”

“Aye, so all of the time.”

“All of the time, KJ.”

After they get the bill, she and Killian walk outside and wait for their Uber, not really wanting to walk around the area. She can feel the wine buzzing through her the slightest bit, not anywhere near enough to be drunk, but definitely enough to be a little wine happy. Killian wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her a little bit closer so that she can rest her cheek against his shoulder.

“You know, darling, I don’t think I tell you this enough, but I think you are phenomenal.”

“Hmm, I feel like you should just tell me that every day. You may not need to have an inflated ego, but I certainly can.”

“I’m serious, Swan. You’re a badass. The life you’ve made for yourself, all by yourself, it takes a strong woman to do that, and you deserve all of the credit in the world. And in case no one has ever told you, I’m proud of you.”

Oh shit.

She wasn’t expecting that. Not at all. Not in the slightest. And she’s not going to cry. This was supposed to be dinner, a night out that’s fun, not something that��s going to make her cry. But she doesn’t think anyone has ever told her that. Maybe Mary Margaret and David, but she’s not sure right now.

She’s barely able to even tell herself that sometimes, even if she is damn proud of herself.

And then another thought comes to her, the very one that was teetering on the tip of her tongue that she was trying to push down, and it nearly takes her breath away. She thinks she loves him. No, she does love him. She…expected it in a way, but really, in no way could she have ever expected this, expected him.

In no way could she have ever expected herself to even want to love again, not after everything, but she’s here and weirdly, she’s not scared of it.

Okay, so maybe she’s a little terrified, but the voice that’s telling her to run away is oddly quiet. Maybe it’s replaced by the sound of Killian telling her he’s proud of her.

She turns in Killian’s embrace and wraps her arms around his neck before capturing his bottom lip with her mouth, feeling the softness and warmth that always accompanies him. He gasps a little when her lips move, almost like he wasn’t expecting it, and she smiles into the kiss, not able to help herself from her teeth clanking against his before she moves back in with fervor, trying to let him know how she feels even if she can’t say the words yet, if she wants to hoard them and keep them to herself for now.

For tonight at least.

“Hey, are you, um, Liam Jones, who ordered the tan Toyota Camry with Madeline driving?”

She pulls back a bit when a girl yells at them from the restaurant’s driveway, her face red enough that Emma knows she’s been watching them for awhile. Oops.

She’s not at all sorry.

“That’s us,” Killian laughs, quickly kissing her once more before pulling back from her.

“Liam Jones? That’s definitely not your name.”

“Aye, I know, but this way if I ever get a bad review, it’s under Liam’s name.”

“But it’ll still be under your account. I don’t think that’s – ”

He dips his head and kisses her again, making her almost lose her balance on the sidewalk. “Aye, I know that’s not how it works, Swan. Let’s just get in the car and hope Liam doesn’t get a bad review from me not being able to resist you until we get back to the apartment.”

“I think the bad review might be worth it.”

-/-

“So who are we playing tonight?”

“The Orioles. If you’d come, like, a week and a half later we could have watched the Astros, but nooo, apparently you have schedules and things like that.”

“I mean,” Killian begins, wrapping his arm around her shoulder while they walk down Van Ness, the sidewalk crowded with people heading toward Fenway, even if tonight isn’t a big game, “I do occasionally have to work. Meetings and such. And family obligations.”

“Excuses, excuses.” She reaches over to pat his back, rubbing up and down in circles. “Have you ever been to a baseball game?”

“Aye, I’ve been to several Dodgers’ games.”

“Okay, better question. Have you ever been to a baseball game and not sat, like, behind home plate?”

“Are you asking if I’ve ever sat up in the cheap seats?”

“Yep.”

“Well, believe it or not, I was once a poor young lad.”

“From a poor family.”

“I don’t think Bohemian Rhapsody is really the song to quote here.”

“Okay, go on, go on.”

“So Liam and I, when we first moved to California, would go and buy the nosebleeds for the Dodgers, and go a couple times a summer. Yeah, we could have just watched on TV, but there’s only so much time you can sit in a small apartment with your older brother who was very hot and heavy with his girlfriend.”

“Elsa?”

“Oh no, this was long before Elsa. Liam was quite the ladies’ man when we first moved here.”

“Really now?”

“Oh yes, think about it. A British transplant fresh out of the Navy with those stunning Jones looks.”

“You’re either conceited or confident. I can’t decide.”

“Maybe a bit of both.”

They get to their gate, Emma pulling up the tickets on her phone and scanning them before going through. She thinks Killian gets a few weird looks, but he’s got on his aviators and a hat, which is obviously not a complex disguise or anything, but he says that it works, which is a really weird thing for her to think about. She sometimes (all of the time) forgets what he does for a living, or really, the consequences of what he does, even if that is how they met. But then they’ll be out and he’ll tug his hat down on his forehead or, like the other night, make sure their table is in the back corner of the restaurant.

After going through security, they wander around in the concrete halls, passing by all of the food and souvenir stands until they find the staircase to lead them to their seats. Only a few people are in their area, the stadium mostly empty, but she didn’t really expect anything else. She’s been to enough of these games to know that some games just are pretty empty. But it is Friday night, so as the first few innings go by, the score staying steady at one run a piece, people begin to filter in, the red seats slowly being filled with people as the sun sets over the stadium, coating the Boston skyline with pink clouds and a red sky that would almost look creepy if not for the way that there’s still light blue mixed into sky.

She looks to her left where Killian is holding up his phone, very obviously taking pictures of the sunset over the stadium.

“You are so basic, KJ.”

“Basic and getting a picture of this sunset.” He turns to her, holding the phone right in front of her face in what she knows is an unflattering angle. “Smile, love.”

“No,” she groans, covering her face and letting her hair fall in front of her eyes. She should have never taken her sunglasses off. “That’s going to look gross.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Killian laughs, pulling back and flipping through the photos where she pretty much looks like the girl from The Ring with a double chin and only one eye that opens, “I think these look pretty good.”

“Delete those.” “Oh no, I’m keeping them forever. Might even post them online.” “That is a threat that I do not like, and I will unfollow you. That’s one less like on your artsy pictures of your food.” “Oi,” he reaches over and pinches the skin on her inner thigh, “that was one time, and you won’t let it go.”

“You stood up over the table and turned your flashlight on to get good lighting.” “It was a good breakfast.”

“Sure, babe,” she laughs, placing her hand over his on her thigh. “I know you’re just a basic girl on Instagram.”

“Well, in that case,” he yawns, dramatically stretching his arm over her shoulder and yanking her closer, “let’s take a selfie.”

“Oh my God, you are so not smooth.” She can’t stop laughing, is sure that her face is heating from the constant movement, but that doesn’t stop her from leaning her cheek into his and smiling while he holds the phone up and takes several pictures. “But I like your basic girl tendencies.”

“Good, and now I have photos so I can scrapbook my big trip to Boston.”

“Stop,” she groans, burying her head in his shoulder while his entire body shakes in laughter underneath her. He is not going to make a scrapbook. That would just be…ridiculous.

“Never. You want something to eat?”

“Obviously, yes. I thought about just waiting until afterwards so I didn’t spend the money on the overpriced cheeseburger, but I want the damn overpriced cheeseburger.” She gets up from her chair, pulling her shorts up and making sure her sweater is still tucked in. “What do you want?”

“I was going to go get it, Swan.”

“Nah, my treat, KJ. You can stay here and watch this riveting game. There’s so much happening.”

“You say that and something will definitely happen while you’re gone. And I’ll just eat whatever you’re having, but with a water.”

“How do you know I wasn’t going to get a water?”

He taps his forehead, smiling up at her so that his eyes crinkle. “I just know.”

She rolls her eyes before grabbing her purse and maneuvering her way out of their row of seats, apologizing to everyone as she steps over them and blocks their view. There’s a concession stand just outside of their gate, so she quickly slides into line, pulling out her phone and scrolling through Instagram. Maybe she’s a basic girl of Instagram too.

There’s a picture of Leo at the top of her timeline. He’s holding a sign saying he’s going to be a big brother. She likes it, laughing under her breath. Maybe they’ve all fallen into the trap of being basic. It’s whatever. She likes the cute pictures. As she continues to scroll, she sees a hell of a lot of pictures of her old classmates from college standing in front of colorful murals, cheesy captions with them all, as well as one from Victor where he’s posted all of the used coffee cups in his office. Kind of gross but whatever. He works weird shifts.

And then suddenly there’s a picture of her. Well, kind of her. Or at least her hair. Her face is buried in Killian’s shoulder while he smiles at the camera. It must have been when he was taking the pictures and she couldn’t stop laughing. When she slides to the right, there’s a picture of the stadium with the sun setting over it. It really is a good picture.

KillianJonesOfficial: She knocks my (red) sox off.

Her cheeks immediately blush while she likes it, knowing better than to click on the comments. They talked about how things with them would likely go public the more they go out, and she said she was fine with it. She doesn’t necessarily like it, especially if there’s going to be the occasional person following her around, but she also doesn’t want to have to hide away in her apartment when they can go out and do things like this.

Though, Killian probably shouldn’t have posted this while they’re at the game. That doesn’t seem like a good idea.

She eventually gets to the front of the line, ordering their meals and waiting for them to be made until she’s got all of the junk food she needs (she’s definitely going to have to go for a run in the morning) and is making her way back up the stairs, hoping that she doesn’t drop everything while navigating the small aisles.

“Thanks,” Killian says as she hands him his tray and his water, holding down her seat so she doesn’t do something klutzy like fall on her ass.

“Mhm,” she hums, popping a fry in her mouth. As good of a time as she had at dinner the other night, this is her kind of date. “So, um, I see that you’re stealing my jokes for your captions.”

“You are not the only one to ever say that joke.”

“It was still my joke.” She eats another fry as Martinez hits a homerun, something finally happening in the game. Everyone around them cheers, a few wolf whistles thrown around, while music plays over the speakers and the hit is replayed on the jumbotrons. “But I’m glad I make you write cheesy captions. Aren’t you worried about people coming to find you, though? Isn’t that a thing?”

“Aye, but those girls down in front of us have been sneaking pictures of me all night. I figured it was just a matter of time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, love. I’m having a bloody good time even if this is the most boring game I’ve ever been to. I was expecting more from the team who beat my Dodgers for the World Series.”

“Ah, I get it now. You’re just salty that you lost.”

“Damn straight. I was at the game.”

“And things just make all the more sense.”

The game finishes a little before nine, most everyone having cleared out already, so as a breeze washes over the night, they make their way back to the parking garage she parked in a few blocks over. Most people are beginning to settle into bars and pubs, a Friday night just beginning for most, and when she suggests that they go to a pub, Killian almost falls out on the sidewalk talking about how his ass hurts from sitting in tiny plastic seats for three hours and how he absolutely cannot sit on anything that’s not a soft cushion. When she teases him about thirty-three hitting him early, he doesn’t say anything, stretching his legs out only for his knees to pop…and then to pop again when he settles down into the passenger seat of her car.

She doesn’t say anything then, just silently reaches over and pats his thigh while they wait in traffic to get out of the garage. He grabs her hand only to put it down and reach over to take her left wrist in his hand, quickly kissing the inside of her wrist. She doesn’t know why he does that, but she’s noticed it over the past week. It happens about as often as he reaches up and scratches behind is ear, and it makes something inside of her flutter. She’s not sure if anything in her body is supposed to flutter, but something does.

Maybe one day she’ll ask him why he does the wrist thing.

Maybe one day she’ll tell him she loves him too.

Once they get away from Fenway, the traffic thins out and it’s a quick drive home, Emma easily pulling into her parking space in front of her apartment and grabbing her bag of work clothes out of her backseat before unlocking the front door of the building and taking the stairs up to her apartment with Killian behind her.

“I’m going to go take a shower, okay?”

Killian nods as he settles himself down on the couch, and she quickly makes her way into the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat while she strips away her clothes and tosses them into her hamper. It’s been a long week, and as much as she loves having Killian here, she hasn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as she usually does. She really likes her sleep.

It’s probably the fastest shower of her life, just a quick rinse off of the sweat and grime collected at the game, before she’s hopping out and wrapping a towel around her chest and in her hair so she can wash her face. She usually does a face mask once a week, and she’s definitely neglected that this week and can already feel herself breaking out. So she slathers on the cream, covering herself in the green mask before sliding on pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt.

When she walks back into the living room, she plops down next to Killian, who is watching Live PD for some reason. Kind of weird but it’s whatever. One of her favorite things about him being here are discovering his weird tendencies that she doesn’t get to see when they’re apart.

“How was your shower, Jim Carrey?”

She turns to look at him, and he’s smirking at her, his lips ticking up to the right while his eyes slant. “What now?”

“Jim Carrey,” he repeats, waving his hand in her face, “you know, like the Mask?”

“Oh my God,” she groans, having to restrain herself from hiding her face in her hands so she doesn’t mess her mask up while it dries, “I knew I should have stayed in the bathroom until I wiped it off.”

“Yeah, that was a horrible mistake on your part, love.”

She chuckles, leaning down into the cushions and watching someone get pulled over for driving without a license or a license plate, which is definitely not a smart move. She lets out a large breath, her stomach extending with the movement. Another thing about Killian being here is that she’s eating a hell of a lot more and going to the gym less.

And sex only counts a little. She’s not going to be one of those weird people who says their gym is the bedroom. Like, why are there people who not only think that but who feel the need to share it with others?

“Do you want to get up and go running in the morning?

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you still going to be wearing that mask? Because I’m just not sure I can be seen with you looking like that.”

#betting on the bullseye #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic

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ben-winch-writer-rocker · 6 years

Text

Live, Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, 01/14/1978

Fred “Sonic” Smith and Oppositional Defiance Disorder:

The appeal of MC5 guitarist Fred “Sonic” Smith goes beyond his guitar work, savage, deft and incendiary as that work may have been, and far beyond what traces of that work remain via studio and live recordings. In this era of “over-diagnosed” psychological disorders, Smith’s “condition” might well be labelled, like Kurt Cobain’s, “oppositional defiance disorder”. But unlike Cobain, Smith had neither the drive to be a frontman nor the good grace (or self-doubt) to back down in the face of physical opposition. And unlike Cobain, he was no suicide; his anger faced squarely outwards, driven by a righteous indignation that, at first, was anything but self-implicating.

A famous MC5 creation myth paints the young would-be revolutionary. While discussing the band-to-come at a Detroit restaurant with Wayne Kramer and Rob Tyner, Smith knocked a glass over mid-rant and (according to Kramer) said, “Yeah, this is what we’ll do, we’ll just knock shit over if we wanna knock shit over. We’ll be powerful. We’ll take a stand.”

“That ain’t cool,” Tyner said. “That ain’t being powerful. You’re not taking a stand. You’re not proving anything.”

Smith: “Well what are you gonna do about it?”

Tyner: “I’ll do what I have to do.”

Smith: “Then let’s fight.”

So they fought outside in the icy parking lot. After a couple of punches it went to the ground and Smith, an athletic six-foot-plus, came out on top, fist raised. “I could smash your face in,” he said.

And Tyner said, “Well why don’t you?”

As Kramer tells it, for three teenagers this was deep, and they got in the car and drove around for hours analysing what had happened. For Smith, I suspect it was a turning point, maybe not just in his relationship with Tyner (“After that they were tight,” says Kramer) but in his understanding of what nowadays might be termed his disorder. Of course it didn’t stop him fighting (he’d spar with Tyner again, and tackle two policemen when they arrested MC5 manager John Sinclair), but just maybe it started him questioning, turning his ideals from “smash everything” to “smash what needs smashing”, and giving him the dignity and true-seeming righteousness that comes across so strongly in his future wife Patti Smith’s recollections. (Fred Smith died in 1994, aged 46. See Patti Smith’s book M. Train for some touching writing on the man.)

From Detroit delinquent to doting family man, Smith’s trajectory was always up, despite that the MC5 crashed and burned due to record-company hassles and Sonic’s Rendezvous Band never had the chance to repeat that ignominy, largely or partly, if the other players’ testimonies are accurate, because Smith willed it that way—because Cobain-like he taunted and insulted any A & R man plucky enough to make him overtures.

So, like the MC5, like the Flamin’ Groovies, like even—to some extent—the Stooges (whose masterpiece Raw Power was, production-wise, a misfire) Sonic’s Rendezvous Band are one of the great protopunk should-have-been-a-success stories. In a sense they may be the greatest, because of their failure, because of their mystique. And that mystique is rooted not only in mists-of-time semi-invisibility, but in the aura of rebel iconoclast Fred “Sonic” Smith.

Scott Morgan and the Tonic:

But since Sonic’s Rendezvous Band, despite the name, were a two-singer band, let’s discuss the second singer, especially as he was, by any traditional yardstick, the better frontman—louder, more professional, with clearer diction (Smith’s was, make no mistake, awful; fans will be arguing over the substance of his lyrics forever), and more possessing of what some listeners may have taken as charisma. And in any case, the first song on the album is his: “Electrophonic Tonic”.

Scott Morgan, a veteran of fellow almost-made-it Detroit rock band the Rationals, had cut his teeth as a frontman singing Otis’s “Respect” pre-Aretha’s-version and turned that song into a regional hit, which, thanks to the last-minute non-involvement of Jerry Wexler’s Atlantic, never made it national. (Faced with the Rationals’ lofty demand of five grand upfront, Wexler demurred, handed the song to Aretha, and the rest is history.) A soul singer, then, with a hard rock edge, which may simply have been what it took to get across in the intimate and sonically inadequate venues of Detroit in the late 1960s, Morgan delivers his parts here with an R & B frontman’s panache, positioning himself on the classic-rock continuum somewhere between Ted Nugent and Steve Marriot, though when he sets his band loose they kick harder—thanks to ex-Up bassist Gary Rasmussen and ex-Stooges drummer Scott Asheton as much as to Smith’s semi-insane, close-to-breaking-point, post-Chuck-Berry guitar solos—than almost anyone except AC/DC, and with a sheer abandon which the famous Scots-Australians, ever the professionals, rarely mustered.

But let’s back up a little. Harder than anyone? What about Sabbath, Zeppelin, Deep Purple? I’ll make it clear: Sonic’s Rendezvous Band doesn’t do lumbering. Much as they’re classic, classic as hell, you couldn’t call them dinosaurs because they’re too fleet-footed. But nor do they sprint, they’ve got too much distance to cover; every other track here clocks in at over five minutes, and two of them (Smith’s masterpieces “Sweet Nothin’” and “City Slang”) are nearer to seven. The tempo is Sex Pistols and up, the beat almost motoric. (Asheton focusses on hitting hard and keeping the pace; he hasn’t got time for fancy flourishes.) Their roots are in R ’n’ B boogie, just as Sabbath’s were in blues. And I’d say they were just about as ahead of their time as Sabbath, if inevitably (given they had no record deal) nowhere near as influential.

But back to the “Tonic”. It’s a good song: deft, workmanlike, shuffling the same old three classic-rock chords in a natural and not entirely expected fashion. There’s a nice halftime breakdown in the middle. It’s got grit. Those who weren’t bemoaning its classicism (this was a support slot at a Ramone’s gig, after all) were probably shaking their heads in disbelief at its onslaught, unless they were shaking their asses with sheer abandon, tearing up seating, going wild. As an opener and a mission statement, it kicks ass. But for me, it’s only in track two, “Sweet Nothin’”, that the magic happens.

Sweet Nothin’:

Who can say what arcane voodoo is at work here? On the surface it starts out not so dissimilar to track one. We’ve jumped from E to B though, a good sign. (B is a great guitar key, enabling riffs that E makes obscure.) But to start off with, at least, it’s the same three-chord theory. There’s a subtle key-shift in the pre-chorus, and then with the chorus we’re in new territory: the minor sixth—the “Raw Power” chord, the “Suffragette City” chord, the “Sonic Reducer” chord—rears its head and Smith puts his cards on the table. Like Sabbath’s embrace of the devil’s interval, this is a chord-change that would inspire an entire genre—postpunk—and it darkens proceedings and ups the drama as soon as Smith unveils it.

What can I say? “Sweet Nothin’” is an anthem, despite or maybe because of the fact that I can’t hear more than a few words of it. It’s a love song, that much I’m sure of, maybe penned for the soon-to-be Mrs Patti “Sonic” Smith. (Patti Smith was on the scene intermittently in Detroit around the time: the two had sparked up an affair—she was still married to her last husband—and SRB would support her in bigger venues, breaking away from their intimate, not to say dead-end, bar gigs, where according to legend they played for as few as six people.) Whatever the “message”, I don’t care; I feel it in my bones. And when Smith, after repeating the simple refrain “You’re really really something sweet nothin’” in the plainest of minor-key melodies five or six times before the final solo, sing-shouts “You take my breath away”, barely caring if he’s in earshot of the microphone, I know exactly what he’s saying. Besides, whoever said an anthem has to meansomething? What does “Pretty Vacant” mean? “There’s no point in asking, you’ll get no reply.” You either know it deep down, deeper than words, or you never will. “There’s more to the picture than meets the eye” after all, and “Sweet Nothin’” is as good an illustration as any.

To make it clear, “Sweet Nothin’”, in my opinion, is one of the top twenty rock songs ever. It gets in. It obsesses you, or obsesses me, and I say this as someone who discovered it at age 43, via Spotify, through a $200 portable Bluetooth player. As Roberto Bolañosaid, if you want to find out if something’s a masterpiece, translate it. Translate it badly. If it stillretains its power, there’s your answer. And this album, smothered in tape saturation and poorly mixed from the live desk, was hardly a good translation to begin with. It’s not a classic like Bowie’s Low, or Abbey Road, or even the flawed Raw Power—not a finely-wrought work of art. It’s more like a jam tape. And what’s more, like a jam tape that doesn’t half sound familiar. I’ve beenat those jams. I’ve played in them. Not that our jams were as powerful, but I’d say Sonic’s Rendezvous Band stake a convincing claim to sounding like what, to this day, many rock bands want to sound like.

Into the Red:

And so it goes, through the five-minute semi-psychotic choogle of “Asteroid B612” (weird name for Morgan’s declaration of righteous love for his woman, bisected by a brilliant, dexterous-soulful blues-at-11 solo from Smith) to Smith’s five-plus-minute slightly more contemplative but still excoriating “Gone With the Dogs”, which to tell the truth slightly pales, given that Smith’s voice is already hoarse and he’s just graced “Asteroid B612” with some of his tastiest guitar-work. But wait, that accolade may well go to track six, “Song L”, which attempts a truly strange percussive minor-chord motif that doesn’t quitework but adds a new-wave-like aspect to Smith’s palette (it almost sounds—wait for it—sophisticated), before the nuclear explosion of the solo. By now, admittedly, following Morgan’s “Love and Learn”, it all seems slightly like business as usual: high-energy rocker after high-energy rocker; two guitar solos a piece, apparently thrown in whenever Smith feels like it; each song culminating in a swelling classic-rock crescendo. Nonetheless it’s precisely the lack of dynamics that makes this feel so modern. It’s unrelenting.

And I wonder, was it only in the space above zero VU—well into the red—that Smith felt the thrill of being powerful, of knocking stuff over, that had made him want to play guitar in the first place, but without the need to do violence that had very nearly made him cave his friend’s face in? Whatever their motivation, for the remainder of the set he and his collaborators play their hearts out, so much so that by “City Slang”, pretty much the ultimate showstopper, it’s hard to believe they can still play at all. Yes, the performance is patchy compared to the seven-inch version (the only record released by SRB in its lifetime, and a flat-out masterpiece). Smith is barely enunciating by the last shouted refrains. But he always maintained he liked performers that stepped up to or over the line, and all four players do that here. It’s pure adrenalin.

Plainly no band could have kept up this intensity without some serious motivation. And the truth is that by “City Slang” Smith sounds tired. Probably he didn’t have what it takes to be a frontman, at least not a touring frontman, and possibly he knew it. Maybe all he wanted was to sing his songs—because they existed, because he’d written them, because if he didn’t no-one else would. And it’s this near-complete lack of ego—this hesitating on the verge of doing nothing at all, then throwing himself in regardless body and soul—that makes Smith’s performance here one of my all-time favourite perfomances by a male singer, despite its faults. It’s the tone, bluntly masculine but vulnerable, straight-talking, speaking calmly from the centre of the storm. What can I say? He means it, and he really doesn’t much care how it goes over. Or better put, sure, you can tell he’s humbled by the crowd’s ecstatic response, but get a record deal, tour the country, maybe get rich and famous? The song and its performance are their own rewards. And, just maybe, this degree of selflessness could only have come from a singer who didn’t think of himself as a frontman.

From playing back-up to Rob Tyner and sharing the stage with Scott Morgan, Smith transitioned, shortly after this recording, to playing husband and sideman to Patti Smith, collaborating on her 1988 album comeback album Dream of Lifeand its breakthrough single “The People Have the Power”. For someone who started with a will to destroy, the adult Fred “Sonic” Smith had learned humility. His story, or what I’ve managed to uncover of it, is a true inspiration, because though he never hit the bigtime he lived the dream, doing what he wanted how he wanted at maximum volume, and never with that preening strut of the peacock that suggests it’s all theatre.

Live, Masonic Auditorium, Detroit, 01/14/1978 is a flawed document, and who knows, it may be that Sonic’s Rendezvous Band were never going to break through outside of Michigan. Regardless, it’s a classic. It takes your breath away.

#sonics rendezvous band #fred sonic smith #detroit rock #mc5 #rock writing #rock n roll #classic rock #hard rock #scott morgan #patti smith

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winterisakiller · 6 years

Text

Of Books and the Fine Art of Flirting

One Shot: Last Minutes and Lost Evenings 3/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Summary: Of all the things that could happen when she was already running late, a chance encounter with a handsome, and oddly familiar, stranger was the last thing she’d expected.

Rating: PG

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the third part of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Late. Late. Fucking Christ almighty, she was late.

“Well shit.” She stifled a giggle. God she must sound like a complete and utter moron. What the hell was wrong with her? “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiled again as she took the glove from him. “One of my many talents.”

“Very nice to meet you Rosemary Mathews.”

The ringing of his phone pulled Tom’s attention from her. He held up a hand in apology as he answered. “Hello?”

She risked a glance at her watch. Fuck, Jules was really going to kill her this time.

Rosemary through her hands up in supplication, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jules quirked an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“You’re telling me you just fucking walked away?” The incredulity in Jules’ eyes stung more than she cared to admit.

Jules rolled her eyes. “You are ridiculous, you know that?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Ha, aren’t you quite the comedian.” Jules shrugged into her coat, still laughing as she settled her bag onto her shoulder. “I still can’t believe…”

Rosemary waved her opened hands toward the door. “Go. Get. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Well, hello again.”

He had the good grace to look slightly abashed, “Fair enough.”

“Is there anything in particular that’s brought you here?” She cringed internally. That had come out far less polite than she’d intended.

Tom shook his head, “Just browsing. Though I must say it’s a nice surprise finding you here.”

His sudden nervousness was both adorable and completely incomprehensible and it caught her momentarily off guard. “Coffee?” she repeated.

“Or tea,” he quickly added, eyes widening, “If coffee isn’t your thing.”

#tom hiddleston #fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original character #last minutes and lost evenings #Tom & Rosie

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yandereshit · 6 years

Text

Not A Pact [demon!Taehyung x Reader] : ch.2, .human-like

Read on Wattpad

Read on Ao3

Table of contents

“Don’t even try to get up.”

A low groan escaped the man’s lips when he raised himself on the couch, raising hand to his face.

No black liquid covered it, which made him just as relieved as confused. He remember fainting and he was almost sure that he shouldn’t be capable of waking up.

It took him a few moments to regain his strength and spot another silhouette, the one whose voice he heard right before, and which he, so far, gracefully ignored.

“Jin.”

“Hello there, done with your beauty nap?”

“Mind telling me what happened?” Taehyung asked, clearly more willing to get the info out of him than to have a chit chat. Nothing to blame him for, really.

Taking it out of the pocket of his sweater, Jin passed him a small, green crystal. Looking at it closely, Taehyung recognized the princess-cut mineral he saw many times before, in his so-called father’s hands. The emerald shone slightly, reflecting the light streaming into the room through the widely opened windows.

The light made the man finally look up and at his surroundings.

He was lying on a leather couch, wearing the same clothes he wore last time he was conscious. Dry, black stains covered his shirt in a few places, but at least they were gone from his face. The room, as he recognized, was Jin’s living room he visited a few times before. It was cosy and old-fashioned, and the air entering through the window made the space peacefully warm.

He let the sunlight shine through the emerald for a few more seconds and then hid it in the chest pocket of his shirt. It’d probably be reasonable to ask the other where he took it from, but whether he stole it from someone else or just used the opportunity to get it for himself – it didn’t matter. Now it was used on himself to save his life and that’s the only thing he cared about.

“...Thanks” he muttered.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Take a shower” he muttered, feeling slightly disgusted with how dirty his clothes already were.

“That’s a good plan. And then what?”

He wouldn’t get out of it easily, would he?

“Probably try to find a solution to extend my lifetime a bit more” he shrugged, as though it didn’t bother him at all.

But to be honest, he felt quite distressed with the fact that all he was given was a crystal. It gathered an amount of someone’s power that, attached to his soul, made an energy resource he could use to stay alive. But it would run out in a few months or even weeks, depending on how much of said energy was in it.

It was enough only to let him survive through his illness, not to cure it. His father’s power would for sure be enough. But he didn’t have it. It fled from him, and only his father knew who it was given to.

Every demon, when their lives were naturally coming to an end, could choose someone to inherit their power. The inheritor would become stronger, so every living demon wanted to be the chosen one.

But for Taehyung, he needed the additional power because nothing else could cure the illness. His own power was corrupted. It was not his time to die yet, unlike it was for his father – he was not that old yet. But at this pace, if he didn’t find another demon willing to give him their power while dying – which didn’t happen often – once the emerald’s power ran out, it’d be game over.

“How did you know I’m in trouble?” he suddenly asked, raising his eyes to meet Jin’s calm ones. He hadn’t seen the man in the last few months, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t know about Taehyung’s state.

Jin shrugged, standing behind the couch, leaning over its back and looking down at Taehyung who still sat there, taking his time to regain strength before attempting to stand up.

“I was just nearby and met Baekhyun. He said he saw you before and that you weren’t in a good shape.” Jin tilted his head to the side. “You’ve become friends lately or…?”

Taehyung shook his head instantly.

“We met by accident. Guess he just felt like doing something good for once.”

Jin snickered.

“Don’t be mean, he somewhat saved your life.”

“Yes, and that’s the biggest problem” he huffed. “I don’t feel like owing him anything.”

“Well look at you, damsel in distress.”

Taehyung sent him a single, sarcastic smile right before his face tensed again. He was focused, thinking rapidly on something Jin could easily guess about. But even though he wanted, he had no idea how to help the other. If he could, he surely would do anything to save his friend.

Truthfully, a demon’s morality was what only said demon could decide on. No one said they had to be evil. They could only choose to be as there was nothing keeping them in check.

However, they were more human-like than any other creatures. And Jin was by now hundred percent aware of that.

Because in front of him, there was a demon who would now do anything to protect himself from the death.

And it was more human-like than Taehyung himself would like to admit.

✰

September sunlight shone through the glass ceiling of a shopping centre, brightening up the whole hall. Black walls and light, wooden floor would give the insides a modern impression, but crystal chandeliers were what made them look so aesthetic. The place was incredibly pleasant to sit in, even though you were focused on your food and not caring much about the surroundings when another bite of the cheapest hamburger possible entered your mouth, making you almost moan in satisfaction.

It was a break in between your classes, a particularly long one because one of the classes was cancelled. There was no point in going back home if you would have to come back here nonetheless, so you just stuck to the blissful idea of getting an unhealthy, but tasty lunch here and not the nasty food your school cafeteria provided. Even though your funds for this month were slowly running out, there was nothing more pleasant than just sitting there and chilling in the sunlight without care in the outside world.

Truthfully, the hamburger was all you cared about at this moment. Even when a few of your classmates spotted you from the distance and decided to join in. After all, the shopping centre was so close to your school that it was quite common to spend longer breaks in here.

Someone patted your back in a friendly manner before sitting down next to you. These were the only three people in your class you were sure you could remember the names of. It was quite funny, to vaguely know the names of people around you but just never be sure about… which name belongs with whose face. That’s how your school life looked like.

“Earth to [F/n]!”

You raised your head abruptly, realizing that, drown in your thoughts, you were chewing for a few minutes on a single piece of hamburger that was already a bloody mess in your mouth. You choked on it in a pathetic attempt to swallow. Someone pushed a cup of cola under your hand and you nodded thankfully, taking a long sip to let the food slip down your throat, releasing you from the struggle.

The same person who just spoke to you, a boy named Minho, now laughed, amused by your close-to-death experience. The other two wouldn’t stay serious either though.

“What” you mumbled, a bit embarrassed with just how amusing it had to be to see you almost suffocate.

“I asked you if you did the maths homework.”

You raised your eyebrows, giving him a me and the maths homework? Seriously? look.

Actually, you didn’t really know there was a homework to begin with until he spoke. You wondered just how much of the class have you slept through to make you miss out on such an important information. Spending a quite long amount of time on regaining energy you were usually lacking of, you had to sacrifice at least some of the classes.

“How about we just skip maths?” the voice on your right muttered and a pretty girl with long, red hair laid her head on the table, instantly losing the whole grace of her intriguingly beautiful body. The girl’s name was Elise.

Minho patted her head with his notebook.

“No way.”

“But...”

He rolled his eyes, not letting her finish and instead focusing on the last person in your love square.

“Jungkook, I need you to cooperate and get the reason through that woman’s thick skull” he announced, but the poor boy just looked up at him, confused, because his whole attention was already on his own burger and he completely didn’t follow the conversation.

“...Whach?” the boy asked with the food in his mouth.

You couldn’t help but laughed at his face and so did Elise. Only Minho seemed as if someone just slapped his dignity, but it didn’t take long before he started laughing as well.

The four of you were friends ever since the first year of the high school. You didn’t hang out much outside the school, but it was good enough as it was – having people to get the homework from if you didn’t do it, those who’d share notes before a test and tell you to get your shit together if you didn’t feel like attending classes because you spent half of the night watching cute kittens on YouTube.

The friendship was evident from the way you felt comfortable around each other.

To the man observing you from the distance though, it didn’t matter. It was as though he didn’t see the other three, because the very moment his eyes fell onto you, he knew that nothing else mattered.

#taehyung x reader #bts x reader #bts #taehyung ff #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung kim #bangtan #v x reader #bts v

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beheadingofmakai · 6 years

Text

“Exorcist” Is A Strong Word

<- Previous Chapter

5:31 AM was not a nice hour to be up and about for Vinn Ingram, but there simply was no other choice. Sure, the cold winds that blow through Mint Hill Street were a very convincing argument to buy a scarf the moment today was over, the uphill walk made paying a taxi very, very attractive even though it was a short walk, and the deadly combination of both made our new Exorcist miss his bed sheets with the agony of a lover who left his sweetheart behind to go to the war, but alas, this was a necessary evil if he ever was to see his workplace at all. At the Seventh Office of the Mythic Affairs Bureau, work hours begin at 7:00 AM, which is a whole one hour and twenty nine minutes our daring star could’ve spent tucked in bed dreaming about sunshine and puppies, but if the last two days were any indication, this was a bad idea, and that bad idea has a name: Bastian Ashfield, his partner.

“Mother fu... Arc damned cold wind... Uphill walk in the middle of... This better be worth it...” muttered the displeased Vinn to himself, making his walk under the purple early morning skies. Two days ago, Bastian raided his apartment and snatched him away to a sudden necromancy case, and yesterday, Bastian once more got him by the cuffs and got him working with a truant demon after an exorcism. These last two days, he’d been roped into all this work without being able to even see his office or meet his other colleagues. For a top scorer like Vinn, this was like a rusty, jagged spoon to the heart, as it was vastly unprofessional from him to not even greet his other seniors at the office just because this hydromancing asshole of a tyrant decided to start paying him house visits. Well, no more! Today, Vinn left far earlier than he was supposed to, as he wasn’t gonna risk a third day of impromptu plate-juggling. Maybe now, finally, he was gonna be able to do things right.

But Arc damn the wind is cold.

“I should almost be... Oh! That over there is the office, isn’t it?”. Vinn perked up and broke into a calm jog, and indeed it was. A four story building, solid and made of brick, with a large sign that read the “7th Office” in bold black letters. It didn’t indicate what it was the office of, just that it was the 7th. Magic and the supernatural is a well kept secret, after all, so whoever stumbled in there by accident would just be told a lie about this being a real estate firm or maybe an engineering firm. At long last, Vinn was going to be able to meet people that hopefully weren’t condescending jerks!

As Vinn approached the building, the door swung open, and what strode out froze Vinn in his tracks. A very tall woman, at least two heads taller than Vinn, with long dark green hair and a somewhat dark complexion, but the prodigious height and the curious colors of the dame weren’t what paralyzed Vinn, it was the long, curved, thick black horns that protruded from her head that did, peeking through holes in her large brimmed hat.

“Hm? Hey there, I haven’t seen you around before” the mountain spoke. “For consultations and filing reports, head to the left desk, and for general questions, the help desk is on the right. We’ll help you in however way we can.”

“...Oh!” finally reacted Vinn, taking his eyes off the horns, hoping he didn’t offend. “Oh, thank you, but I work here, actually, it’s good to meet you, I started two days ago, my name is Vinn Ingram.” Upon hearing this, the woman brought a hand to her mouth in surprise, and immediately smiled gracefully, lifting her hat just slightly so she could take a better look at him with her piercing crimson eyes.

“Ah! You’re one of the graduates! How silly of me, my apologies, I assumed you were a new client. I haven’t seen you around, but, well, I suppose the same can be said for others, hmhm. Well met, Vinn Ingram.” -- the woman bowed with dignity and poise found only on professionals -- “I am Fatima Allanach, Exorcist here at the Seventh. Have been for years now. A pleasure to meet you. I would love to chat with you more, but I need to go out for something rather pressing right now. Which division are you on? I’d love to drop by later to properly meet you when time isn’t a pressing concern.”

“Oh, no no, don’t let me hold you back, the pleasure is all mine!” hastily replied the novice. “I’m in the 3rd Division.”

“The 3rd... That’s... I see, so you must be an intel support, then? Well, have fun with Nicholas, he’s kind of a stick in the mud before 9:30, but he’s very good at what he does. You’ll learn much. Well, farewell, until later.”

With a graceful half-bow and a smile, the large woman in the trench coat walked away, her horns disappearing from sight as soon as she headed to the streets. Can’t be seen with those by civilians, after all. Vinn couldn’t help but wonder what she meant by “intel support”. He was very much a fully fledged Exorcist, and his partner was Bastian, not some “Nicholas”. Well, whatever, he thought, maybe she was just confused and in a hurry. They’d meet later, so no biggie.

Finally at the 3rd floor, Vinn looked up which office was the 3rd Division’s in his briefing e-mail. It was more than a bit daunting when his worst suspicions were confirmed and that large, imposing cast iron door was, indeed, his office. With someone like Bastian on their payroll, however, the iron door made complete sense, unfortunately. “Well, whatever, let’s get to it.”

The already small room behind the iron door was made even smaller by the sheer amount of chaos within. Paperwork everywhere, pizza boxes, the scent of coffee and mana leftovers mixing into what can only be described as a terrorist attack on the senses, and one very bitter-looking blonde man sitting at the very end of the room, surrounded by cabinets, coffee mugs, and his computer, mashing away at that keyboard like it owed him money.

“Uh, he--”

“And why the hell are you here this early again, Bastian! Can I just not have my own little world of-- Huh?”

“Um.”

“Oh.”

The red haired man and the blonde bitterness extract given a human form looked at each other awkwardly for a second, before the latter finally threw a brick and smashed the silence. “...Who, who the hell ar-- Who might you be? This is the 3rd Division, I think you got the wrong door, pal.”

“Uh, hey there, no, I work here. Effective as of two days ago, but it’s my first time showing up due to... Exceptional reasons, I guess. I’m Vinn Ingram, assigned here as of August 4th, a pleasure to meet you, Mister...?”

“No Vinn works here, dude, just go to your office.”

“Um, sir? I do work here, it says as much in this e-mail, I’ve been working for two days now on field.”

“No you don’t.”

“Sir...”

“Dude, come on, I know everyone in this office and-- Hold that phone, what did you say your name was again?”

“V-Vinn Ingram, partner of--”

Whatever came after his last name fell upon deaf ears and was drowned by the loud tik and tak of the keyboard’s cry for help as the blonde man’s fingers struck it with surgical precision. A few seconds of awkward keyboard sounds later, the man’s face seemed to be right out of the cover of a cheap gas station horror novel. “Bastian’s partner? That Vinn?”

“That’d be me, yeah.”

“What the fuck, you haven’t quit yet?”

“E-excuse me?”

Of incense, ink stains, and the murky menace lurking beneath it all: – Chapter 3: Neon War Paint –

“Oh, um, ahem, h-hey, welcome, Vinn, welcome! I just, mm, never really expected anyone partnered with Bastian to last more than one assignment with him. Or less than one, really. I hope you’ll understand, he’s kind of, mm, not a very nice person.”

“Oh, trust me, I could gather that much. But yeah, I’m here, alive and willing still, somehow.”

Molotov cocktails burst green with envy at the explosive laughter the man by the computer just showcased with peerless cacklesmanship. “By the Arc, man, you really went and... I’m Nicholas Dunbar, Seventh Office 3rd Division information agent, assistant, and secretary, an actual honor to meet anyone who somehow survived Bastian.”

Vinn could only sigh, half laughing and half crying internally. “Vinn Ingram, once again, now assigned to this office as that oaf’s partner, the pleasure is mine. So, um, Nicholas, is Bastian just... Like that? In general?”

“He very much is like that in general.” replied the intel agent as he prepared some coffee on the worn, jury rigged coffee maker that had what was very clearly a band aid somewhere on its base. “See, the thing is, you’re the fourth partner that’s been assigned to him, and the only to survive the ordeal without quitting the job or requesting a transfer after... Well, not after, during the first day.”

“And I can see why. I’m here this early because he kept going to my place and roping me into more stuff, telling me he has to test me on this and test me on that, what a prick.” Vinn recounted as he tried to navigate this disaster room of pizza boxes and stray paperwork, making a futile attempt to find his desk.

“Yeah, you’re actually the only one I’ve met, haha. I kinda just assumed you’d be roadkill as well, no offense. You aren’t the top scorer of the Mythic Law Enforcement Academy for nothing, after all. Man, Bastian is real good at this job, one of the best, I dare say, but his people skills just haven’t been the same anymore...”

This last statement perked the novice Exorcist. “Mm? What do you mean with ‘anymore’?” The inquiry clearly changed something in the atmosphere, as Nicholas simply looked down and then at the coffee maker, gripping it by the handle and serving two piping hot mugfuls of coffee, offering one to Vinn.

“I can’t really tell you, man. I hope you understand. It’s kinda personal to him, and I’m not about the snitch life.”

“Ah, no no, sorry, didn’t mean to put you in the spot. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Say, since you’re here early, I might as well tour you through the Seventh, what do you say? Introduce you to the people, show you where stuff is, the works.” offered the intel agent, sipping his coffee, his voice certainly softer than before. This wasn’t an offer Vinn was going to turn down.

“I’d very much like that!”

——-

The Seventh was a sturdy, spacious building. That cramped little hellroom that was the 3rd Division was not indicative of just how impressive and accommodating the rest of it was. Air conditioning, ample hallways, and effective use of space made it easy to navigate through and easy to fit all the relevant facilities. It certainly was a whole different beast from the antiquated brick fortress that it seemed to be from the outside. Nicholas and Vinn made small talk as they passed by the various other offices, most of them empty due to how early it was, heading to the Infirmary in the first floor.

“The Infirmary is open practically all the time, and it’s the first place you go to after an assignment, and the last place you go to before clocking out and leaving for the day.” Nicholas explained as he ringed the bell. “Cordiality is nice, but it doesn’t mean much in general in the Seventh, since we are all about getting the job done first and foremost. However, if there’s anyone you gotta be good with, that’s the Infirmary crew, because these people keep us alive. I think you’ll agree with me when I say you’d rather be on good terms with the people in charge of keeping you alive, yeah?”

“Hah, no argument there. I planned to come here first thing after finding the 3rd Division.” Vinn replied, adjusting his vest as Nicholas opened the door. “Hold on, don’t we have to wait for them to give us the ok?”

“I mean, by protocol, yeah, but as long as you ring the bell, Aria doesn’t really mind if you come in, Mister Stiff.” laughed the intel agent. “Can’t blame ya, though. You are the top scorer of this year’s promotion, so I assumed you’d be kinda stiff, but man, trust me, real work is a lot more... Earthly, if you will. Don’t take all those regulations and strict protocols to heart. As long as you do your job, no one minds.”

Vinn shrugged his shoulders as if saying “I guess”, which only prompted another chuckle from Nicholas. Inside the Infirmary, a woman with two large white wings and a long lab coat checked a clipboard and wrote on a little notebook propped on a desk. “Hey, mornin’, doc!” greeted Nicholas, prompting her to turn around with a pleasant smile and kind eyes.

“Hey, Nick, good day! Hm? Who’s the kid?” the doctor enthusiastically replied as she set down her clipboard. “Oh, one of the fresh meat, huh? Hey, I’m the patch up artist around these parts, name’s Aria, a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Aria, I’m Vinn Ingram, ‘fresh meat’ at the 3rd Division. We’ll be seeing each other.”

“Oh, so you are a new intel agent? You’re lucky, Nick is awesome at his job, just, be sure not to catch him before 9:30, he’s kinda--”

“Oh no no, he’s not mine, Aria.” interrupted Nicholas, a wry grin plastered on his face. “Take a wild freakin’ guess who he is partnered with.”

Aria tilted her head in confusion, looked at him real good, the ol’ tip to toe scan with the eyes, and she realized, given his build, that he was no pen pusher. Those strong limbs were for working out in the field. “Wait, Bastian’s!? No way, but it’s the 6th! Any partner of his should have transferred already! Holy moly, you are some next level shit, aren’t you?”

Nicholas laughed out loud while Vinn simply sighed and pinched his nose. “Yeah, I guess I am fecal matter of the next degree. Man, he really is infamous for this, isn’t he?” The two of them laughed, but before Aria replied, she caught the Nicholas’ eyes, insolence brewing behind them.

“Oh... You wanna do that, huh...? Ok... Hey, Vinn, I applaud your manners for not pointing out my wings.” said Aria. “People usually get impressed by them and sometimes, it get uncomfortable, so hey, nice. But, at the same time, I can’t help but be a bit disappointed, since I am proud of them, as an Angel and all.”

Those last words perked Vinn up. “An Angel, you say...?”

“Yup! Ain’t the Seventh impressive? We practically have a demon in Bastian, so we make up for that with an actual Angel in our Infirmary. Not something many offices can claim, yeah?”

It’s true that those impressive, white feathered wings were the definition of majestic in any dictionary you could find, but Vinn didn’t seem impressed at all. “She’s not an Angel, though.” he declared.

“Oh?” Aria smirked. “I am, though. What proof do you have that I am not an Angel? Are you saying these wings are fake?”

“It’s true that you have not moved your wings at all, so they could be a prop, but no, they are the real deal. However, ‘wings’ does not equate to ‘Angel’. No offense intended, but the palms of your hands are very rugged, and your musculature in general suggests heavy physical work, instead of the more magically inclined personality of Angels. Speaking of your hands, you did a pretty good job trimming them, but I can tell those talons grow up to be very strong, sharp, and destructive. You’re not an Angel, Miss Aria, you’re a Harpy.”

The rapid fire analysis left both Nicholas and Aria dumbfounded for all of five silent seconds before they both broke into laughter. “Oh, wow! This kid is the real shit, ain’t he? Damn, when was the last time, anyone saw through this little prank, Nicholas?”

“Wasn’t it Fatima many years ago? Haha, damn, anyways, that was impressive, I’d expect no less from top scorer of this year’s promotion. Nice job, Vinn.”

The young man was getting a bit flustered with all this praise and attention, but thankfully, before he had to say anything, the bell rang again, and the door swung open, a tall, muscular, blonde man wearing sunglasses walking in shortly after.

“Heyo, doc, I’m sorry I didn’t come before, I came t’ greet ya! Name’s... Oh, Ingram?”

“...Hold on, you’re Daryl. Hello.”

“Oh, you two know each other?” Nicholas inquired, resting against a nearby counter top.

“Yeah!” the large blonde lad replied. “We both graduated this year. Ingram’s the top of the class, so I remember him. Didn’t know ya were here, dude.”

“Likewise. I wouldn’t have expected to meet you so soon after graduation. Good to see you. Which division are you on?” Vinn cordially conversed.

“2nd, the boss woman told me to go greet people already, got kinda mad that I hadn’t yet, so here I am. Heyo doc, and heyo other dude I don’t know, here’s to some good ass work and all that.”

“Nicholas, good to meet you, though I am just the tech dude at the 3rd, it’s this lady you oughta pay your respects to. She’s a nice Angel doctor that’ll keep you in this world, no matter how banged up you get.” the intel agent explained, a chuckle already charging up behind his lips.

“Wait, an Angel!?” yelled the shocked Daryl.

“Oh, don’t say that so loud, I get kinda conscious... But yes, I am Doctor Aria, pleased to meet you. I hope you’ll trust my--!”

In a move that shut everyone in the room, Daryl approached Aria and outright kissed her, holding her chin up to better feel her tongue with his. When it was all said and done, Daryl simply took a contemplative hand to his chin. “Ya ain’t no Angel. You’re a Harpy. See, Angels have soft tongues, and kissing them feels like warm honey bathin’ yer tongue, an indescribable feelin’, really. But yer tongue was thick, rough, and strong. It wasn’t warm honey, it was more like a powerful adversary, a tongue to remember, ‘cause it ain’t easy. I like Harpy kisses far more than Angel kisses, there’s that roughness to them that makes them--”

The sound of her palm meeting his face echoed in the Infirmary.

“How dare you...!?” the doctor exclaimed, slapping him across the face.

“Ooph, yeah, see, Angels don’t slap like that, that’s a Harpy’s strong hand, alriOOPH.”

“What the fuck are you doing, dumbaaaaaaass?!”

The sound of his spine singing a melody of pain and regret echoed in the infirmary as his body was lifted off the ground by a single righteous uppercut.

“Yep, just on time, if you’re in the 2nd, then your partner is...”

“W-woah what the hell!?”

With just a single punch, the large blonde man was downed. Behind him, a brawny, tough-looking woman stood with the River Styx in her eyes, shooting ballistic missiles at the battered young man with her glare.

“I take my eyes off you for one second and you’re already doing dumb shit again! I am so sorry, Aria, this one’s on me, I’ll buy you all your drinks next time we go out drinking, ok? Please forgive this good for nothing piece of shit!” the big woman apologized as she stomped on the downed idiot.

“F-Fiona, don’t worry about it! It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t kill him in the Infirmary, please, that’s a lot of paperwork to deal with!”

Lifting him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the imposing woman desperately apologized. “I’ll educate this dipshit, even if it kills me, or if it kills him! I’ll go now, see y...ou? Hey, who’s this kid, Nick? New techie for the the 3rd?”

“Naw, he’s Bastian’s.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

“I am not dumb enough to lie to you, Fi.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. “You’re legit his partner? Woah, some big fat balls of brass, you must have! Well, kid, introductions will have to wait ‘till later, I have a shithead to lecture. Try not to get killed. Let’s go, you imbecile.”

“M-my spine... Let me get it checked first...” begged Daryl like a beefy, floppy sack of wounded potatoes with all the dignity of a headless chicken.

“Oh, sleep it off, ya wuss, let’s go.”

As fast as she came, this tornado of a woman left, leaving Vinn speechless. “Is she... Is she always like that? Who was that? Did that really just happen?”

“That’s Fiona, and yeah, that’s her modus operandi. Leaving the door open is also part of her, but she’s a lovable tower of muscle and alcohol.” explained the doctor, going back to her clipboard. “Be a dear and close it, will you?”

As Vinn approached the door left open by the human cyclone, he spotted her outside, still carrying Daryl, being lecture by a tall, thin man who had an aura of authority and resignation to him. Before him, however, Fiona couldn’t stop bowing apologetically.

“Well, that’s our Fiona, 2nd Division Exorcist. Watch in awe as she is lectured by the Chief because her cropped tank top, ‘perfume’ that smells like 6 AM tequila, and habit of carrying coworkers like veggies at market spit in the soup of Officewear Regulations. Heh, this is a daily show by now.” Nicholas elaborated, as if watching a movie while eating pop corn. “You know about Oni, Vinn?”

“Oh! She’s an oni? That explains the strength and the pungent stench of alcohol.”

“Nope, she’s married to one, and he’s helping her with her drinking habits.”

“...Classy. So, that’s the Chief, huh? I’d better go say hi to him now.”

“Woah there, buddy, I’d suggest not. He’s lecturing her right now, but he’s a very busy man, especially in the mornings. Leave him for the afternoon.”

“Is he a hardass or something?”

“Not... Quite, just trust me on this one. Let’s go back to our office, Dani should be here by now.”

“If you say so. Bye, Miss Aria, have a good day.”

“Mmhm. Have a good one, you two, I hope you survive, Vinn.” the doctor expressed with no ill will whatsoever, waving a friendly hand goodbye.

——-

The more one looked at the office, the more it seemed that the door frame was a portal to a different dimension. How could this pigsty possibly be in the same physical plane, let alone building, than the neat everything else? There was a difference now, however: A lone girl sat by another desk.

“It’s weird not seeing you here first thing in the morning, Nick. I was wondering where you went.” she greeted.

“Yeah, was just showing the newbie around. Lookin’ good, Dani.” Nicholas chimed back with Vinn on tow, who politely nodded as if to greet her.

“Oh? New tech g--”

“Bastian’s partner...” Vinn clarified for what felt like the tenth time this morning.

“What!? Bast--”

“Please.” Vinn begged for what felt like the tenth time this morning. It was getting tedious.

“Oh, pfff, yeah, I guess you’ve already gotten your fair share of dumbfounded responses. Sorry about that! I’m Danielle, just call me Dani, though.” the girl responded before moving away from her desk without standing up, traversing through the pizza boxes and paperwork in a motorized wheelchair, controlled by a little controller on the right hand rest. Of note, her left hand and leg were prosthetic. Accompanied with the soft sound of her wheelchair’s motor’s vibration, Dani approached Vinn and offered her right hand, which he shook. “I’m the communications expert here, and since you’ll be working with us now, you’ll need one of these.” Her prosthetic hand held a firm grip on the bag while her regular hand rummaged in it, the sounds of junk and crumpling plastic raising many questions as to what was actually inside the otherwise trendy looking little bag. With an expression of eureka, she seemed to have finally found the desired item, which he proudly offered to the novice Exorcist: A tin can.

“A... Tin can? Wait, now that you mention it, Bastian had one just like this two days ago...” Vinn pondered, as he examined the item in vain.

“Ah! You were there when the Siren was sent in!? That jerk didn’t mention you at all in his reports! I will have some words with him, the nerve!” Dani fumed as she kicked her feet in frustration, nothing new when regarding Bastian and his old tricks. “Anyways, yes, that right there is a prim and proper tin can, but it may save your life.”

“There’s really nothing special about it, though... I don’t sense anything.”

“Eyup, it’s not until I do this--” With a touch of he right hand’s finger, the can suddenly pulsated, Vinn’s head throbbing as a sharp note drowned everything else in the room, only the can’s ‘heartbeat’ audible to him, until a few seconds later, his senses returned to normal, his head ringing like a struck bell no more. “--llo? Hello? Earth to Vinn?”

“Ugh... Yeah, I hear you... What was that? My head felt like it was going to explode for a second.” Vinn replied, clutching his thankfully unexploded head.

“Yeah, happens the first time. I’ve linked the tin can with you. Now, what this does is...” Danielle moved towards her desk again and held a similar, worn out tin can. “Put that against your ear.” Vinn complied, and once he did, Dani put her own tin can against her mouth, softly whispering words that shouldn’t have been audible to anyone, yet were clear as the skies to Vinn. “And now, we can communicate easily!”

“Woah! That’s... I’ve never seen anything like this! So basically, these are like cellphones now?”

“Better than cellphones!” she declared, chest puffed out. “Cellphones can be traced, need time to make a call, need the other party to notice and accept the call, and if you’re underground? Yeah, not happening. Tin cans are the future of communication! Well, among us, anyways. This is Communications Magic, my area of expertise. Keep that tin can on you at all times, and we’ll be able to talk shit about Bastian at all times, seamlessly and with no interruption.”

“Now that sounds like a good time.”

“Well, I’m sure glad you two seem to have kicked it off well!” Nicholas finally interjected. “Now, you did say something worrying, though: You’ve actually been working the last two days, but Bastian neglected to mention you in his reports, which makes my job difficult. Plus, I don’t have your reports, either.”

“A-ah, well, I wasn’t exactly--”

“Exactly allowed near the office, I know, haha, don’t worry, I’m not going to put you on the spot, all this means is that I will grab Bastian by the neck and have him rewrite his reports. His lack of mentioning you meant to me that you had quit, which is... A pattern, really, so don’t worry, you get a few more days to write your reports, but the sooner you have them for me, the better.”

“Ah, that’s why you reacted that way...” Vinn said, recalling Nicholas’ exasperation earlier. “Well, I hope you don’t have a hard time getting him to re-do those... I already know that he’s--”

“A damn hardass, a jerk, and a piece of shit to work with?” a voice behind Vinn chimed in.

“Yeah! That’s exactly what I was gonna sWhere did you come from and how long have you been there?”

“Aww, I’m glad to know that I have a cute widdle pwartner who wuvs me so much!”

As Vinn turned around, he met face to face with the plastic, hostile grin of Bastian Ashfield, a tall, solidly built man with his wavy ponytail resting on his left shoulder as always. “So can I join your shit-talking power hour? I am like a trebuchet full of excrement, ready to sling the highest quality turds, so? We good? Can I join you fine gents in--Hrg!”

That dull sound just now was a piece of scrap metal hitting Bastian square in the forehead. “You big jerk! You were keeping Vinn out of the office for the last two days and you neglected to even mention him in your reports! As both a person and an Exorcist, you are terrible!”

“Oi, who the hell throws junk metal at people!? At least make it something like a plastic bottle, or a--Argh!”

And that dull sound just now was a broken clock hitting Bastian on the side of his face.

“Don’t talk back!”

“Yes ma’am! Please don’t give me a concussion, ma’am!”

“Denied!”

“Alright, hold it, hold it, please! I’ll stop! Quit chucking assorted reclaimed metals at me!”

“...Are these two like this all the time?” Vinn whispered to Nicholas.

“Just when Bastian’s a dick.”

“...”

“So yeah, all the time.”

“I see.”

——-

“...Well, now that we are all here, I suppose a formal welcoming is due... But first... You clever little rascal. You left home really early, just to avoid me, huh?”

Vinn simply glared at Bastian. “I knew you’d try it a third day. Get off my back, already. I humored your two ‘tests’, and not even knowing what my workplace looks like for three days in a row is not exactly professional.”

“...Tests? Vinn, what did this oaf make you do?” Dani inquired, already reaching for the next piece of junk in her little bag.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything terribly cruel. You’ll see in my report later, but basically, the necromancer of two days ago and a case with a stray demon yesterday. Both ended up well, so-- Hey, speaking of, where’s the necromancer?” Vinn asked, having just remembered the rather high profile criminal they brought in.

“Well, I’m not at liberty to say just yet, but let’s just say you’ll know soon enough.”

“Bastian, could you please treat him like a member of our division already?” sighed the girl.

“Oh, no no, Bastian is not being Bastian for once, he really isn’t at liberty to say.” Nicholas interrupted. “All information on the case -- the necromancer herself, the undead horde, and the fact that a Siren was dispatched -- is all confidential. In fact, we should not discuss it at all. He could actually get questioned by the Blackvests if his lips are too loose.”

“Ah, so it is actually confidential... I was curious myself, too, to be honest. It’s the first actual necromancer in forever, isn’t it?” Dani asked as she drank some of her freshly brewed coffee.

“First I’ve seen in active service, and in general.” replied the seasoned Exorcist. “Sure, you get punks who reanimate rats and dogs here and there, and then we have to go in and put the feral critters out of their mindless misery. But one that has actually reanimated humans? And didn’t even bother thralling them? Just letting the do as they please? That’s very weird, no matter how you spin it. Anyways, I am not lying when I say you’ll know soon enough.” Bastian readjusted himself and reached into one of the many seemingly empty pizza boxes, producing a cold slice and chomping on it. “Let’s go back to the man of the hour, now. Vinn, you’ll have to forgive me, but it was absolutely necessary that I test you in the ways I did. You aren’t an idiot, you could see that Exorcists don’t have the best reputation around, and deservedly so.”

The atmosphere in the room changed.

“...Yeah. People feared me. People expected me to throw my weight around. People doubted me whenever I showed any cordiality or kindness. Exorcists really are not liked, huh? This is all very different from the Academy.” Vinn recounted, a disappointed sigh escaping him.

“That’s true, because a lot of Exorcists reign through fear, throw their weight around, and only smile when they want something out of you, or worse, when they already have what they need to blackmail you. The Academy is a bubble, Vinn.” Dani explained, her tone serious. “The Academy will make you believe your duty is just and your methods righteous, but in the real world, you can’t just go in blasting everything and coercing the weak into obeying or paying the price”

“Our duty as Exorcists, and related support parties, is to mete out justice in the Mythic affairs, whether that justice needs to clash against a Mythic or against a Human. We are supposed to be the entity that upholds justice, but a lot of Exorcists, well, they just smoke Mythics. We are supposed to stand up for Humans as much as we are for Mythics, but that’s not how it goes in practice.” Nicholas sadly continued.

“And that’s why I needed to test you.” said Bastian as he propped his legs on his desk. “I told you before, but you need to be able to hold your own in a fight, have the brains to figure out solutions to your problems, and have the heart to actually stand up for Mythics. I -- we -- have no use for yet another kid who slings death around to try and be the big strong Exorcist.”

Despite the shoddy appearance of the office, with the ocean of pizza boxes scattered everywhere and sundry junk adorning every corner, the files were where they needed to be, Nicholas’ computer was impeccable, and whatever actually mattered, was there. Messy as it was, it was the office of those who truly cared about their job, and about those said job entailed. Downing some coffee, Vinn took a deep breath.

“...Crude as they may be, I understand the reason behind your methods. I can’t say I’m mad, since it gave me a reality check I’d rather have now instead of later. It’s only... Fair, really.”

“Well,” Bastian replied, “Whether you are mad or not doesn’t really matter to me, what does matter is that you pass the tests. I was gonna tell you as much earlier today, but you eluded me like a slippery eel, which, I hate to admit, is also a good thing, so yeah, welcome to the 7th Office 3rd Division. I’ll work you to the sinews.”

“That’s just his way of being nice. Please do be patient with him, he’s an idiot, after aaAAAH! Damn! Ow ow ow!” Nicholas snarked before his hot coffee came to life and splashed his face, burning him.

“Maybe don’t insult an Hydromancer while holding a nice, fat cup of hot coffee, dumbass.” laughed Bastian.

“Pfff, well, you kinda walked right into that one, Nick, hehe. Still! It’s good to have some new blood in here, so by all means, welcome! I hope you have a good time! Don’t mind the office’s sorry state, we get our job done.” Dani cheerfully informed.

“Yeah, especially since all the pizza boxes are her doing in the first place, our cute little piglet.” taunted Nick, wiping the coffee off his face.

“He didn’t need to know that!”

“...You already put the order for today’s batch, didn’t you?”

“...I cannot confirm or deny that, Bastian.”

“Haha!”

It was a lively little office with just three people in it, four now, but Vinn could tell there was something different here, something he didn’t find in his time in the Academy, nor out in the field during these last two days.

There was a lot of heart and joy here.

There was anxiety, there were nerves, there was a lot of expectation, from both his partner and himself, but ll of those things, he already knew he was gonna feel. What he didn’t know, however, was how much he was going to crave to be part of this little world, where contact was easy and everyone seemed to get along like this.

And just like there’s a shadow by every light cast, so was there a woe that made his heart throb with a pang of concern: Were his people back home ever going to be able to partake in this?

If anything, this only steeled his resolve further. He left the comfortable wilderness for a reason against the protests of everyone that cared for him for this, after all.

“There’s no way I’m going back empty handed now.” he though to himself, after seeing that the human world is capable of compassion.

——-

Just as the playful banter was beginning to calm down, someone knocked on the big iron door.

“It’s open, come in!” Nick yelled from the back of the office, already submerged in his files and keyboard once again.

“Please excuse me.”

As the door opened, Vinn perked up as he saw that pair of familiar horns, black like lacquered wood, curved with dignity, protruding through the holes of the wide brimmed hat. It was the tall woman from the morning. The dame simply giggled at his surprise, an elegant hand covering her lips.

“Now, why the surprise? I did say I’d come welcome you properly, no? Have you eased into your job with Nicholas yet? He’s a harsh instructor, but you’ve much to learn from someone with his diligence and experience.” she greeted bemusedly.

“Oh, no no, I’m not here as an info agent, I’m an Exorcist, partner with--”

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t Fat Fatima!” the brick that broke cordiality boisterously interrupted. “What do you and your five chins want? Don’t remember having any reason to expect a visit from you.”

“Bastian? What the h--!” tried to reproach Vinn, but he couldn’t finish his sentence. Just seconds ago, a gallant lady stood by the door, with a welcoming voice, a friendly disposition, and a kind smile. The very picture of manners and helpfulness. Where, oh, did she go? And when was she replaced by a twin with death in her eyes and wicked claws protruded, ready to slash a jugular or six?

“Feh, Bastian... I didn’t come to talk to the wondrous sack of shit that pretends he’s people. Mind going back to your stupid magazines? Me and Nick’s new kid want to do some formal introductions, not that you’d know what those are.” snarled the dame, showing what were very clearly fangs.

“Nick’s got no new kid, shithead. If you mean that kid over there, he’s my new partner.”

“Oh, spare me, I’d think you’d at least give my intelligence some credit. Think of some more convincing lies if you wish to mess with me, Bastian.”

“Uh, hey, Fatima... Yeah, he’s not mine. Vinn’s an Exorcist, and Bastian’s partner.”

“What!? So he’s actually got a new partner!?” This reaction seemed to be popular. “Wait, so does that mean... Oh, uh...” The horned woman seemed to be troubled and wracked with guilt out of the sudden. “...Vinn, was it? I profusely apologize for the trouble I’ve no doubt caused you.”

Vinn didn’t really understand where this came from, and tilted his head just slightly in confusion, trying to think what this person he did not know before this morning could possibly mean by that. “I really have no idea what you’re apologizing for, Miss Fatima, you’ve done nothing but show courtesy to me.”

“Oi oi, so I’m just Bastian and ‘a damn hardass, a jerk, and a piece of shit to work with’, but she’s Miss Fatima? I’m glad to see where your loyalties lie, Vinn.” whined Bastian, a mocking hand to his own chest, as if deeply offended, nay, hurt.

“You said those things, I just confirmed them, geez.”

“Ah, allow me to elaborate...” interjected the horned lady. “First of all, I am the 1st Division Exorcist, Fatima Allanach, a pleasure to meet you, Vinn...?”

“Ingram. Vinn Ingram.”

She smiled graciously. “...As to what I did, well, I am the reason the Siren showed up two days ago.”

“Oh, you bitch! I should’ve figured you, of all people, would just call for them to mobilize all those delicious tax patros to give me a hard time! You could’ve killed me in the crossfire!”

“Oh, put a sock on it, Bastian.” -- all the grace she showed to Vinn was replaced by a vulgar hostility when addressing the hydromancer -- “Both of us know you wouldn’t die from a little Siren... Although I can’t say the same for your new partner. Had I know you had someone else there, I would’ve relented, and for that, I’m sorry. I just never... Thought you’d take another partner after Roderick, you know?”

The rooms atmosphere changed as Fatima’s voice softened with those last words. Even though this was the time for one of those patented Bastian Rude Retorts, he simply produced a cigarette, fiddled with it a bit, and then put it back in the pack. “Neither did I. But, well, here we are. And you, Fatima... It’s fine if you want to give me hell, but putting everything aside for a moment, even if its called for, never use the Sirens. Don’t confuse power for a basis of trust. Those things... Are executioners wearing their own coffins. Don’t forget it.”

“...That’s rich coming from you, Bastian.” Her sharp tongue was unsheathed once anew, albeit with a different, far more bitter fervor. “You don’t get to tell me whether I use a tool or not. Sirens are strong, and they can take care of practically any Mythic situation, small or large scale. It’s foolishness not to use an advantage when we have it.”

“Those things are not an advantage, Fatima. They are indiscriminate, they know only to kill and maim, how can you not see this!? We are Exorcists, it is our duty to--”

“--To utterly obliterate those bastards until they understand their place! How many more Humans must die to their savagery before you get this!? How many more Rodericks do we need in the graveyard before you stop spouting such naive drivel, Bastian?! Had a Siren been there with you that day, Roderick would still--”

“Shows how much you know! We’d both be death, and our assailants as well, leaving us with two less Exorcists and no leads whatsoever! Incredible! Great job! I can see why you are the 1st Division Exorcist clearly, with such a clear head absolutely not full of garbage on top of those shoulders!”

“You have no way of knowing that! When will you see the world for what it is already, you utter--”

“Everybody shut up!”

Nicholas’ voice boomed, drowning any whining in the small office, finally putting a stop to the bedlam.

“Don’t yank the chain, Nick, I need to make her understand--”

“Whatever, do that on your free time! You two schedule a nice, steamy, hot date outside of work hours, meet at a restaurant, order a fine beef steak dinner, and then beat the shit out of each other with it, I don’t care, but don’t go doing this in the office!”

Bastian and Fatima simply looked to the floor, or the ceiling, or anywhere that wasn’t Nicholas’ general direction, like scolded children caught trying to look inside the pot before dinner.

“Geez...” sighed the info agent, settling on his chair again. “Every time, you two...”

As if on cue, the office’s phone rang, Danielle dutifully picking it up.

“...Miss Fatima, did you mean that?” Vinn asked, a certain edge midst his cordiality.

“Hm? Did I mean what, exactly?”

“‘To utterly obliterate those bastards’, do you see Mythics that way?”

“...Oh, please don’t tell me you do share this brute’s view on the matter, Vinn? We are not called ‘Mediators’ or ‘Caretakers’, we are Exorcists. We exorcise, we hunt, we exterminate, that’s quite literally the job description. Things are this way for a reason.”

“And what would that reason be, Miss Fatima?” inquired Vinn without missing a beat, standing up. “What about being a human makes me inherently superior, more ‘people’ than a Mythic? We are not dealing with wild beasts, we are dealing with intelligent, sentient creatures who know love, hate, joy, and sorrow just as we do, who have a culture, traditions, and needs. You yourself are a Mythic, I fail to see the logic in--”

“Oh, the young man will watch his words.” Fatima replied with the same hostility she employs with Bastian, finally dropping her softer tone. “What I am doesn’t mean I should see things one way. It’s because I am a beast that I know exactly how terrible we can be.”

“That’s like saying we should destroy all slides in children's’ parks because one time, a kid scrapped his knee.”

“And only a fool would compare Mythics and slides horizontally.”

Vinn’s face was a mask of utter hatred and disdain for the horned Exorcist. “Miss Fatima, I think it’s about time you le--”

“What!? Y-yes, I’ll tell them immediately!” the communications expert yelled as she slammed the phone back on its base. “G-guys! You too, Miss Fatima! We’ve got a big situation down by Manduco #83493!”

“Dani, calm down. What’s the situation?” Bastian calmly asked, sitting back down and quickly picking up his flasks and other utensils.

“The mass kidnapping from two months ago is happening again! It’s most likely the same perpetrator. It’s going on right now, a laborer that works at that warehouse forgot something, so even though it’s supposed to be closed off today, he went and found a lot of people just... Moving around, as if thralled. The first three divisions are to go there immediately.”

“Thanks, sweetie, that’s all we need. Well, let’s get going, we can’t lose a second.”

“I’ll go get my partner, let’s not waste any time.” Fatima said before disappearing into the hallway.

——-

The dark blue car blazed a trail through the asphalt, going as fast as the worn out engine could manage, a bright red van and a dark green motorcycle tailing them. Inside the car, the grim-looking Vinn double checked his handcuffs and other pieces of equipment, a silence and grimace that didn’t escape the driver’s notice.

“Vinn, you good?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the fakest ‘yeah’ I’ve had the honor of hearing. Look alive, this is a real bad situation. We need all six of us with our heads in the game.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

Bastian could only sigh.

“Oi, Vinn, don’t let what Fatima said get to you. It’s a kick in the dick, but that’s how many Exorcists are. She’s particularly partisan about it, yeah, but it’s better if you get used to it, hopefully manage it better than I do.”

Vinn only responded with a half-hearted chuckle and a few seconds of silence before reviving the dialogue. “I could understand it if it were anyone else, really, but Miss Fatima specifically is... Inconceivably weird. She was very cordial and kind before then, and is a Mythic, to boot, yet, she wants to kill her own kind so viciously? It goes beyond duty-bound hatred, that was just genuine hatred, how could you feel that way towards your own people?”

The usual brashness of the seasoned Exorcist was nowhere to be found, the sounds of the worn out motor filling in for dialogue for a few streetlights before Bastian found the strength to continue talking. “It’s... Complicated. Don’t hate her, please, she’s got her own problems.” Vinn almost fell out of the car upon hearing this. This had to be the first time he heard Bastian talk about someone so softly. He suspected they had a past from the previous conversation, but this only really confirmed it, especially if it was about someone he was just having a flat out shouting contest with moments ago. The dense mood was already suffocating enough, and they had a job to do right now, anyways, it was a good time to change topics.

“...So, these mass kidnappings... Damn, what a creepy name. Two months ago was the first one, right? How come they are deploying Mythic Law Enforcement for it now?”

“Well, last time, authorities had no idea magic was involved, but after investigating the area believed to have been where it took place, based on witness accounts of seeing the victims heading that way, heavy amounts of mana residue were found, suggesting that it was no mere mass kidnapping... Not that mass kidnappings are commonplace, anyway. So, it’s now a MAB affair.”

“Ah! Take this left, it should be there... Yeah, lots of cop cars. They must be barring civilian entry to the area. That’s a relief, at least.”

Bastian took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel harder. “Well, ideally, I wanted to ease you into the job with easier cases, help you get to know Stroln as a city, with its Mythic underground world and all, but destiny calls, I suppose. This isn’t me underestimating you, but try to stick with me at all times. I have a stinkin’ feelin’ that this might get nasty.”

“...Got it.”

——-

In front of the six Exorcists, the massive warehouse stood with its service door open, the lock smashed to junk by its foot. The structure was clearly from Pre-Amnesiac times, but well maintained and still in regular usage.

“...I don’t like this. It stinks.” said Fiona, 2nd Division Exorcist, assessing the situation. “This is no abandoned joint, the lock was smashed too neatly, and you’d have to be a fool to have such a flagrant vulnerability to your million patros business screamin’ to be exploited like this. What do you guys think?”

“Fully agreed.” Bastian commented. “We oughta have words with the owner or parent company of this place after we’re done here. As Fiona said, this is simply too suspicious. The lock really just looks like its there so they can file a police report on unlawful entry and claim innocence. It’s unlikely for any magic criminal to be so nuanced as to break a little lock, they’d usually go for a bigger door, especially if it’s a mass kidnapping.”

“Correct. They probably didn’t even use this service door.” Fatima added. “They probably opened the big cargo gate over there to get all the people inside, nice and neatly, and then simply smashed this lock to make it seem like they aren’t working with the owners of this place. This whole thing stinks.”

Behind the seasoned trio, the novice partners observed in awe how quickly their would-be mentors were piecing together the puzzle in front of them before even stepping in the building. The duties of an Exorcist include the subjugation of magic-wielding and supernatural criminals, negotiation with such individuals, and all around keeping this secret magical world hidden, but an important part of being an Exorcist is to play the role of detective as well. An Exorcist is, after all, the do-all end-all authority in the world of Mythic Law Enforcement, having powers and duties far beyond their mundane equivalents.

“They look and act like washed up garbage after a cruiser accident on the coast, but seein’ them like this really reminds you they are veteran Exorcists, don’t it?” Daryl commented, breaking the silence between the novices.

“The way your worded that was really weird, but I know exactly what you mean.” Vinn responded. However, standing beside Daryl and Vinn was a third person who had not opened her mouth, simply looking at the experienced Exorcists work their craft and plan out how to advance. Vinn and Daryl both recognized her, and it is precisely because of that that the latter knew they shouldn’t bother trying to include her in the conversation, and why the former, who had zero social awareness back in the Academy, made the mistake of taking the initiative.

“...So, Nadja, I didn’t know you were assigned to the 7th as well.”

“...”

“Miss Fatima’s your partner, huh? Must be good working with her.”

“Interested in her looks, I gather?”

Vinn lifted his arms as if surrendering. “What? No, I mean how professional she is and all that. Anyhow, I don’t think we’ve ever talked, I’m V--”

“Vinn Ingram. Top scorer of our year.”

“Yup, the one.”

“...”

“...Pppffff, that went swimmingly, ya smooth operator.” chuckled Daryl.

“Oh, can it, at least I don’t go kissing girls randomly to determine their species.”

“Yeah, you don’t, and that’s really sad.”

“Hrrg...”

“Alright, coffee break over, kiddos, here’s the plan.” Fiona called suddenly, the novices perking up and giving her their attention. The anxiety of their first real operation, not to mention a rare cooperative operation between different Divisions, was beginning to well up in their guts. “Alright, so, the people are most likely still inside. Bringing a large amount of people here unnoticed, while not easy, is doable, but shipping them all together from here to wherever their destination is is another story. They are most likely waiting for a large transport, a bus or a series of van, maybe a large truck, we don’t know, and they are holding fort inside for now. We don’t know how many men it takes to keep all these people in there, but expect heavy resistance. We’ll go together, but if we need to split for whatever reason, stick to your partner. Questions? I hope not, because we ha--”

“A question.”

“Shoot, Nadja.”

“What level of lethality are we allowed?”

“Ideally, just enough to disable them. We have questions, they have answers. That means you shouldn’t use those things attached to your ankles.”

Nadja’s build was lithe, graceful, like a panther, and that made the large, black devices on each ankle stand out all the more. What looked like the point of a silver stake protruded downwards from the end of the device.

“Understood.”

Bastian spoke up now. “Alright, if that’s it, let’s head in. Keep chit chat to a minimum, and if you must talk, do it as silently as possible.”

——-

Nary a footstep could be heard from the six trained individuals, moving like the shadow of a ghost across the large industrial complex-slash-warehouse. Something was clearly wrong with this place, as the air was stagnant, there were no signs of struggling whatsoever, and every door and window inside, in stark contrast with the service door, was neatly unlocked and undamaged, giving fuel to the veterans’ speculation, much to their dismay. They didn’t have to navigate much until the first shadow of adversity loomed close, by the internal courtyard. It was one at first, and then two, and then three, and then seemingly an endless amount of them, silhouettes walking as if entranced by a wicked siren’s song.

“...! Halt! I see many of them, and they are... You gotta be kidding me... Bastian, look at what they are wearing.” Fatima whispered, pointing towards a little window to their side that led to the courtyard.

If concern had a shape, it was Bastian’s face. “...Large pig masks and red robes. This is bad. Really bad.” Bastian mused, a bead of sweat running down his brow.

“Hm? Hey, hey, uncle, what’s wrong? Didja get cold feet over some costumes? What’s wrOW OW OW!” inquired Daring Daryl with the delicacy of an hydraulic press, as Fiona used one hand to cover his mouth and the other to give him an excruciatingly painful shoulder death grip.

“You beefy sack of crap!” Fiona chastised in whispers. “Flappin’ yer gums when you don’t know shit will only get you a Fiona Massage from now on! The grotesque pig mask and red robes are synonymous with a top wanted criminal, the Hog Priest! This is bigger than we could’ve imagined. Stay on your toes, everyone.”

“The Hog Priest has evaded capture several times, and there’s reports of them being sighted in multiple places at once... I suppose this explains it, though. It’s a legion of them.” pointed out Nadja.

The courtyard had a strange, purplish fog blanketing it, and in it, the pig-masked people wandered aimlessly, sometimes bumping into each other, sometimes tripping and picking themselves up clumsily, and in general, simply drifting along. Some stood still, vacant, some jogged slightly before calming down and clutching their chest, and all in all, it was a miserable spectacle.

“...Something’s wrong.” Fiona warned while putting on a pair of fingerless gloves, akin to those used by MMA fighters.

“Hm? Whatcha mean? They are just bobbin’ and... Oh.”

Daryl’s trap was shut tight once he realized little by little, they had all been stopping, and now, they all stood still, looking directly into the little window where they had been observing the courtyard from. No, not directly into the window, it was directly into their very eyes.

A suffocating, paralyzing, complete silence lasted all of two seconds before the window was smashed, a small canister almost hitting Fatima in the head being the culprit, from which an ominous gas shot from little pressurized holes.

“...Tear gas! Get out!”

In a frenzy, they jumped out of the window, out the gas’ range and right into a courtyard full of pig-headed foes that held pipes, shovels, and all manners of improvised weaponry, looking straight at them.

Not five seconds passed before an alarm siren loudly gave our Exorcists a warm, deafening welcome, sending all of the robed villains into a frenzy.

“Curses! Here they come! Defend yourselves and try to find a way out of here!” Fatima yelled, assuming a defensive stance and blocking a shovel strike with her bare hand.

As soon as the horde began its restless assault, the sinister purple fog that permeated the courtyard intensified, obstructing sight and puzzling the senses with its oddly calming fragrance. It was every man and woman for themselves, Bastian utilizing water to block the weapons and to push his assailants to the ground with immense pressure, Fiona disarming them with expert martial prowess, and Fatima simply utilizing a retractable baton to parry and disarm those who would attempt to harm her. In stark contrast, the novices were expending far more effort in the fight, visibly struggling, not for lack of strength or skill, but rather, because they simply didn’t know how to engage a foe without destroying them. Killing the enemy is easy, but when your duty is to subdue the enemy without killing them or doing enough harm that you’ll ruin their life from there on is an art all of itself, an art that the Mythic Law Enforcement Academy wasn’t keen on teaching. The lacking curriculum was showing all of its weaknesses. That, and a sinister whisper that was invading their mind, which made itself more and more apparent, numbing their reactions, misleading their movements.

“W-what in the world is this...? It’s like there’s a compelling whisper inside of my head... Someone warm and kind, someone I trust, telling me to drop my guard when they attack or to soften my body whenever I try to disable one...!” Nadja said as she unsuccessfully tried to take a shovel away from a masked minion, who simply shrugged her off and shoved her right to the floor.

“Is it the fog? No... It couldn’t be, the fog is welcoming, it’s familiar, a scent of my childhood, it couldn’t...” Vinn lamented, seemingly giving himself up to an incoming lead pipe strike before Daryl pushed him out of the way.

“Oi, you damn idiots! Where’s yer Domunus Tecum!” Daryl chastised, holding off the criminals with his huge frame.

“Domunus Tecum...” “Domunus Tecum!”

The second of the Six Spell of Self Defense, the spell of protection and shielding, a prayer for resilience. No sooner the two novices put their barriers up, their minds cleared and their bodies could move as they wanted them to. The whisper was still in their heads, but it wasn’t compelling and absolute as it was before.

“Just what is this voice? I’m not the only one that can hear it, right?” the exasperated Vinn asked as he used his many handcuffs and his colorful, unorthodox fighting style to subdue attackers.

“Bad news is what it is. Keep your Domunus up and strong, don’t stop pouring mana into it, or that whisper will claim your mind.” Fiona warned, fighting the good fight.

“C-chief! Hold the presses! These guys...!” Daryl screamed suddenly, a robed figure captured tightly in arms, unmasked. “Chief Fiona, these people are brainwashed civilians! Look!”

The face of the woman in Daryl’s grasp was catatonic, to say the least. A vacant expression and half-lidded eyes that looked nowhere, drool and tear lines telling a story that thousands of words couldn’t hope to match. “Oi, we gotta disable them without harmin’ them! They are just meat shields!”

“Shit...! That means there’s one mastermind out there, and they are just exhausting us! Fatima, do you think--”

As if his mind was being read, Bastian couldn’t finish what he was saying before Fatima was right by his side. “--you could use your poison to--”

“Neutralize them? Yeah, if I control the dosage, I can make it so I can knock them out with a sting each, enough to paralyze their muscles and yet not leave any lasting damage. I’ll need some help keeping them off me while I do this to each one of them individually, though.”

“I gotcha!” Fiona proudly declared, rolling to where they were, dodging several shovel strikes. “Daryl and I can keep ‘em corralled while your girl defends you directly, and Bastian and his boy can go for the brains.”

“I agree to this plan, but, poison? What do you have in mind? Do you have enough for all these people?” Vinn wondered, joining them.

“Oh, don’t worry about her, after all...”

With a wild smirk, Fatima leaped high into the air, her arms growing green fur, and a wicked scorpion tail, massive and heavy, protruding from her back, just under two pairs of feathered wings. Where there once was her elegant face now lies a lion’s roaring maw. She was much bigger than before, her impact on the ground sending several masked minions off balance.

“...She’s a Manticore. And a fat one at that, so she oughta have a lot of calories to turn to venom.” Bastian explained.

“STOP CALLING ME FAT, JACKASS.” the massive Manticore Fatima roared, deft swipes of her scorpion tail knocking out minion after minion, barb oozing with venom.

“We’ve got this area, you two! Get going! Whoever’s behind the fog, the whispers, and this mess is no doubt in that building over there. It’s the only structure to have a clear path to the streets in case they need to escape, and where they can survey all of this area!” explained the bruiser Fiona, joining Daryl in trying to corral the remaining minions with their superior physical strength.

“Yeah, we’ll get this over in a second. Let’s roll, Vinn!”

——-

Two pairs of footsteps echoed in the smaller building, dark and permeated with the fog. Bastian and Vinn both had their Domunus barrier on at full strength, the incessant whispers of the once-compelling voice never going silent.

“This keeps getting worse and worse...” lamented Bastian, double checking how much water he had left in his flasks. “Vinn, do not let up your barrier. It could mean death.”

“What is this whispering, anyways? I’ve never felt anything like it, and I don’t think I’ve read on this before.”

“It could be a curse, but there’s not been enough time to set up one of this nature with such an intensity, so what I think is... Vinn, are you familiar with Mindreaders?”

“Of course, those who can read minds and such. It’s theorized that, Pre-Amnesia, Mindreading was highly illegal and dangerous, given how many surviving records there are that explain, in great detail, how to defend against it. It’s considered useless now, since everyone worth a lick of salt in the arcane arts learns how to counter it.”

“Textbook answer, as usual.” -- Bastian chuckled -- “Well, what I think we’re up against right now, and I hope I’m wrong, is a Mindscreamer.”

“A what?”

“Mindscreamer. It’s the opposite of a Mindreader. Instead of being able to read your thoughts, Mindscreamers practically broadcast their thoughts into others by force. Whatever they think, you ‘hear’ inside your head. They can also make it so their thoughts are subliminal and subconscious in your brain, controlling your behavior to a degree. It’s a really damn frightening power.’

“What...?” Vinn couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and yet, the constant whispering in his brain since the courtyard brawl began proved that these were no lies. “I’ve never heard of Mindscreamers before, what kind of wicked art is this? You’d think it’d be more popular, with how powerful it sounds.”

“That’s the thing: You can’t learn how to Mindscream. Mindscreamers are born, it’s not a skill, it’s genetic and exclusive to certain individuals, but we don’t know much about it. In a way, that means that, yeah, we don’t really have to worry about it falling in the hands of just about any thug, but... It also means we are up against someone very special, and that knows what they are doing. Take this fog, for instance.”

“I noticed... This fog smells like incense, like chamomile, specifically, but it’s actually haunted. It’s Incense Magic, and this is tailored to numb the senses and lower your mental defenses.”

“Clever boy. Indeed, the incense lowers one’s mental barriers, which makes you susceptible to the Mindscreaming. Whoever is doing this is competent, do not drop your guard. This is how they kidnapped all of these people almost effortlessly: They simply made them come ‘of their own free will’ with Mindscreaming... Sick bastards.”

The Exorcist duo kicked open a door in front of them at the end of a long hallway, and inside, an immensely dense cloud of magic incense blocked their sight. The air was stagnant, almost putrid, and there were things in this room. Piercing glares that couldn’t be seen but could perfectly be felt stabbed the two Exorcists as soon as they entered the room. Before long, a couple of pig-masked minions, brainwashed civilians, no doubt, slowly became discernible in the dense purple fog, with bright, neon-like markings making them stand out in the fog. They moved with far more coordination than the courtyard fodder, shuffling around, circling, keeping their distance, never moving too close, but never straying too far from the surrounded agents. Bastian lashed at a cluster with a tendril of holy water, missing the mark completely as they swiftly moved out of the way.

“...The Mindscreamer is in this room. They are being controlled too well, too skillfully. These aren’t like the puppets we fought on the first fl--!”

The subtle whisper of cold steel sliding through flesh cut the older Exorcist off as a knife plunged deep in his torso from the left, a masked minion without any neon markings having made it past his watchful eye as his focus was on the neon marked masks, a pained grunt and a hammer of pressurized water impacting against his assailant punctuating his sentence instead. “Mother fu... Clever bastards...”

“Bastian, are you ok!? Damn, they are using neon marked and non-marked masks! While we focus on the barely visible neon, they come at us with the plain ones. What a cheap tactic...”

“Cheap it may be, but it’s working! Focus on defending!”

Even with In Te Fallitur, the first spell of detection and true sight active, the sheer magic density of the incense made it difficult to see nonetheless, their vision improving just slightly. Assault after assault, the duo was sustaining more and more injuries at the hands of this well utilized assassin horde. Whenever a neon mask moved, two plain masks slid in the gaps of their perception, getting closer and closer, until they could hurt either Exorcist. Their attacks didn’t pack much power against the protected Exorcists, individually, but as the damage piled on, it was clear this was a battle of attrition they were not going to win by any means, especially considering that their enemies were but brainwashed civilians they couldn’t bring themselves to hurt seriously.

“Haa... Haa... Bastian, can you make an intense flash of light somehow? With a flashbang or some small spell?”

“...Sounds like you have an idea... I can, but what do you want to do with it?”

“There’s really no time to explain!” Vinn barked as he parried an incoming knife just in time with a pair of handcuffs. “Just play it cool and shoot it right above that big group over there!”

“Vague ideas are better than no ideas at all, and we can’t keep this up for much longer... Alright, Aureola Oblito!”

As the spark that would soon become an explosion of intense light approached its point of contact, the ceiling above the horde’s densest point, the nimble Vinn Ingram lunged towards its center like a wolf in blood-starved hunt, shoving past the henchmen and women, and defending against pipes and knives. When he finally reached it, he yelled at Bastian, which he considered the signal, and looked down immediately.

“Praemium!”

Upon command, the little spark went supernova, a blinding light engulfing the room immediately, with every meat puppet in the room covering their eyes as if blinded, and yet, the light was rapidly devoured by the fog after its initial explosion. As the light faded, however, a man’s loud scream of pain echoed at the end of the room. It wasn’t Vinn’s or Bastian’s, it was the man who wore a plain pig’s mask in the middle of the horde, a knife sticking out of his arm, courtesy of Vinn.

“...How did you know?” the pig-headed man inquired, and he was immediately sent barreling backwards by a kick straight to the head, also courtesy of Vinn.

“You looked down to avoid the light. All of these people are brainwashed and not conscious, thus, blinding them wouldn’t do a thing to them. We’ve been striking them for a while now, and they show no sign or reaction of pain. You just made them act as if they were blinded, and joined in the act, but you yourself looked down so as to not be blinded, while the rest didn’t. Good try, though.”

“Quickly, stop flapping your gums and actually catch him!” Bastian screamed as he made his way through the now far less coordinated horde.

Vinn complied, but as he approached him, the Hog Priest lashed out with a large dagger, rolling backwards after Vinn stepped back to avoid being lacerated. Before Vinn could make his way to him, however, the Priest and another exact look alike became entangled in a strange dance, with many more plain masked minions joining in, and then, they all ran in different directions.

“...! Shit, clever bastard! There’s no way to tell which one’s the real one!”

“Don’t lose your cool, Vinn! The third one to the right is heading towards that staircase, which likely leads to a room adjacent to the streets, while the one to the far left is going towards a door, likely with the same idea in mind! The others are running randomly, but those two make sense in their retreat! It’s either of them, go after the right one, I’ll get the left one, go!”

“You may be a nasty customer, but damn, you pull your weight, Bastian! Good thinking! Catch him!”

——-

Vinn chased the figure that might be the real Hog Priest ceaselessly, door after door, hallway after hallway, until the figure stopped in the middle of a large storage room with no windows, no doors, no exits. Cornered at last, the Hog Priest simply turned around and faced the Exorcist, the eyes of the disgusting, realistic pig’s head mask meeting Vinn’s green own.

“It’s dead end for you, piggy. Undo the incense and the mind control, and turn yourself in nice and easy. Without your horde, you are out of luck.”

“Hmhm... Haha! Very nice, you... What a cruel mistress luck is, having me do this with you, of all people...” the muffled voice from behind the mask praised, a distinctly softer, different voice from the one before, which didn’t escape Vinn’s attention. “Now, you might be thinking, ‘did I get the right guy?’, and I have good news and bad news for you!” -- the Priest struck a cutesy and quirky pose while saying this, pointing at Vinn -- “Which do you want first?”

“P-pardon...?”

“I said! Which! Do you want! First! Good news or bad news!”

“...Good news?”

The exaggerated Priest lifted his arms in mock excitement, clapping and cheering excitedly with chants of “Woo! Exorcist! Exorcist!” before finally assuming a new pose. “Alright, so, the good news! The good news are that you have indeed caught the Hog Priest, congratulations!”

“...But your vo--”

“--ice is not the same you heard before, right? Yeah, about that... Here’s more good news: There’s two of us! So no matter which one of us you followed, and you followed both of us, there were only winning picks!”

Vinn immediately produced two pairs of handcuffs. “So, two of you, huh...? Well, that’s twice the questions we get to ask then, those are pretty good news.”

“Sadly, I also am obligated to tell you the bad news.” the Priest sadly informed, sticking an hand inside of his robes and producing a baseball bat covered in various, strange runes, pointing it at Vinn. “The bad news is that you die here.” she announced with an arctic voice unlike her variety show host demeanor of seconds before, taking a step forward and sending thunderbolts down Vinn’s spine. It was not the first time he’d been face to face with mortal danger, it was not the first time his life has been at risk, it was not the first time he was faced with a strong opponent. But, it was the first time in Vinn’s life that his body and mind screamed for him to get out of there fast, a primal, visceral flight response that didn’t even pretend to bother with the ‘fight’ half.

The bat came faster than a bullet from above, Vinn managing to block it only by reaction, leaving him wide open to kick to the gut which knocked the air out of him, and a subsequent palm strike to the chin that sent him barreling backwards against the wall. The Exorcist, in a panic, produced his standard issue handgun, pointing it at the Priest.

“You should’ve keep me close. Hands up, Hog Priest.”

“...That’s not even a Shootist Gun, that’s just a regular one. You... You are not taking this seriously, are you?”

Vinn took aim at his enemy’s leg and let loose a round, hoping to incapacitate him, but a simple swipe of the bat deflected the bullet right out of its path, the battered projectile hitting the wall next to Vinn’s head, missing him by a hair. “What the...!?”

“You really are a novice, huh. Should’ve kept to patrols and such, instead of getting roped into this hell. Then again, you yourself willing dropped into the wolf’s maw the moment you decided to become an Exorcist. Is the paycheck of a murderer really that tempting?”

“Not all of us are murderers! We’re trying to change it, we’re trying to heal this rotten system from within, which is more than can be said of mass kidnappers like you, so don’t you try and lecture me about moral codes!”

“Ah, yeah, in the eyes someone that doesn’t know what’s going on, of course it’s gonna look like we are the bad guys. ‘Changing it from within’, that’s some prime, class-A bullshit. You can’t possibly believe that. You’re smart enough to know you are but one good seed among a fetid, infected crop. You won’t fix the harvest by yourself.”

The Priest lowered his bat and pointed towards the door. “Leave.”

“...Huh?”

“You are outmatched. Leave through that door, exit the warehouse through the office sector, and desert the Mythic Affairs Bureau. Never again take on the mantle of the Exorcist, do something else. It’s for your own good. Do this, and I will not take your life. I will even guarantee you safe passage until you are out of Stroln.”

Vinn struggled to pick himself up after the brief but intense beating he sustained, putting his evidently useless handgun away. “...Why are you giving me a way out? What do you mean by a ‘good seed’?”

The disgusting pig in front of him tapped the “ear” of his mask. “A little bird told me that you do sincerely care for Mythics. You helped out a demon yesterday, helped him find a job that allows him to feed on human emotions without harming anyone when you simply could’ve smoked him. You’re a good person in a bad guy’s job, so I’m willing to compromise... No, I want to let you live. We need more people like you in the world.”

The disappointment in the hog’s fake eye was palpable when Vinn took a fighting stance instead.

“...Last chance, Exorcist. I’ll hold back no more.”

“How about you fuck off. I’m not gonna get lectured on morality by someone who brainwashes a bunch of people for a mass kidnapping. I’m through trying to reason with you. I’m done playing sweet. Let’s go for real.”

With a sigh and a head scratch, the hog picked up his bat and assumed a combat stance again. “I really wish we could’ve done this differently, but if you insist... I’ll give you a proper burial, at least.”

“Domunus Tecum!” the Exorcist chanted, renewing his protective spell, but he was not done. “Hostem Repellas Longius!” As he chanted this spell, a faint, red light covered Vinn’s body. Hostem Repellas Longius, the third of the Six Spells of Self-Defense, the spell of hostility, offense, and righteous violence. Simple as they may be, the strength of the Six Spells does indeed lie in simplicity, and with every brick you put on top of a good base, you get closer to making a wall. With attack and defense ready, Vinn put away one pair of handcuffs, holding only one with his left hand.

No more words were shared between the two, and they clashed fiercely in the middle of the spacious storage room, handcuffs meeting bat, the colliding steel singing a frantic sonata to which these individuals who couldn’t be more conflicted danced vigorously. Overhead strike, left swipe, shin kick, neck shot, eye gouge, they tried it all, and none could land. Vinn certainly seemed much different than before, and in a moment of carelessness, the Exorcist managed to grab the bat by the head.

“...! What’s with this grip!? Let go!” the Priest wined, struggling to get the bat back.

“Sure, here you go.”

Vinn’s hand glowed a dim silver and suddenly began vibrating at extreme intensities, the sheer force from the vibrations hurting the Priest’s arm, making her lose her balance from the pain. Using this opening, Vinn threw the bat away and lunged with his hand, grabbing the Priest by the shoulder, gripping hard for just a second before a skillful twirl of the Priest’s arm allowed him to set himself free.

“What was that...? You didn’t have enough time to do any of that weird vibration stuff to me.”

“It’s over, Priest. Don’t use your left arm and just surrender.”

The Priest simply laughed. “That bat thing was surprising, but you didn’t do anything to me. Now I know to watch out for it. I don’t feel bad at all, in fact, it’s like my left shoulder feels even better than before! Sucks to be y--!”

As the Priest picked the discarded bat back up with his left arm, an explosion of blood gushed from his shoulder, the sheer force of it shredding even the red robe and exposing his flesh, the Priest tumbling to the side and falling to the concrete ground, clutching his bloody mess of a shoulder as he screamed in agonizing pain. “W-what the fuck did you do to me!? Aaaargh!”

“You got confident without even knowing my style of magecraft, and now you’re paying the price. It’s simple in theory: Flux Magic. I know how to control the eb, flow, and movement of mana particles.”

“Haha, what...?” laughed the Priest, still in pain. “That’s... Fucking crazy... So that vibration was just you making a mass of mana vibrate at immense speed... You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“And your shoulder just now was me injecting you with an immense amount of mana, more than your body could possibly handle. Hence, when you moved the afflicted part, it burst like that. You were feeling well because you literally had an injection of energy given to you.”

“Clever bastard, first I see of anyone applying such an otherwise ignored principle of magic emission, Flux, in this creative a way. Hats off to you, friend. I suppose I gotta show my hand now.”

“Wait, if you move with that wound--”

Vinn’s warning fell upon deaf ears as the Priest, left shoulder oozing blood, dashed right against Vinn to renew his assault. Handcuffs parried the bat, but it was nothing more than a feint, Vinn’s stomach catching a knee that made him double in pain. As he tried to get his bearings, the bat’s runes glowed an eerie teal, the weapon bludgeoning Vinn in the side, sending him tumbling.

“Alright, let’s see what we get... Become The Body Of His Innermost Shackles! Terror Ink!”

From within the robes of the Priest, a turbulent torrent of ink exploded forth, covering the bat and transmogrifying it into what looked like a bizarre, serrated hoop weapon. Upon seeing it, Vinn was left speechless.

“Why... Why do you have that...!? That’s impossible!”

One didn’t have to look at the face behind the mask to know that the Priest’s expression was currently a smug grin. “So this is what you fear the most, huh...? Weird weapon. I can’t begin to imagine what its wielder must have done to terrify you so. This is Rorschach Magic, the Terror Ink. Anything inscribed with the right runes and provided with the ink can turn into the biggest fear of whatever it strikes. In this case, this weird... Hoola hoop thingy... Whatever it is. Well, let’s test it, shall we?”

The Hog Priest’s assault was renewed again, slashing and swiping with the bizarre ring-like weapon, one of the ends of the ‘ring’ detaching and flailing wildly as if seeking Vinn with a mind of its own. “Oh! It detaches! So it’s like a bladed whip, too!”

“Put that away! You have no idea what you’re playing with!”

“Nah, I’m good, now please die quietly, or at least making a funny noise!”

The weapon was extremely confusing. It moved with a mind of its own, one end reattaching and the other detaching at seemingly random swings, clearly not the Priest’s doing, wounding Vinn with each tricky, impossible twirl of the notched edges. Vinn, catching him by surprise, leaned forward instead of retreating anymore, as his back would hit the wall any second now, and clinched the Priest, trying to knock his weapon away, his superior positioning allowing him to elbow the Priest right on the wounded shoulder.

“Hraaa!”

“You’re done!”

But as Vinn went for another deadly grip, on the exposed parts of the Priest’s robe, thanks to the earlier bloody burst and the tugging their clinch had brought to their clothes, he saw something that he simply couldn’t comprehend.

Just below the left shoulder blade, there it was, a tattoo that he was sure was the circular object wreathed in something spiky he briefly saw on the girl yesterday. Seeing this, he immediately shoved the Priest and made some distance.

“Ooph! What...? You’ll really regret giving me space to move ag-- Huh?”

“You... Are the girl from yesterday, aren’t you? The one who helped me with Mathanac!”

“...”

“Why are you doing this? It’s you, isn’t it? I recognize the tattoo. You are the same height, too, now that I think about it.”

“...Aha, shit.”

With his free hand, nay, her free hand, the Priest removed the large pig mask and tossed it aside. Behind it was a beautiful girl with striking magenta eyes and shoulder length white hair, her right lock dyed black. A tragically familiar face, with a pained, regretful smile.

Just yesterday, they were hanging out in the streets of Stroln, trying to find Mathanac a job.

“Hey there, Mister Exorcist. Cat’s out of the bag, it seems!”

“Why are you doing this...?” the anguished Vinn inquired.

“Hey now, it’s not like we are lifelong friends or nothin’, don’t get all dramatic on me. This is just... Who I am, really. One half of the Hog Priest, protector of Mythics, and seeker of clarity.”

“What does that even mean? Why kidnap so much people?”

“Mister Exorcist... Vinn. Look, please, just walk away. Pretend this never happened. It’s impossible for you to believe me right now, I understand, but you gotta trust me, we are doing this for the common good. It sure as hell doesn’t look like it now, but this is all for the good not just of Stroln, but of the world. We need these people, and we’re not gonna hurt them or anything! I promise!”

“How can I possibly believe that when every moment since I stepped in here has been a fight to just stay alive?!”

“If Exorcists were the kind of people that you could explain things to, we wouldn’t need to do this! You are decent, Vinn, but you are the exception! Exorcists are a rotten bunch! There’s simply no more time, we need to--”

In the middle of her impassioned speech, an alarm went off on the bulky wristwatch the girl was wearing.

“...Tsk. Vinn, this is my last warning.” she murmured, with softness and honesty, not a hint of hostility to her voice. “You really are a good guy. I could tell from how much effort you put into helping Mathanac yesterday, and with how much respect you treated him. Please, walk away. Retire from the Exorcists, and leave Stroln. It’s going to get ugly, and we need people like you in the coming world, people that will receive Mythics with arms wide open. If we meet again in these conditions, know that I will not show you a shred of mercy.”

“...The coming world? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Good bye, Vinn. And for both our sakes, let’s not meet again until the next world arrives.”

The wicked weapon in her hand suddenly turned black, and then seemed to melt. As the ink peeled from it, its true shape as a baseball bat returned. Pulling a little detonator from the robe’s pocket, the girl smeared some of the neon paint the other masks had across her face and smiled farewell as she pressed it, an explosion nearby blasting a hole in the wall.

——-

Meanwhile, in another room, in another part of the building...

“Isn’t the view up here just divine, Bastian Ashfield?”

“Yeah, I gotta give it to you, man. You’ve gone and given me the perfect scenario, not gonna lie.”

“Oh? Is that so? Would you mind elaborating?”

“I ain’t much of a nature landscape fan, but urban stuff? Cities? My jam. Love ‘em. I also love interrogating domestic terrorists. In some minutes, I’ll be making you spit blood, curses, and answers while enjoying the beauty of Stroln in the afternoon, and that? That’s priceless. If I had a nice, bodacious babe to praise me while I’m kneeing you in the throat, it’d be my second birthday, not gonna lie.”

“Haha! Confidence is really good. Exorcist scum really dream big, don’t they?”

“Damn right we do, and I dream the biggest of them all. So, are we done flirting?”

“Very much so, Ashfield.”

The banter was followed with silent sizing up, not one of the two men moving an inch as they stood on top of the main building’s rooftop. It had been an arduous, lengthy pursuit, but it all came to this. Face to face at last with the wanted criminal, Hog Priest, the Hydromancer was already grinning like a madman. He truly had been waiting for a chance to unwind, you see.

Without warning, a sharp, potent tendril of pressurized water lunged directly towards the Priest like a lance, only to be met with an invisible wall, mana sparks and the sound of magical diffusion concluding with a mass of useless water falling helplessly to the floor. Stretching his arms, the Priest let out a chuckle, hundreds of incense sticks popping out of his robes all over his body.

“What...?”

“Vervain incense, Ashfield.” the Priest explained mockingly. “Very strong magic retardant. For once in your life, splashing water around won’t save you.”

“Incense Magic... Never thought I’d come across someone wacky enough to weaponize it for combat. Still, defense seems to be your only strong point, so I just need to punch through and I’ll be gold.”

“And how do you figure you’ll do that?”

“Well, I could do this, for starters.”

Just as suddenly as the first tendril, two massive jets of water erupted behind Bastian, propelling him with immense speed towards the Hog Priest, getting close enough to use a pressurized water slash that came a hair short of beheading the porcine foe thanks to his reflexes, managing to duck just in time with only the mask’s top being sliced off.

“Woah, man! What happened to that ‘interrogation’? Dead men tell no tales!”

“You can survive long enough without a piece of your face, no biggie.” calmly explained Bastian. “...That incense only protects you against long range magic, huh? Makes sense. The farther magic is from its caster, the less magic emission remains in it. That incense of yours has a heavy enough disruption that spells with little emission remaining in them will not be able to penetrate it, but the emission of my holy water is strong enough to pierce through it if I am close enough... You knew this, however.”

“Astute observation, mister miscreant. How do you figure the last part, though?”

The Exorcist smirked. “You have a pistol hanging by a holster on your right hip under those robes. You intended to keep me away by using it, rendering me helpless to hurt you from afar. And it could have worked, had you actually stopped flapping your gums and actually focused on the fight. You’re not much of a fighter, are you?”

Impressed, the Priest couldn’t help but lift his arms in not-so-mocking surrender. “...Guilty as charged. I’m not a fighter, no. My partner handles the direct combat end of the business, truth be told.”

A vinyl scratch inside Bastian’s head brought him to a full stop. “Wait, partner? Hold on, so the decoy that Vinn went after--”

As shock overcame Bastian, the crafty hog quickly reached for the gun on his hip, but Bastian, seasoned fighter as he is, immediately closed the distance again with two water propulsion jets.

“You got too cocky, shithead!” Bastian boasted, as his arm ascended to direct the water Priestwards, a splatter of crimson blood and the horrifying sound of ripping flesh polluting the air as a scream of agony echoed in the skies above the rooftop.

“...Did I, now, dear Ashfield?”

“W-what the shit...?”

With a loud thud, Bastian hit the floor harshly after being sent flying, a gash on his chest oozing blood. On the other side of the rooftop, the still-standing Priest had two massive spikes protruding from his chest, red with the blood of the Hydromancer they just downed. Removing his robe and torn mask, the Priest revealed short black hair, a scar on the right side of his face, and amber eyes. He looked like he was in his late 30s, with a mostly skinny, not-quite-lanky frame. Most notoriously, he was fully clad in stitched-together leather, crudely put together and of different animals by the looks of it. His jacket, shirt, pants, and even boots, all made of patchwork leather. The spikes slowly retracted back into his chest, seamlessly disappearing into his body, staining his shirt with the blood that was on the horns.

“You jumped the gun, friend, pun absolutely intended. You didn’t even consider I might have a way to deal with you up close.”

The blood oozing from Bastian’s chest slowly stopped, and it seemed to being drawn back into his chest by an unnatural force. “Oh!” the Priest exclaimed. “Your command of Hydromancy never ceases to amaze, Ashfield! Pulling your own blood back inside you with it! I guess it takes grit like this in order to live in the way you have.”

“S-stop talkin’ as if you know shit about me... What the hell was that...? I sense... Necromancy?” panted the wounded Exorcist, still on the floor, unable to move much. That statement made the man’s face shine with joy.

“You have a good eye, Ashfield. This is failed Necromancy... A poor man’s version, a mere counterfeit. Like every other Necromancer out there, I’ll never be a full fledged master of the death. However, I have no interest in that, and just this much control is good enough for me. My specialty is leather, allowing me to temporarily revive and reform any animal from leather, just for a short while, but hey, that’s all I need. Bringing back people is way out of my scope and ability, haha. What you experienced just now were the horns of a bull whose hide I have stitched on this shirt.” With a jolly stride and a confident gait, he approached the felled Hydromancer to deliver the last blow. “It was great playing with you, Ashfield, but you are a big pain in the ass, so I gotta put you out now, see ya!” From his right sleeve, a tiger’s foot materialized, razor sharp claws at the ready, and... Nothing. Nothing happened afterwards, as a spike seemed to have pierced the leather-clad man right through his chest. “...Ah... Haha, curses... You’re right, I’m not much of a fighter...” Bastian simply smirked again.

“Thanks for getting close enough to let me use my own blood on your shirt like that. Love ya.” Bastian had used the blood he had splattered on his assailant to pierce him from point blank range, incapacitating both men. It was pointless to even try to attack each other at this point, as the counter would kill the other.

“Pretty fancy necromancy you got there, friend. Leagues more creative than your run-of-the-mill shithead kid who revives a rat or a feral dog... Asperges Me, Domine.” commented Bastian as he put his hand on wound, controlling the blood so it stays inside while using a healing spell to close the wound.

“Me? Fancy? Don’t lie to yourself, Ashfield. Your Hydromancy is far more interesting. I don’t know how you get away with it, but surely more people have noticed it’s a facsimile, right?” the necromancer retorted, producing a needle from his utility belt and injecting himself in the arm.

“...!”

The Priest missed naught a beat in savoring the shock on Bastian’s face. “Heh, I knew it. You tricky scamp, of course I’d notice. I have plenty of experience and knowledge on spellweaving theory. You, sir, are no Hydromancer.”

“I command water, that’s Hydromancy, so you’re not really making a lot of sense here, amigo.”

“Oh, way too late to try and play it cool, friend. The cat is already out of the bag. Hydromancy is a traditional art of the Shaman school of magic. You befriend a spirit of water, make a pact with them, and with the spirit as a proxy, you gain control over the element of water. You, sir, have no such contract. Hydromancers are rare because it wouldn’t make sense to limit yourself to a single element. If you can make a pact with a water spirit, you surely can do the same with the other elements.”

“There’s plenty of ways to control water, Sir Pig.”

“Yup, and you are employing none of them. A way to bypass the pact with a spirit is to master control of remote mana particle emission, but that would only allow you to project water at short range, and without much potency. There’s far more practical uses of such power, and you make no use of them, meaning you have no such mastery. I can prove you haven’t made a single contract with a spirit of water as well, because you utilize holy water in your Hydromancy. Imbuing water with foreign energies, such as the holy energies of the Arc, is an insult to the spirits, and it would weaken your water, if not sever your pact with the spirit outright. Your water is most assuredly very powerful.”

“...”

“Just what are you, Bastian Ashfield? How come you can use water in the way you do? Could this be, perhaps, some sort of divi--”

“Shut the hell up!”

His wound finally closed, Bastian haphazardly stood up, ready to continue the fight. With a resigned, if not bemused sigh, the incense master stood up as well. “Mm, the drugs kicked in. Alright, let’s go, Hydroboy. Hit me with the best fake water you can muster, haha.”

“Man, props to you, you really get under my skin!”

As round two began, tendrils of water clashed with powerful tiger claws, pressurized jets of water were deflected by a tortoise shell, and a crocodile’s head was stopped from biting Bastian’s carotid artery just barely thanks to water spikes produced at the last second. The two men were evenly matched, and just as their dance was reaching its utmost violence, the large wristwatch on the man’s right wrist rang off an alarm.

“...Time flies when you’re having a blast. Well, Ashfield, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I must take my leave. This has gone long enough.”

Producing a small detonator from his pocket, the man pressed it without any hesitation or explanation -- apparently learning something about not flapping your gums in front of the enemy and just doing what you need to do -- and jumped off the railings of the rooftop, a series of explosion engulfing other parts of the warehouse complex.

“Shit, wait! You!” Bastian yelled as he approached the railings. Looking down, he saw the man safely running down the side of the building. That is, manifesting two long and thick ostrich legs from his back that stepped with such strength that their feet dug into the concrete of the building, safety being able to descend that way. “Bastard! He had it all planned...! I gotta get down there!”

“Adieu, my dear Ashfield! The name’s Balthazar Wharwood! Forget me not! Haha!”

——-

“Fatima, Daryl, help me shield the civilians from the debris! Nadja, go and assess the situation behind the building those two went to, it’s possible they might need your help with their escape if they haven’t captured them yet!”

With a collective “roger!”, everyone got to their task as assigned by Fiona, Nadja’s agile strides quickly getting her inside of the building.

“I gotta say, Chief! Yer pretty cool when ya ain’t drunk off your ass!” excitedly proclaimed Daryl as he helped carry the no-longer hostile, but very much disabled civilians out of the dangerous warehouse.

“If that’s your idea of a compliment, my idea of gratitude will be to knock your lights out with a flawless right hook once we are out of here!” Fiona barked back.

“Keep your heads in the game, please! I cannot carry all of them safely without you to help me, even with this Manticore body!” pleaded Fatima as she carried as many people as she could on her back, safeguarding them with her wings.

Every couple of seconds, a new bomb went off, ever increasing the threat to the people in the premises. With just their limited numbers, they were saving as many people as they could.

——-

As Vinn finally reached the first floor, he made a beeline for the door that leads to the street, coming face to face with Nadja, who came from another hallway.

“Are you alright, Ingram?”

“I’ve been worse, but no time to chit chat, she’s getting away!”

“She? The Hog Priest is a woman?”

“I’ll explain later, but if you see a girl with magenta eyes and white hair, she’s our mark.”

“Acknowledged.”

As the novice duo went into the street, there, in the distance, was the girl in the red robes with the baseball bat, alongside a tall, skinny man clad fully in leather. “...That must be the other Hog Priest next to her.”

“Hog Priest is two people? What a day. I’ll take the man, you go for the girl, since you were fighting her recently, you know what tricks to expect from her.”

They both nodded and dashed with all their might towards the Hog Priest duo, but just as they were reaching them, a line of machine gun fire threatened to fill them with holes, the two Exorcists backing away at the nick of time.

“Ah, just on time, Sir Gatling Knight!” Balthazar greeted with joy, grabbing the white haired girl by the hand and running away towards a black van that awaited them nearby. The girl herself had no words, and just looked at Vinn in the eye one last time, bitterness and disappointment in those magenta eyes, before facing the truck and never looking back.

“Darn! What was that...!? Ingram, back away.”

“Don’t worry, Wharwood...” a muffled, sinister, if uninterested voice finally replied. “I’ll keep them away from you while you run with your tail between your legs.”

From their left side, a tall man clad from tip to toe in riot gear with several ornate engravings, a ballistic helmet with a visor that hid his face, and a cape on each shoulder that draped over the entirety of each arm approached them, a heavy machine gun trained at them casually with just one hand.

“I’ve no orders to kill you, but I can make an exception if you insist on pursuing them.” he announced not as a threat, but as a promise, the green machine gun disappearing behind the green cape, vanishing just like that.

“Move aside. We’ve no time to waste with you while they are escaping...!” Nadja commanded as she rushed not towards the van, but at the man himself. “You can give us answers, too!”

“Wait, Nadja! Don’t!”

But Vinn’s warning came too late. In just the flash of an eye, Nadja lunged at the man with a stake, which he shot out her hand with a pistol he produced out of thin air behind the green cape, making her recoil from the shock. As she fell, from his other hand came a shotgun, which he pressed against her gut and shot, the blood she spewed staining his visor and riot chestpiece.

“G-guah...!”

“N-Nadja!”

“Worthless. You, boy. Don’t make waste more ammo. The van is gone, anyways. You have no more reason to oppose me.” The armored man then simply threw the wounded Nadja at Vinn, turned around, and walked towards a manhole without the cover, presumably where he came from.

“Who are you? Why are you helping them?” Vinn asked as he tried to stabilize the wounded Nadja.

“...I’m the Gatling Knight, and why I help them is none of your business, but mark my words, on my honor as a Knight, if you oppose them, then you are bound to face me again, and if that happens, I’ll shoot you down where you stand. The first time you see me is a warning. The second time is your funeral. Be smart and don’t recklessly pursue your funeral. Now, tend to that fool. Her Domunus Tecum is flawless. If treated, she might survive.”

“...”

“Hoh, that’s a hateful glare, if I’ve ever seen one. Consider this, kid: You attack me now, you will meet the asphalt just as she did. You are exhausted from fighting Sacrifice, so you’re not at your 100%. I take you down now, and both of you die. You take her back, she might just make it. Your call. I can spare a few bullets, if you truly wish to force my hand.”

Cursing under his breath, Vinn had no choice but to carry Nadja back to where the other Exorcists were, as it was pointless to stay here, what with the Priests having escaped and his colleague nearing death with every passing second.

To call this operation successful would be a joke, Vinn though to himself.

“...And what did he mean by ‘Sacrifice’...?”

——-

August 7th 12:01 PM 7th Office’s Infirmary

“...And that’s what happened on my end.” said Vinn, concluding his report.

“I see, we both had a dog of a day, it seems. Damn pigs...” the bed-bound Bastian said with a half-laugh. “...Never imagined the Hog Priest, well, Priests would show up like this and cause this much trouble mere days after you started. You must really be cursed to end with me as your partner and those two wackos as your first foes, bwahaha.”

The younger Exorcist couldn’t help but laugh. “Man, the Academy really didn’t prepare me for this, I want a freaking refund. How are you holding up?”

“Doc says I gotta chill for the rest of today and tomorrow, and I should be golden. Oh, dunno if you heard, but after yesterday, all six of us have been given today and tomorrow as days off to recover properly. Which sucks, because it’s two days I gotta spend cooped up in here. Well, at least the good doc will keep me company, right?”

“I’ll just make it easy on myself and juice you up with so many painkillers that you’ll simply sleep the two days away, honestly.” doctor Aria casually commented from the other side of the Infirmary, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

“Aww, come on, Aria, you don’t gotta be that way.” jokingly commented Bastian. Vinn was somewhat surprised at how well these two seemed to get along. Bastian getting along with anyone was kind of a surprise. “So, yeah, go and take it easy, and... Discard that long face, boyo.”

“...Hm?”

“Oh, don’t HMM me, Vinn Ingram.” the Hydromancer chided. “I know your goody-two-shoes stiff little ass is probably all depressed because of how they got away yesterday. But, the fact is, the operation was successful.”

“...Was it really?”

“It was. We all survived, for starters. Nadja is in critical state, but Aria here is the best Arc damned doctor I’ve met in my life, and that I’ll possibly meet in my life, plus, Nadja’s Domunus was apparently strong enough that a point blank shotgun blast didn’t shred her organs to pieces. That should’ve killed her immediately, and yet, here she is. She’ll recover, I guarantee it. The rest of us were just battered and wounded to varying degrees, but we pulled through. The civilians? No casualties whatsoever. The bombs were a distraction, and none of them were placed anywhere where there were civilians. Fatima, Fiona, and Daryl made sure to evacuate all of them and search several times for more of them. All the missing people have been accounted for. We rescued them, Vinn.”

“...I didn’t consider it this way...”

“Look, man, I know seeing them escape is a kick in the dick, I know, but consider the rest of everything. We’ll get another shot at them, but had anyone died, there’s no coming back from that one. Not all of them are gonna go all flowers and sunshine, and hell, look at you, you are practically unscathed. Compare and contrast with my dumb ass that got saddled in bed. It’s fine, man. You’ll go crazy if you consider anything short of perfection a failure, man.”

“...Haha.”

“Hm? What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just so freaking weird to hear you be so nice and supportive, Bastian, that’s all, haha.”

“Yeah, and it’ll cost you 5000 patros. I expect them by the end of the month.”

“Hahaha, but really, thank, it helps a lot to hear that” Vinn said with a smile.

“Oi oi, don’t go smiling at me now, save those for nice girls, like the doc here. Hey doc, can I get a smile?”

Aria, without looking at him, just flipped him her middle finger.

“Bwahahaha, yeah, love you too, doc. Alright, Vinn, go enjoy your day off. Trust me, you’ll learn to treasure them.”

“Alright, I’ll just drop by the office to say hi to Nick and Dani and then go home.”

“Good idea. Oh, and Vinn?”

“Yeah?”

“A bit late, but welcome to the 3rd Division. We are going to get revenge on those sumbitches when round two comes, yeah?”

“You fuckin’ bet we will.”

It might not have been ideal, it might have been perilous, but what Bastian said was true, the operation was, ultimately, a success. A mass kidnapping prevented is indeed good news to numerous families, no one can deny that. The day was saved, and while the root of the problem is still alive, it would be foolish to not enjoy this little moment of peace, or so Vinn thought at least. Whatever little moments of peace he might have from now on, he must make the most of them, for he understands that this is merely the calm before the storm.

The girl’s words echoed in his head, particularly the “coming world” she mentioned. Stroln was slowly but surely being submerged in conflict, and with it, the casualties that inevitably come from the crossfire. More than anything, Vinn wanted to prevent that.

The future looked uncertain and bleak for Vinn, but at the same time, he witnessed firsthand how capable the 7th Office was.

As the door closed behind him, Vinn walked away from the Office, ready to rest his body and prepare his spirit for the trials that he knew were coming, and that he knew Bastian and him and the rest of the 7th would deal with.

The world he wants rides on this, too, after all.

“...What a nice day for a nap.”

Of incense, ink stains, and the murky menace lurking beneath it all: – Chapter 3: Neon War Paint – End

To be continued in Chapter 4

#code:exorcist #format:episodic #length:long

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