#hounds are USUALLY kindred but. you know.

[spadefish]

A human hound who was personally raised and trained by the prince of Helena and his sheriff. Viciously loyal to his prince to the point of self-detriment. Harbours a particular resentment towards the Brujah.

[porcelainseashore]

Coffee & Secrets (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rookie Cop! Leon x Barista! Fem! Reader

Summary: As a cozy coffee shop owner in Raccoon City, you’re no stranger to visitors seeking comfort, quiet, and warmth. When a rookie officer named Leon finds a kindred spirit in you, it sets in motion a chain of events that forever changes the course of your lives. An alternate universe set in Resident Evil 2 Remake and inspired by the game Coffee Talk.

Content & Warnings: Canon divergence, coffee shops, romance, slow burn, strangers to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, slice of life, swearing

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Plans

“Claire?”

You had whirled around with a mop in your hand at the unexpected intrusion, catching sight of the familiar redhead grinning like a Cheshire Cat at the door. It was partway into your cleaning routine—one you usually completed before the shop was open.

Your eyes flew to the sign at the entrance. Well, that explains it. You had left it on the other way round by accident. Oops.

“The one and only,” she crooned. “Told you I would come back.”

“A woman of your word,” you acknowledged in appreciation. Discarding the cleaning equipment in the closet, you took down the postcard you had pinned to the fridge with a kitsch souvenir magnet.

She swiped the card from your hands mischievously, asserting, “So, I believe I’m long overdue for a drink?”

“What would’ya like to have?”

“Definitely something with caffeine in it,” she declared, placing a hand on her hip as if she meant business.

Fanning herself with the postcard, she proceeded to confide in you about her recent life changes. “I can’t actually stay long, Mr. Bertolucci’s got me on doc review tonight.”

You halted suddenly in the middle of preparing the drink, a wooden spoon suspended in the air, green powder swirling like dust motes around the tea bowl. The chashaku and the chawan.

“You’re Ben’s new intern?” you questioned, giddy with excitement.

“Yeah…? It’ll count towards my college credit. I’m a journalism major,” she clarified before teasing, “That also means I’ll be in town for a while, so you better get used to me! Say, you know the guy?”

You laughed soundly as you whisked the matcha into a thick paste with a traditional chasen. Looks like he took your suggestion to heart after all. “He’s a regular.”

Steaming the full-cream milk to perfection, you frothed it up before adding it layer by layer to the paste, your hand moving with practiced precision to create a delicate pattern in the bowl. When you were satisfied with the piece, you gave it to Claire, and at the same time, pointed to the armchair in the corner. “Usually sits over there and works through the night.”

“Yeah, he’s really passionate about it,” Claire concurred, cupping the bowl that she received from you with both hands. “I like that he doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit.”

“Just make sure you get enough rest too,” you reminded her. “Have plenty of breaks.”

“Thanks, mom…” she quipped, rolling her eyes as she punched your shoulder playfully. “So, how’s our all-star cop doing?”

“Leon?” you asked casually, busying yourself with arranging the drinkware and ingredients even though you had already laid them out the night before. “He pops by every so often.”

“Like, every day…?” she probed.

How did she—?

You paused your fiddling and peered up at her. “Who told you that?”

A devilish smirk emerged. “I heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.” She took a sip from the bowl, her face lightening up in contentment. 

“He kept jabbering on about you, hounding me to visit your shop. Not that I wasn’t planning to myself already,” she sighed exasperatedly.

“Oh.” You continued where you left off, this time taking a dry cloth to polish the glassware for the umpteenth time. If you squinted hard enough, there was always a speck of dust you missed.

“It seems you’re now very interested in that glass,” she said, exposing the truth of the matter behind your evasiveness. 

Damn, she would make a good journalist.

“He likes the menu, speaking of which, how’s the Matcha Latte?” you changed the subject smoothly.

“I’m sure he likes a lot more than that,” she muttered into the bowl before raising her voice to reply, “I love it! It tastes like the real deal—”

Suddenly, the door flung open, and you could hear Ben calling out with a sense of urgency, “Redfield! I got something on the footage, you might wanna check it out!” 

He tossed a roll of film over to Claire, who dove and caught it like a baseball player in a major league game. Then, he craned his neck in your direction. “The strongest coffee you've got, to go. I think we’re onto something here!”

Giving him a mock salute, you whipped up the Triple Espresso that he was fond of and poured it into a takeaway cup, fastening on the lid as you handed it over to him.

“Life saver,” he mumbled, slipping you the cash for both drinks with a generous tip before dashing out of the shop with Claire in tow, who managed to yell out a quick “Bye!” as she ran after him.

You only had a few minutes to rest until you heard a loud commotion coming from the outside. Hurrying to the door, you could make out the voices of Leon and another boisterous man, as if he had drunk something stronger.

“This the place?”

“No, Ryman, I’m not taking you in there! Let’s get you home.”

“Why? I’ve got two legs, don’t I? Never asked for a babysitter.”

“You won’t like it anyway, it’s not a bar.”

“Aww, come on, rookie! Gotta show me this girl you’re head over heels for!”

“It’s not like that! And don’t call me by that name!”

“Or what, Kennedy? You gonna sue me?”

At this, you swung the door open, and the two men stared at you sheepishly from the entrance. “Would you like to come in?” you gestured towards the shop behind you amicably.

The dumbfounded look on the brunette’s face gradually morphed into a smug smirk. The sharp smell of alcohol wafted from his breath. “How could I say no to a sweetheart like you?”

You noticed Leon cringing internally at the man’s flirtatious behavior as they both ambled in. Passing by, Leon gave you a weak smile before drawing close, whispering apologetically, “Sorry about my colleague, he can be quite a handful.”

Your lips stirred, but no words came. Maybe you didn’t have any for what you wanted to express. Instead, your hand moved on its own accord, touching his shoulder and tracing down his arm. He shivered in response, his breathing uneven as he reached up and clasped your hand in his, brushing his thumb against its back. “I—”

“Hey, Romeo, over here!” the other man shouted from across the room, already seated snuggly at the counter row.

Letting go, your hand dropped limply back to your side as Leon ripped his gaze away, grumbling at the interruption as he sluggishly lumbered over to its source.

“Anything I can get you?” you asked as you shifted behind the counter.

“Hmm, that’s a loaded question, sweet cheeks. What wouldn’t I like to have?” the man laughed, only to have it cut short with an ‘oof’ when Leon nudged him in the ribs.

“Right, where are my manners? The name’s Kevin,” he followed up, extending his hand which you shook while using the other to rub his side sorely.

“We were just at Jack’s Bar,” Leon informed you, his words chosen carefully. You managed to read between the lines of what he was hinting at and swiftly whipped up one of your special remedies.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Kevin inquired eagerly as you laid out two portions of the mixture before them.

“Try it,” Leon answered for you as Kevin picked it up gingerly, examining it as if it were some kind of odd specimen.

“Bottoms up,” Kevin muttered, as he downed the pearly, alabaster liquid in one go. 

His face first twisted into an amorphous shape until his features relaxed and he nodded in approval. “Herby, but pretty damn good. What the hell is it?”

“Cough syrup,” you jested. It took them a while before they got the joke and joined in the laughter.

“Tell me if you still have a hangover tomorrow,” you instructed after they had settled down.

“What am I, the test subject?” Kevin blurted out. “And this, the cure?”

“It’s worked on most people,” you shrugged.

“Cute. Anyway, did you slip my friend here a love potion, ’cause—ow! Hey! What the—”

“Ryman…” Leon warned, as you watched the events unfolding before you with amusement.

You saw Kevin mumble something into the irate officer’s ear about “being his wingman” before turning towards you with a charming smile. Then, he addressed his colleague again, “Talking about minxes, what did you think about that lady in red today at the station?”

All at once, Leon’s face darkened and his mouth curled into a frown. “I don’t trust her.”

Patting his back, Kevin concurred, “Neither do I, Kennedy. She can flash that fancy FBI badge all she wants, but I smell bullshit.”

“Chief Irons seems to take to her.”

This seemed to annoy Kevin even more as he spat, “Chief Irons is a—” but then paused, realizing the situation he was in. Glancing at you, he sighed, “Yeah, foul mouth, my bad.”

“I don’t mind,” you admitted, guessing that the man was trying to keep up appearances for the sake of his friend.

“Keep an eye on her,” he advised Leon, who seemed to agree with him for once. “I’m gonna run some background checks. Doesn’t sit right with me how she can access all our private files like that.”

Fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, he offered it around, but the both of you declined politely. Dumping some cash on the table, he hopped off his seat and grunted, “Well, I’m gonna leave you two lovebirds for the night.”

Before Leon could utter a single word, Kevin yanked him by the collar like an older brother roughhousing his younger sibling and said, “You better get in there before I do, rookie.” 

With a brazen laugh, he ruffled the blonde boy’s hair and sprinted for the door, leaving whoever was left behind to clean up the mess he made.

Burying his face into his hands, Leon groaned loudly as you snickered at him. “Cool guy,” you mentioned.

“He’s a piece of work,” came his muffled reply.

“I’m sure he just wanted the best for you,” you comforted.

There was an audible snort as Leon took his face out of his hands and peered at you. “What season do you like the most?”

You almost stumbled backwards at the abrupt change of topic and being thrust into the spotlight again. “Now, where did that come from?”

“I’m curious.”

You searched his eyes, but upon realizing he was not going to let up, you humored him, “When the air turns crisp and the daylight shifts tonally, so everything is awash in amber.”

He perked up, his smile widening as you continued, “And the smell of pine, spice, and bonfire just floods your senses.”

“The time before nature goes into hibernation—I know, I love it too,” he finished your sentence.

“Did you go hunting a lot back home?”

“I swear—” he laughed.

You had an idea of what he was referring to. “It was just a hunch.”

He nodded. “At this rate, you must be psychic. But yeah, I did. My dad brought me.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Mm-hmm. He taught me to take only what we need,” he recounted wistfully. “And those walks in the woods—god, I miss that. Just having the time, space, and quiet to think.”

Finally, he gazed at you, swallowing as if there were a lump in his throat. “I know this is a long way off, but… would you like to come with me next fall?”

“I’d love to.”

[miss-noo-na]

As Friends ( San Smut)

Title: As Friends

Featuring: San (ATEEZ) x Reader

Rating: NC-17 for smut

Summary: An old friend shows up at a party and you realize you’re both in want of the same thing.

Note: I had to repost this because Tumblr is garbage and cut off a huge chunk of the story in the original post. This is the correct/full version!

“Do you think we have enough?” Your best friend posited as she stood in front of the kitchen island lined with wine bottles, hard liquor, and a couple cases of beer.

“I think it’s more than enough,” You said from your position on the opposite end, pouring candy into a dish.

Next, she dumped a box of condoms into another decorative bowl, and you let out a laugh in disbelief.

“What?” She asked innocently.

“This is a party, not an orgy.”

“You never know!” She shrugged, and you rolled your eyes.

With the kitchen stocked full of goodies, decorations and lights up and on, and music pumping out at a medium volume from the living room you had a feeling this was going to be one of the best years yet.

It was your annual get-together with close friends, that over the years had morphed into a party slash slumber party. The longer you knew one another, the further people tended to move and had to travel, and usually wanted to partake in drinking. It just became the natural thing for you all to crash there that night, followed by brunch in the morning before you all went your separate ways.

Still, there was a nagging at the bottom of your stomach about what you were going to do when you saw him. You had been close for awhile but with his career taking off in the last year or so there had been less of that lately. You had always had a thing for him, but it was something you could bury deep down and live with most of the time. Yet, with his recent absence you thought it might help squash those feelings, but instead you were horrified to find it had the opposite effect. You actually missed him terribly and it only heightened everything, turning an innocent crush into a deep yearning.

He had a small break before spring activities and he had managed to squeeze the get-together in, saying he wouldn't miss this rare opportunity to be with old friends for the world.

It wasn’t just him that was bothering you, either. You had been without a partner for some time and for the most part it didn’t bother you, you had a lot on your plate and a serious relationship was not on the forefront of your mind. However, it was that time of year, just before Valentine’s day, when your loneliness was made ever so much more apparent by what was going on around you. Plus, you just missed intimacy altogether. You didn’t need a boyfriend, but you also wouldn’t mind someone to fool around with.

You were lost in your train of thought as you unwrapped some mints and tossed them into a candy dish, staring straight ahead as the fairy lights blurred across your vision. You were taken out of it quite suddenly by the doorbell, as small clusters of friends started to arrive.

You got swept up in the spirit after that, with lots of hugs and laughter, getting reacquainted with people, making drinks. Dinner was an assortment of finger foods laid out on the table so people could serve themselves at their leisure. Everything was in full swing and it seemed like everyone was there, except him.

You started to worry, checking your phone for the time and any updates. You even asked a couple friends if they had heard from him, but they all brushed it off, a couple joking that maybe he was too famous to hang out with them now.  It was all in good fun, but the idea still made you feel uneasy.

Curiously, you wandered to the front window and peered out, not seeing much at first, until a car pulled up. There was a moment and then a figure emerged and the car drove away. As the figure came up the drive-way, the porch lights finally hit him and his face came into view. Your stomach shot up into your throat and you quickly left the window to go busy yourself in the kitchen. A moment later, the doorbell rang and someone else opened it.

There was a chorus of friendly greetings as everyone congregated near the door. You hung back, approaching sneakily from the rear. As your friends dispersed he came into vision in front of you, and smiled wide, his eyes creasing.

“Hey, you.”

He was always an affectionate sort, but you still hadn’t expected him to scoop you up into such a tight hug.

“Hi, San.” You said sheepishly into his shoulder before he let you go.

He looked a little different from the last time you saw him, but that wasn’t unusual given how often his appearance had to change these days. What remained the same was his cute smile and his warmth as he greeted his friends, and you knew you were in trouble.

You counted it as both a good and bad thing that he was the talk of the party, and that everyone was vying for his time, wanting to catch up and hear about his new life as an idol. Good because you were able to focus on your friends and get your mind off what seeing him again was doing to your head and heart. Bad because deep down you wanted his attention, you were secretly pleading for him to look your way, talk to you, anything.

It became easier to deal with after you had a few drinks and got lost in conversation with a small group. You were laughing so much your cheeks were starting to hurt, and you felt warm and cozy among your kindred spirits. You were so consumed in the stories and jokes you didn’t see or even feel San come to sit next to you on the crowded couch, squeezing between you and another friend.

Then you heard a joyful and distinct laugh echoing into your ear, and you swallowed hard noticing his thigh pressed into yours as he leaned forward to join the conversation. You peered at him from the corner of your eyes and oh boy, was he handsome, especially in this light and through your wavy, slightly tipsy vision.

You averted your eyes quickly and tried to get back into the conversation, but you were all too aware of how close he was and it was making it difficult to concentrate. You excused yourself to the bathroom to get a grip.

In the mirror you had a mental conversation with your reflection, chastising yourself for  acting this way.

“We’re not 16 anymore, get it together.”

After you exited you headed for the kitchen, happy to find yourself alone for a moment. After getting a water bottle from the fridge, you turned only to almost walk right into San. You gasped and stepped back, and he caught you by your arms.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said, though he seemed a little amused by your reaction.

“It’s fine.” You said, glancing down at his hands, and he quickly let you go, sticking them into his pockets instead.  He seemed nervous, which further confused you.

“Hey, have you been avoiding me?” He asked suddenly, and you blinked at his observation. You didn’t think you had been so obvious.

“No, of course not,” You lied with a fake laugh. “Why would you think that?”

“It seems like every time I get near you, you run to the other side of the house,” He painted the comment in humor, but there was a hint of seriousness laced in his tone.

“Oh, well, it’s not intentional. Besides, a lot of people here wanna talk to you, I don’t wanna get in the way.” You looked down at your water bottle.

“You know, I thought about not coming.” He said, making you raise your head.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I knew things would be different, that some people I was just acquaintances with would suddenly want to know everything about me, I wasn’t looking forward to it at all.”

You felt bad for him, he just wanted to be normal for a little while and he was getting hounded even by his own friends.

“But I thought about seeing the people I was really close to, like you, and I decided to come anyway.”

Heat built up around the apples of your cheeks and you tried not to look at his face. “I’m glad you came.”

Awkward silence followed, and you were having a hard time avoiding his gaze, especially because he never stopped looking at you. He had a stare that could pierce right through you and you felt it more than ever now.

“I guess we should go back to the party, eh?” You offered, moving passed him, and he followed you back into the living room.

After a couple of raucous yet innocuous debates, drinking games, and reminiscing, things started to wind down. The ones who were already too far gone were being guided to the upstairs loft where air mattresses, blankets, and pillows waited for them. The more sober of the group did a half-clean up job, turned off the music, and started shuffling to find their places to sleep for the night. By the time you got done doing what you could with the kitchen, you found the loft full of drunk bodies all piled together.

You didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so you gathered some blankets and pillows for yourself and patted downstairs. The couch was much too small, so you threw the cushions onto the floor and made yourself a bed. You took your bag into the bathroom to change into something comfy and remove your make-up.

When you came out, you found San  throwing a blanket over the now bigger makeshift bed, a few more added cushions and blankets.

“Oh, was this yours?” He asked, and you nodded.

“There isn’t anywhere else to sleep so I thought…”

“I don’t mind sharing.” You blurted out, then wondered if that sounded desperate.

It shouldn’t have, you thought realistic. There were plenty of times when the two of you were young that you had all fallen asleep on the floor at a friends house or in the backseat of a car. Although typically there were other people there; but those other people were right upstairs, so it wasn’t too weird, right?

The cushion-bed was big enough that when you came to sit on one side, there was a nice gap between you and San, who you noticed had also dressed down for the night.

You were fluffing your blankets and wondering if you should turn the string of fairy lights off, deciding that they gave the room a nice glow and you might just sleep with them on. Lost in these thoughts, you noticed San staring at you, and peered over at him.

“I’ve never seen you without make-up, I just realized.”

A swell of embarrassment started to wash over you, and he must have noticed.

“It’s not a bad thing. You look different but like, good different.”

He didn’t exactly have a way with words and the mortification was only increasing.

“You’re really pretty like this. I mean, you’re pretty with make-up too, it’s just-” He stopped and buried his head in his hands for a moment. “Sorry, I’ll stop talking.”

Now that embarrassment turned into a creeping blush you tried to ignore.

You finally got situated and fell onto your back, San following a moment after you. You both stared up at the ceiling, wide awake. A thought was brewing in your head and you were debating whether you should say it. Knowing he would have to leave again soon, you decided you might as well.

“Thanks for saying that.” You spoke into the quiet living room.

He let his head fall toward you. “Saying what?”

“That I was pretty, it was nice to hear.”

You stared straight up and swallowed the lump in your throat, wondering if it was lame to admit that to him.

“You’re welcome.” He spoke quietly, and gave it a moment. “What, there isn’t a line of boys telling you you’re pretty?” He smiled and you peered over at him and laughed at his cheeky expression.

“Not quite. It’s been a long time.”

“Well that’s disappointing,” He started, and seemed to think for a moment more. “But also I can relate.”

You were the one that laughed this time, louder than you should have. “Oh please. You literally have gaggles of fans that probably tell you how hot and amazing you are every day.”

His smile slowly curled into something more sinister. “Did you just say I was hot and amazing?”

You sank your teeth into your tongue, “I’m just saying..that’s what they’re...you know what i mean!”

He chuckled, always too good at teasing you.

“No, you’re right, and that’s nice. But it’s not a replacement for a real human connection, you know?”

You nodded. “True.”

“To be honest I think I’m touch-starved.” He looked back up and seemed to laugh at himself. “Hugs and pats from my members are fine but it’d be nice if it were someone I was actually attracted to.”

“I’m not even as busy as you are and I feel the same. I don’t know, it’s hard finding people you can trust that you actually like. It’s not even like I need them to stay with me forever, it would just be nice to be close to someone.”

You realized you were rambling but when you looked over at San he watched and listened with rapt attention.

“I get it.” He said in a near-whisper, and with his sleepy eyes and soft voice he really wasn’t helping your current situation.

“Do you ever think about..” He trailed off and cast his eyes down, “Nevermind, forget it.”

“Tell me,” You were too curious not to ask.

He waited before he spoke again. “Do you ever think about hooking up with one of your friends? Or just someone you know really well?”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes widened, that was the last thing you expected him to ask. Even if you were good friends, this was an area of personal you usually didn’t get with him.

“I mean, not really. There isn’t anyone I could see myself doing that with.”

You were, of course, lying through your teeth. That person was laying right next to you.

“Not even me?” He asked, and the way he grinned after made all the color drain from your face. You fumbled over your response and he laughed.

“I’m kidding, it’s okay.”

You clamped your mouth shut and tried to hide your disappointment.

“Unless you don’t want me to be kidding.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a little upset at how real he sounded now. “Stop playing with me.”

“I’m being serious.”

You swallowed hard. “What exactly are you saying?” You asked, needing to know what he was getting at so you didn’t make a fool of yourself.

He scooted himself closer to you, laying on his side facing you as he did so.

“I’m saying that we both need the same thing, and maybe we could help each other. You know, as friends.”

You could feel your breath pick up in your chest, wondering if you had actually heard him correctly. Was this actually happening? And was he actually asking you?

Your silence and bewildered eyes seemed to startle him. “Sorry, am I being weird? I’ll stop.”

You found yourself shaking your head. “No, you’re fine, I’m just a little surprised.”

“Really? I mean, we all have needs, right?” He laughed.

“I’m more surprised that you’re asking me.”

It was his turn to look confused. “It makes perfect sense to me. We’ve known each other for a long time, I trust you, and you’re really cute, so why not?”

Well, when he put it that way….

“So what like here? Now?” You asked, knowing your friends were right upstairs. Most of them were too drunk or fully passed out to know or care, yet the more you thought of it, the more it thrilled you.

“We could just see where it goes?” He offered, coming even closer to you now, gesturing for you to turn toward him. When you did, he reached out to touch your face and you sucked in a breath, wondering how you were going to get through this without exploding.

You avoided his eyes as he caressed down your cheek, until you were aware of him coming to kiss you. Your vision fell to his face just as he tipped your chin up with his fingertip and let his lips fall to yours. Your eyelashes fluttered for a moment before closing and taking in his scent and the feel of him soft and warm against your mouth. You kissed him back and that only pushed him deeper to you still, until his lips were parting ever so slightly. It was sensual and slow, and you felt a tingle rise up from the pit of your stomach.

When he pulled back he stayed close, and let out a small laugh as he trailed his finger across your nose.

“You’re blushing,” He said quietly, which only made it worse as you squeezed your eyes shut and scowled.

“It’s cute.” He uttered before he came down to kiss you again, more deliberate this time as he swiped the outside of your lips with his tongue searching for entrance, and you parted them breathlessly to grant it. He cradled your face, brought you closer.

You were content to lay here and kiss him all night, which after a couple minutes of intense making out it seemed like you just might. However, San clearly had more ideas, as the hand at your face now drifted down your neck, across your collarbone, and to the front of your shirt. It fell past the fabric, barely brushing it, but enough to send a chill through you. His hand hesitated at the hem, and he detached long enough to speak in a hushed tone.

“Is it okay if I…” He trailed, his fingertips slipping underneath just an inch to emphasize what he asked. You nodded, and before you could even verbalize it his mouth captured yours once more, more hungry than before. The hand moved up inside your shirt and you jolted a little when he came in contact with the skin on your stomach, but he continued upward to your chest, clad in a cloth tshirt bra for sleeping.

He flowed from one movement to the next so effortlessly, there was nothing awkward or stilted about him and it made you relax into him more and more. As his hand cupped one breast he broke from your mouth to trail kisses down your neck and you found yourself curling into him, burying your face in his to conceal the tiny sounds his touch forced out of you. It really had been too long since anyone had been this close to you, and it being San of all people made it almost impossible not to tremble at the slightest brush of his skin on yours.

The hand began a different journey, away from your chest and back down to the edge of your sweat pants, and he stopped again, running his fingers along it.

“Can I,” He managed through a shallow breath, barely getting it out. You reached up to hold onto his shoulder as you nodded and mumbled a “mhm” into the crook of his neck.

The hand slipped in to find the second barrier of your underwear, and only hesitated a moment before moving passed that, too. Your cheeks burned red hot as you tried to somehow bury yourself deeper into his skin, a mixture of wanting to be closer to him but also to hide how bashful you were. You felt silly for it, but it was a lot to take in at once.

He cupped his hand over you, feeling how hot you were against his palm and he pulled in a shaky breath as his fingers started to press their way between your folds, finding you already wet for him. He hummed in approval just before one finger went deeper, finding your entrance and stroking around it. You gripped his shoulder a little tighter and fought the urge to sink your teeth in him, both to stay quiet and also punish him for being such a tease.

He angled his head to the side and spoke against your ear. “You like this?”

This time your fingernails went into the fabric of his shirt as you nodded once more, knowing you had to stay quiet but also losing your grip on your sanity.

“Tell me, baby.”

His tone had turned from careful to devilish in a minute, and just hearing that pet name from his lips was enough.

“Y-yes,” You stammered. He chuckled low and pressed his finger past the threshold, just the tip of it.

“I didn’t realize you were so shy.” He commented, obviously loving it. “I know we have to be quiet, but every sound you make drives me crazy.”

In response, you pushed your hips toward him, making what you wanted obvious, and you could feel him smile against you.  In one motion, he pushed one finger inside you to the knuckle, elicited a gasp from you.

“Is that what you want?”

You raised your head and pushed back some. “Stop being annoying.” You said in a tone you had used with him before, which only amused him further. He seemed to be a little too delighted he had found a new way to torture you.

A second finger sneaked its way next to the first, and pressed into you a little slower this time, stretching you open with his digits. You gasped again, then quickly bit your lip to silence it. San pulled back so he could watch your face as he curled them up and in, stroking you from the inside.

You forced your eyes open and felt your entire body melt around his hand when you saw the way he looked at you, eyes dark and narrow, one side of his mouth curled, drinking in the sight, sound and feel of you.

Then his thumb came up to graze over your clit, and you shuddered hard, trying to swallow the whine that followed the feeling. He reveled in his control over your pleasure, and you would let him do almost anything he wanted right now.

“God, you’re so sensitive.” He licked his lips as he sped up the pace, eager to get more out of you.

As you rose higher and higher toward release, you suddenly felt him slow down, and you pouted at him for this.

“I want to-...” He stopped himself, looking like he was unsure of how to say what he was thinking. He opted to lean in and kiss you first, once on the lips before speaking near them. “I wanna be inside you.”

He was still languidly pressing his fingers in and out of you at an agonizing pace, which made it difficult to think straight, but you had definitely heard him right.

“There’s condoms on the counter,” You blurted out, and he gave you a confused look before laughing. “What?”

“On the kitchen counter, there’s a bowl of condoms. Don't ask me why, I didn’t put them there.”

San took this as a go-ahead and carefully pulled his hands out and away from you to get up and hop over to the kitchen. You heard a moment of rummaging before he came back and collapsed on the cushions next to you with a thump and a smile.

“Are you still alright with this?” He asked, and you appreciated that he checked in with you often.

“I am. Maybe a little nervous though.”

He reached out for you, pulling you toward him. “Why would you be nervous?”

“I haven’t been with anyone in a while and,” You shrugged, unable to come up with a better explanation.

“Hey, this is supposed to be fun, right?” He said, pushing some hair away from your face and making you look at him with his hand under your chin. “We’re friends, remember? You can trust me.”

You felt your stomach do something funny at his soft words. Suddenly, you were pushed back and he rolled himself on top of you, holding himself up and smiling down at you mischievously.

“Also I just want to make you feel good.” He lowered his voice as he said this, leaning down to trap you in a kiss. Feeling the weight of him on top of you was nice, and your hands sneaked up the sides to slither around his shoulders, one resting there while the other was at the base of his neck, the edges of your fingertips in his hair. He kissed you for another eternity and that alone was all the affection you had been craving. Yet, you were also aware of his growing arousal pressing into you and that created a whole new ache in you.

He made sure you were under the covers, mumbling something about having to be careful, you were out in the open after all, even if it was pretty dark in this room save for the fairy lights. He fumbled around with your clothing and his and you were too busy staring at his face to help, the warm glow casting shadows over his cheeks and eyes that only served to accentuate how handsome he was.

“Little help,” He said when you realized he was trying to roll your pants down. You picked your butt up and almost gasped when he pulled your underwear down with it. They came off your legs with some finessing and kicking, and once they were off he parted your knees with his hands. You gulped at the exposure, and how he wedged his body between them, pushing down the fabric of his pants enough to free himself of his cloth confines.

You chanced a glance down and quickly back up again, not sure if you wanted to focus on what he was doing with his hands or his face, both excited you in a nervous way. When he had finished with the condom, he tossed the paper away and came back down on his hands at your sides, nudging himself  closer, pressing your thighs apart with his hips.

“Ready?” He asked, and you could only rattle your head in response, bracing yourself as he started to push you open with his cock. It had been awhile, and you both felt the resistance, but he was easy and patient, waiting for you to yield to his persistence, stroking your hips and letting his eyes play across your body, clad only in your shirt  slightly pushed up and bare everywhere else.

Once passed the initial threshold he was able to sink himself inside you with ease, and you both bit back on the urge to make a noise, instead breathing out heavily. You felt full and his hands were sweltering when they pressed or grabbed at your skin. He started a steady rocking motion into you and his eyes fell shut, hair falling into his face as he concentrated on going slow.

You started to get lost in it, too, until a noise from the staircase startled you. Your eyes snapped open just as San dropped himself on top of you, pulling the blanket over his back.

“Shh,” He whispered into your ear, cradling himself over your body as someone came padding down the stairs. You were acutely aware that he was still inside you and you felt a strange mix of emotions, fear but also arousal, especially as you tried to hold your breath.

Luckily whoever it was didn’t turn on the lights as they stumbled their way into the kitchen, clearly one of the drunk ones.

You heard the fridge open, then close, then open again. You heard bare feet on the linoleum and a long yawn. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest and you could feel San’s blood pumping through him too as he held you close.

“Jesus, just leave already.” You said in a hushed tone, and you saw the hint of a smile on San’s lips as he fought not to laugh.

“Hey, who is in here?” The slurred voice yelled from the kitchen and your entire body clenched up, which unfortunately San could feel around him, and he buried his face in your neck to suppress a groan.

“Uhh, j-just me, trying to get some sleep.” You called out over his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry.”

The footsteps dragged back toward the staircase and you both waited with bated breath until it seemed like they were gone.

San moved again when he felt the coast was clear and it was your turn to laugh.

“I can’t believe you are still in the mood after that.” You giggled, knowing quite a few men who would have gone soft from the fear alone.

“I can’t help it!” He tried to say quietly but urgently, “You were the one tightening up around me.”

You felt some of your shyness slip away with his confession, knowing you were making him so turned on with just your motions. You held onto his shoulder and pressed yourself up into him, and he let out a panted “ah” sound against your neck.

“You feel so good.” He whined, and listening to the shift in his voice from joking to pitched with arousal only made you hotter.

The build up was gradual, and soon all laughter fell away, replaced with a lust expressed in small sounds and gestures. As he pulled his upper body up, his eyes burned right through you, and you never thought a stare alone could make you fall apart like this, but here you were, fighting to hold your moans and rational thoughts.

One of his hands trailed down your stomach and between your legs, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing in small circles. Your back arched up and you latched onto his forearm, trying to gain some control but feeling yourself tumbling toward release instead. He enjoyed the response, that sly little smile painted across his lips once more as he picked up the pace, driving you forward.

“I need you to come for me.” He said with a hint of desperation, not wanted but needed you to. He was wholly focused on pleasing you and wasn’t going to stop until you got there.

Your body seized up, nails digging into his wrist, teeth in your bottom lip, ready to fall over the edge. San leaned down, driving his hips into you harder as his barely-there voice rushed out against your lips.

“That’s it, baby.”

His pleas continued until you came undone underneath him, fighting hard not to make too much noise but a couple strained moans slipping by. San had already started before you could finish, your pulsing around his cock driving him over the edge unexpectedly as he bowed forward and muffled his yelp into your shoulder. His hips stuttered until they stopped, and he used the last of his strength to pull out of you.

“Um, i'll be back.”

He scurried away into the darkness to get cleaned up and you couldn’t help but laugh, pulling your sweats back on and heading to another guest bathroom to do the same. Once you were refreshed, you nearly ran into each other in the hall and both clutched at your chests thinking it was someone else, then dissolved into a fit of giggles.

You reached out for San’s arm, letting him guide you through the dark back into the living room, and you noticed the gentle smile he looked down at you with when you pulled him close to you.

“Was that okay?” He asked after you had crawled back into your bed.

“Uh, it was more than okay.” You replied truthfully, and he seemed satisfied with himself.

“You know what else I miss?” He asked, and you waited for the answer.

“Cuddling.”

Even after all you had just done, he could still make you blush.

“Do you want to? Like, as friends?” You half-joked, saying it in the same tone he had.

Without saying anything else he shifted toward you and pulled you back against his chest. “I have some bad news.” He whispered into your ear once you were settled back into his embrace.

“What’s that?” You asked through a yawn, your eyes drifting closed as the events of the day finally wore you down.

“I don’t think we’re just friends anymore.”

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 20/?

Part 19

"I- Jon-"

"You don't- if you want to leave, we won't stop you." Jon gives a light squeeze to the fingers trapped in his. "But we don't- we would very much like it if you'd stay with us for as long as you feel comfortable." He waits a couple seconds, before he leans in to rest his forehead against Martin's.

"I- I think I would be okay with that," Martin whispers back, his breath tickling on Jon's lips.

"That's good. I've been informed you and I can both be very stubborn, so I'm glad to hear we're on the same page."

Martin chuckles slowly, almost like he's forgotten how to do so. "Is he really one to talk, though?"

"Oh trust me, he has zero self awareness."

XX

Probably due to the Distortion's influence, Gerry's eyes take a bit longer than usual to adapt to the darkness. The first thing that hits him is the scent of grass and wet dirt, and he gives Jon a quizzical look as he hears Helen's door close behind them.

"One of- of Daisy's safehouses," Jon responds to the unspoken question. The name is drenched in so many feelings it's difficult to separate just one, but the overall taste is grief, and Gerry has to agree. It's always painful to lose someone to the worst parts of themselves. "Are- do you need help?"

Gerry snorts. "Sure, let's trade," he jokes, shifting Martin on his back. He can't really see Jon rolling his eyes, but he's fairly sure it's happening just from the scoff in the dark.

"You're hilarious."

"One of my many talents. Just- will there be a place for him to sleep? I wouldn't want to put him on the floor." As his vision grows used to the darkness, he can see the faint outline of a small cottage on their left, and the irregular shapes of bushes and other plants all around them. Behind them is a little stone fence with a wrought iron gate, which he supposes is the door Helen brought them through.

"I- yes. There's- there's a bed. And a couch." Out the corner of his eye, he sees Jon bend down and tilt a flowerpot to retrieve something from underneath. "Both are comfortable enough."

"Good. It probably isn't a great idea to leave him alone tonight," Gerry says carefully as Jon pushes the key in the lock. Martin will have to forgive him the awkwardness of waking up in bed with them.

"Yes, I didn't think so. The bed is- it's not big enough, but- well, the one at the flat wasn't either."

Gerry smiles, and he leans down to press a kiss to Jon's temple in the penumbra of the cottage. "That's the spirit."

And in they go.

"So you killed him?" Gerry asks a few hours later. The first suggestion of morning light is already filtering through the clouded windows, and he finds a certain feeling of peace in the sound of Martin's quiet, steady breathing. Between them, with their joined hands resting on his stomach, Martin sleeps still; he looks a bit grey still, but he's still breathing and he's still there, and that's what really matters.

"I did. It- he wouldn't have let me reach you otherwise." Jon exhales slowly. "I'm- I know I shouldn't have-"

"Jon, I promised Lukas months ago that if you didn't kill him, I would. You just... stole my shot, I suppose." Gerry shrugs. He can feel Jon's gaze glued to his face though, and he sighs. "Listen, I'm not about to condone you killing people, you know that. But- I don't think we could've saved Martin if you hadn't gotten rid of him."

"Maybe you could've pulled him out."

"And maybe it would've pulled me in instead." Gerry shrugs again. "We don't know what could've happened Jon, only what did, and what happened is that you saved Martin. That's- don't forget about that."

"I don't. I can't." Jon sighs, and Gerry pushes up on his elbow to look at him. He's looking at Martin's face like a bird would at the sky, and Gerry finds himself smiling fondly at the sight. "I guess- I guess we were lucky you decided to hound him after I went into the coffin, huh?"

"A kindred spirit, I had to help. Just two idiots moping after the same, bigger idiot."

"You two do have terrible luck when it comes to crushes, I suppose." Jon says it lightly, with a small, crooked smile on his lips. Gerry still doesn't particularly like the aftertaste of the words.

"Nothing to do with luck," he says, shrugging. "Loving you is a conscious choice, Jon. You can ask him when he wakes up, if you don't believe me."

"I'm- I think that would be too forward."

Gerry rolls his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous."

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When Martin wakes up, his first thought is that he feels warm.

It's something he hasn't felt in a while, since his connection to the Lonely became strong enough that not even Tim's presence was enough to fend off the cold.

The bed below him is soft and comfortable enough, but unfamiliar still. It's been a long time since he's woken up on a stranger's bed -it always made him feel worse the next day-, but what surprises him the most is the feeling of the two bodies pressed up against his sides.

And then it all starts coming back.

He opens his eyes slowly, follows the dust floating lazily in the air across bright beams of sunlight that paint the wooden walls gold.

"You're awake," Jon says quietly by his left.

"How are you feeling?" And that's Gerry on his right.

The warmth, the peace, the quiet concern in their words. If this is a dream then let it be so, Martin decides as he closes his eyes again.

"Alive," he says after a moment. "You- you bought me back."

"You decided to come back. It was all you, Martin." Gerry's voice is gentle, and Martin wonders for a moment how it isn't this what made it into the statements. It's always about his looks, about the cryptic knowledge he dispensed to those in need, but there's nothing about the way Gerry Keay decides that you matter, and leaves you no other choice but to believe it. "You remembered the things you love."

"I remembered I was right pissed off at you, what were you two thinking, following me in there?" Martin snaps back. His chest hurts; the Lonely keeps trying to whisper at him, how he could've been the end of them, how he dragged them into danger, isn't that just what he always does? Cause trouble and force others to help him out?

Jon sighs. "We were thinking about you, of course."

'Of course', he says. Like it was a foregone conclusion, like they didn't even have to think about it. Martin's closed eyes sting and burn a little.

"Jon?"

"Hm?"

"Am- what am I now?" Martin asks. It's a lot easier to focus on things that can be categorized, explained, that aren't just a tangle of red-hot feelings much too big for his chest. "Am I an avatar?"

Gerry shifts on the bed to press a little tighter against him. The feeling isn't entirely pleasant, because there's still a part of Martin that aches for the cool emptiness of the Forsaken. Still, he doesn't move away. He doesn't want to.

"As- as much as you can be, without dying." Jon sits up, and Martin opens his eyes again to find him looking down at him with his face alight in thinly-veiled concern. "I- Martin, you chose the Lonely."

"I did. I- I thought it would keep you safe." It didn't, of course, and he only really ended giving Jon the last of his marks.

"I think you'd be the first and only person to ever have chosen the Forsaken out of love." Gerry chuckles and sits up as well. "You just like breaking the rules, don't you?"

"Like- like you're one to talk," Martin croaks out. The two of them are backlit by the early morning sun, like a vision, like a dream. The weight of their gazes on him is overwhelming, and it scares him a little how much he doesn't want it to stop.

"Well, maybe Jon here just has a type." Gerry smirks, and he leans down to press a kiss to a sputtering Jon's cheek, before he turns and gives Martin another one of those searing seafoam gazes. "Get some more rest, I'll go see what we're working with."

The bed bounces a little when he climbs to his feet, and the door to the little bedroom squeaks closed behind him, leaving the two of them alone and in a dense, loaded silence.

"Oh, and talk a little!" Comes muffled through the door, Gerry's voice tinted with unmistakable amusement, before his footsteps fade away.

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

"...I feel like we've been tricked, somehow," Martin mumbles after a couple seconds.

Jon lets out something between a snort and a sigh. "I think this might be payback for hoisting Tim on him after the hunters came," he confesses. This still feels unreal, that Martin is alive, that he's here, that he's not sending him away. "But I- we do need to talk. Not- not now, if you don't want to. I mean it's- you're still recovering and-"

"I don't really- is there anything for us to talk about?" Martin shrugs. "He wasn't wrong, you know? I- the Lonely was always there, but I did choose it for you. Every step of the way."

Ah.

Jon sighs in a futile attempt to calm down his thundering heart, as he looks down at Martin on the bed. The soft green of his eyes is almost hypnotizing, and the streak of white in his dark hair feels like a medal, a show that he went through hell and came out stronger.

"I- can- would It be okay if I lay down with you again?" He asks. Before, it was a necessity, a measure to keep Martin grounded; this time Jon wants to do it because Martin wants him to.

"I would like that," Martin breathes out after a moment. "I- where are we?" He adds after Jon has laid down a few inches from him.

"Scotland," Jon replies. "This- it was Daisy's house."

"Was?"

"I- Daisy..." Jon cuts himself with a sigh, when words refuse to come.

"Oh, Jon..." Martin whispers, and his hand grazes against Jon's softly. "I'm- is she-"

"Not- not dead. It's- worse, I think. Basira hasn't gotten around to start tracking her, but she will soon, I suppose." And when she finds her... who knows? He can See many things, but not the strength of Basira's will.

"I'm really sorry."

"Me too. But- if anyone has a way to get her back, it'll be Basira. We just- we need to hope for the best, I think," he says. Martin's gaze is burning holes in the side of his face, and Jon turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just- it's rare to hear you be optimistic."

"...Oh." Jon feels his face heat up at the- it's not quite an accusation, but there's a little twist to the edge of Martin's lips that make it feel like so much more than just a casual remark. "I- Gerry's contagious."

"He really is." Martin shakes his head a little, rolling his eyes with a smile. It makes something unclench inside Jon's chest, until the smile starts to fade, and Martin schools his expression into a careful blank mask. "Listen, Jon- I- he wasn't wrong. What I feel for you-"

"Martin-" Jon says, his voice strained and much too weak to be heard. Sure, objectively, he knew it was very probable that Gerry was right, but- but it's still a whole other thing to hear Martin sort of say it.

"-but I'm- I know it isn't fair to expect it back, or-" Martin turns to face him, and Jon wonders once more how he ever looked into these eyes and doubted the emotions so clearly written in them. He really was dense. Is dense, probably, but he's getting better, hopefully. "I'm- I'll get out of your hair, just- go back home. Tim's there, and-"

"Martin," Jon repeats, quietly but firmly enough that Martin seems to latch on to the calm behind it. He's spent so long being afraid these past few months -these past few years-, that even Jon is a bit surprised at the peace he feels right now. "Do you want to leave?"

"I- I don't. But I- the last thing I want is to get between the two of you, Jon. I- you deserve each other," he says with such finality that Jon can guess the other half of that statement even though Martin doesn't voice it.

Jon turns his hand on the bed, so that his fingers are just the slightest bit tangled in Martin's larger ones.

"I walked into the Lonely for a reason, Martin." Jon tries a smile, and is rewarded by the slight widening of Martin's eyes, the soft parting of his lips.

"...Ah," Martin says after a moment. "But- but then-"

"Can I let you in on a secret?"

"A sec- what?" Martin frowns.

Jon leans in closer to Martin, almost close enough, if any of them were inclined. He's delighted, when Martin doesn't move back.

"Jon?"

"I think-" Jon starts in a conspiratorial whisper, very aware of how far one's voice can carry when one's connected to someone else by some uncanny Eye bond "-my boyfriend might like you too, Mister Blackwood."

Somewhere deep into the cottage, someone drops what sounds like a pan, or a pot, and Jon snorts both at Gerry's indignation and Martin's wide eyes.

"I- Jon-"

"You don't- if you want to leave, we won't stop you." Jon gives a light squeeze to the fingers trapped in his. "But we don't- we would very much like it if you'd stay with us for as long as you feel comfortable." He waits a couple seconds, before he leans in to rest his forehead against Martin's.

"I- I think I would be okay with that," Martin whispers back, his breath tickling on Jon's lips.

"That's good. I've been informed you and I can both be very stubborn, so I'm glad to hear we're on the same page."

Martin chuckles slowly, almost like he's forgotten how to do so. "Is he really one to talk, though?"

"Oh trust me, he has zero self awareness."

And that's that, Jon decides. Love is not a thing that's said, so he would very much like for a chance for it to happen.

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

The first few days are the weirdest by far.

They move carefully around each other, an odd tension in the air that's just waiting to break. Working around the house helps, Gerry thinks; it's difficult to worry about where you stand with someone when both of you are being berated by your terrible cleaning skills.

"I somehow didn't expect you to be so good at this," Gerry says after Jon practically wrestles the dusting cloth off his hands.

"You should've seen how I left Georgie's flat." Jon pushes some sweat-soaked locks out of his face, leaving a long streak of dust across his cheek. "Being on the run from the police is a better motivator than any playlist, if you ask me."

Gerry watches him go at the kitchen table with remember vigor, rolling his eyes with an amused snort that Martin mirrors from where he's sitting at the other side of the kitchen. He looks at him over Jon's head, surprised once again by just how comforting the green of his eyes is, and the spark of fond amusement as their gazes meet.

"How are you feeling today?" Gerry clears his throat to ask.

Martin makes a noncommittal noise, tilting his hand this way and that. "Better, with something to do. I think we'll need some groceries soon... Tim only packed food for a few days."

Gerry knows that, and Jon knows that too. None of them have been eating any more than a few bites when Martin watches them, partly because they don't need it, but mostly because Martin does, and the longer the food lasts, the longer Martin can take to recov-

"You two should go find some, actually." Jon pushes the hair out of his face again, before he huffs in frustration and ties the dusting rag on like a bandana. "It's not like you're helping here."

"Excuse me?" Gerry arches an eyebrow. "You told us to get out of your way!"

"I did not." Jon gives him a scathing look over his shoulder. Gerry winks at him. Jon quickly turns back to the table, and Gerry's stomach flips a little when he hears Martin snort again.

"It was sort of implicit," Martin says quietly. "I sort of assumed we weren't doing a good enough job for you when you took our things." And he gestures to the raggedy broom in Jon's hands, which Jon robbed him off before he went after Gerry's rag.

Jon at least has the decency to look ashamed, but he doesn't give either utensil back. "Well, it's ridiculous to have three people cleaning when there's more to be done."

And yes, they- they do need the groceries -or rather, Martin does- but still... "I would much rather not leave you alone," Gerry says.

Jon's lips curl into one of those lopsided smiles, his dark eyes looking sympathetically up at him. "I'll be fine for a few hours. And if I'm not, I'll- I'll know where you are."

"...You should ask the Eye to make you another me. That way I'd be able to keep both of you out of trouble," Gerry grumbles. It's not like he can tell Jon no anyways, and he wouldn't let Martin go out alone either.

"You? Really?" Martin asks dryly from his end of the table. Gerry tries to focus on Jon's shit-eating grin even as he feels Martin's eyes burning holes on the side of his face.

"All I'll say-" Gerry lifts his hands in surrender. "Is that out of the three of us, I'm the only one that has never pissed off an avatar so much that they've gotten thrown into an alternate dimension."

"I'm pretty sure Peter was about to. And Simon too." Martin shrugs.

Jon scowls. "Wait, Sim- Simon Fairchild?"

Oh. Oh yeah, he didn't-

"I'll go get our jackets."

"You didn't tell him?!" Martin's voice is somewhere between scandalized and delighted as Gerry retreats from the kitchen in a hurry.

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

"I thought he didn't need to sleep," Martin whispers. The fire they built in the tiny chimney crackles happily, warming them just enough that Martin himself starting to get drowsy.

Jon looks up from Gerry's head on his lap, his hands stilling on the small braid he's weaving by his temple. "He doesn't. He just likes it."

"And you don't? Martin asks. Gerry has, as usual, taken up most of the sofa, which means Jon is pressed flush against Martin's side, and his presence there is a lot more warming than the fire.

"Not with all the nightmare eating, I don't particularly enjoy it." Jon snorts and goes back to his braid, leaving Martin entirely at a loss as to what he should answer.

There's a long moment in which the only sounds in the room are their breathing and the crackle of the fire, before Jon speaks again.

"I'm- that was a joke."

"O- oh."

"...Sorry," Jon adds a bit more quietly.

"I- no need to be sorry. I-" What could Martin possibly say? That sometimes he forgets he and Jon don't actually know each other? He should say something about how he'll try harder, how he wishes he clicked with him as easily as Gerry does, how he's been trying -and failing- to understand the mystery that is Jonathan Sims since that morning years ago when he came to the Institute expecting to be berated for being stupid enough to get trapped at his flat by the very things he was sent to investigate, and was instead offered sympathy -however clumsy it was- and a safe place to stay.

He really shouldn't be here.

This place, this- this little pocket far from the world that they've found for themselves, this is the only place where the two of them can be safe. He's just intruding-

"Martin," Jon whispers. His voice is careful, soft. His fingers are tense where they're buried in Gerry's ink-black hair.

"Hm?" Martin asks. There's an odd reverberation to his voice, and the room feels like it's grown colder, even though the fire burns bright still.

"I- you're- stay with me, please." The end of Jon's sentence curls up like a question, and Martin arches an eyebrow. "Your- look at your hands."

He does, and then he's looking straight through them, at his lap and the sofa beneath him.

"Oh. I- l don't know what to do." Martin not quite asks, feeling the comforting numbness of the Lonely drape over him like a blanket, drowning even the fear at the thought of curling mist and empty space, so empty, forever.

"Wh- what do you need to hear?" Jon's voice is tinted with the slightest bit of compulsion, and Martin feels the truth escape him before he can even think the words.

"That I'm wanted here. That I matter." Ah, he thinks as he watches something wash over Jon's face. This is- it's pretty pathetic.

"Hm. I-" Jon clears his throat. "I'm not terribly good at this. I wish- I wish you could compel me instead."

"What would you say?" asks that little, treacherous part of Martin that doesn't quite want to go.

Jon's gaze lifts to his again, his eyes fading back into the usual, beautiful dark brown after the compulsion.

"I'd say you are loved. But I'd also- I think I'd also say that you are worth so much more than the love others bear you, and- and that I'd be very glad to remind you of that as many times as it's needed."

It isn't a compelled confession of course, it could never be. It maybe feels a lot more sincere because of that.

This is not the truth torn out by force, but one freely given by a man who has decided Martin is worth all the trouble he brings.

Pushing the Lonely away hurts, and all his feelings returning at once is both dizzying and overwhelming, but Martin is glad to feel the numbness go.

He is even more glad, when Jon's head leans on his shoulder, and one of his hands leaves its nest in Gerry's hair to come to tangle in one of Martin's own.

"Thank you," he whispers, squeezing back at Jon's thin fingers.

Jon's grip tightens, and Martin's heartbeat speeds up when his hand is brought up to a pair of chapped lips, and a kiss is pressed to his knuckles.

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

Gerry's always faintly aware of where Jon is, like a bird that knows where it nests no matter how many turns it takes. Even now as he fades back into consciousness, he's able to feel Jon's presence, steady and calm by his side.

"You watch us a lot," he says, feeling his lips curl into that easy smile Jon always brings out of him.

"Isn't that my job description?" Jon asks, and Gerry snorts, opening his eyes. "I just- I shouldn't sleep. And sometimes I just need to remind myself you're safe."

Gerry lifts a hand to cup the side of Jon's face. "He's recovering well enough."

"I meant you too, you know?" Jon says dryly. Gerry frowns a little, confused.

"Me?"

Jon gives a long-suffering sigh -which Gerry thinks is incredibly hypocritical of him- before he slides down the bed to lay down flush against him.

"I was worried about you too, when I got to the Panopticon," he whispers, his words punctuated by Martin's soft snoring. "You were just there, unconscious. Bleeding."

Oh, Gerry thinks. He's not sure why the thought is so surprising, but for some reason he never stopped to think that Jon had been as worried for him as he was for Martin, in that moment.

"I was fine. I-"

"I thought I had lost both of you." Jon rests his hand on Gerry's chest, right where his heart doesn't beat. It burns, and it's heavy in a way Gerry knows has nothing to do with its actual mass. He doesn't think anyone has ever been concerned about losing him before.

"Never," Gerry whispers after a moment. "Not if I have any say in the matter."

"What if you don't? The Eye-"

"Didn't you say so yourself? I'm not the Eye's, Jon. I'm yours." Gerry scowls up at the wooden ceiling like he could glare a hole through it and at the Watcher itself. "I'm here to stay, for as long as you want me."

"I'm- that's good." Jon swallows heavily. "I think I will want you for a very long time."

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

"He's been gone for a while," Martin comments. Jon looks up from the book he's reading, only to find Martin leaning on the mossy stone fence to look down the road that leads to the town.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, before he climbs to his feet and walks over to him.

"He's alright," he says as he comes to lean on the fence as well, pressing himself against Martin's side. "He's looking for a shop that carries his brand of hair dye."

Martin snickers above him, which Jon finds warming enough to ignore the cold countryside breeze. If he finds himself leaning back even further, and Martin shifting to let him lean on his chest instead, it's nobody's business but their own.

"Is he really?"

"I'm afraid so. And let me warn you, he's a mess. Mark my words, I'm going to end up doing it myself, unless we want the bathroom turning into a crime scene." Jon gives a long-suffering sigh, and is rewarded by the rumbling of Martin's chest as he laughs again.

"I could help. I've never done it before, but it sounds fun." There's a slight questioning to the offer, like Martin is testing the waters, or expecting to be refused.

Jon turns around without stepping back, bringing a hand up to rest on Martin's shoulder. Martin's eyes are fixed on him, their colors a perfect mix of the vibrant grass and the stormy sky behind him.

He will probably never be free of the Forsaken's influence, but for the time being he wants to be here with him. With them.

"I would love that. I'm sure he would too."

"You think?" Martin is leaning down in a way that feels almost subconscious, that indicates Jon might be something to be desired rather than feared. Jon finds it utterly intoxicating.

"I know." He wishes for a moment Martin, like Gerry, could feel the truth in his words. Since it's not the case, he figures he'll have to settle for repeating it as many times as it needs to sink in. "Martin?"

"Hm?" Martin asks. Jon curls the hand in his sweater into a fist. Martin leans down a bit more.

There's something to be said about the quiet loneliness of the countryside, and how nobody hears the seams on Martin's sweater strain. No one sees any kiss that may or may not occur, and if there is a single tear running down a round cheek after it, no one is there to witness Jon wiping it away.

It is a good kind of isolation, one that feels safe, because they're together.

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

They two of them are a lot more relaxed around each other, Gerry's noticed. Martin still walks into rooms like he's intruding, Jon still treats the two of them like they're made of glass, like they could disappear if he's not keeping an eye on them, but they're getting better.

Jon fits in Martin's arms like he was made to be there, Gerry thinks. Far from any bad feelings, it ignites in his chest a fierce rush of fondness, and no small amount of protectiveness.

They deserve to be like this forever, with him watching only from as far as the other end of the sofa, with Martin smoothing his thumb over the eye on Gerry's ankle that's resting on Jon's lap.

It's cosy and warm and normal, and as much as Gerry yearned for it, the sheer amount of comfort he feels sitting here is enough to scare him. Which makes him slip back into the safe, well known space of teasing Jon.

"-u should've seen him," Gerry continues with a smile. "It was always 'no Gerry, it's selfish of me to care about Martin and I'm the worst person in history' and 'Martin is doing this to save the world, it has nothing to do with me because again, I'm the worst person in history', was he like this before?"

Gerry catches Jon glaring at him, and he gives him a scrunched nose smile and a blown kiss. He goes red in two seconds flat; works like a charm every time.

"Oblivious?" Martin smiles softly -everything Martin does is soft, Gerry's constantly marvelled at how a person that has been hurt so much can still find kindness in himself for others. "Sort of. Did he tell you about the time he thought I was a ghost?"

Jon groans and turns to hide his face against Martin's shoulder, which immediately has Gerry straightening up in interest.

"You know he didn't. Tell me all about it."

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

The kitchen smells heavenly when Martin steps in, and he finds Gerry already perched on one of the chairs, looking expectantly at-

"You can cook?" Martin blurts out before he can stop himself. Gerry chuckles at Jon's flinch, leaning against Martin's side when he comes close enough to where he's sitting. It's- he's incredibly tactile, Martin was surprised to discover. He wonders if it caught Jon off-guard too at first, to be touched so casually. Personally, Martin likes it, and he likes it a lot more because every touch burns a bit more of the Lonely away.

"You don't have to sound so surprised." Jon turns to face them wielding a scowl and a wooden ladle. "I'm a grown man."

"Well you did invest weeks into convincing us you stabbed yourself with a bread knife, forgive me for believing you." Martin smiles.

"I want to hear that one," Gerry pipes up, wrapping an arm around Martin's waist. "So? What's for dinner?"

"Just some beef stew." Jon steps a bit closer, and Gerry leans forward, lips parted. "You're ridiculous. You don't even need to eat," he says, but he gets the ladle close enough that Gerry can close his lips around the edge.

It's a bit odd to see Jon interacting so easily with someone, when he's usually so guarded. It's... a good look. They look comfortable together. He's thought that ever since he found them sleeping at the Archives that night after the coffin, though back then it hadn't brought him the warmth it does now.

"Whoa, this is really good." Gerry's eyebrows rise up his forehead. "You're full of secrets, Mr. Sims."

"Again, no need to sound so surprised." Jon rolls his eyes, but Martin's lips twitch at the satisfied smile on his face. "Anyways, it's about ready. Do you want to eat now?"

Martin is so busy watching Gerry make faces at Jon that it takes him a moment to realize the question is aimed at him.

"Oh, I'm- I could eat, but are you two... oh." Martin fidgets a little when something clicks in his mind. "Is this for me?"

"Huh?" Jon looks up from where he's scowling at Gerry's faces, looking a bit confused. "I made enough for three."

"Yes but- you two don't really... you know." Martin makes a vague gesture, between the two of them and the pot boiling happily on Daisy's little stove.

"Oh. Well, no." Jon shrugs. "We can, but we don't need to."

"Then why-"

"It's not about the food." Gerry pats Martin's hip before he climbs up to his feet. "It's about you." And he just up and walks away to grab three bowls from the cupboard, leaving the two of them staring at each other in loaded silence.

Jon clears his throat, averting his gaze. "He's right, you know?"

Martin feels his face heat up. After embracing the Lonely so closely, it's still overwhelming to have all these emotions so close to the surface all the time. Did he feel this much before, or is his- his mind, his heart, making up for all the time he wouldn't let it feel anything?

"I'm- thank you."

Jon smiles, small, lopsided and sweet, and Martin feels his heart flutter in his chest a little. "Anytime."

The stew is surprisingly good, Martin discovers a couple moments later, and he makes sure to voice his appreciation after the first few spoonfuls.

Jon rolls his eyes and scoffs, but Martin can see the pleased smile he hides behind his chipped mug, and he knows he will gladly spend the rest of his life complimenting Jon only to see that view.

"I'm- it's good to know you like it. I haven't had anyone to cook for in a while," Jon mumbles quietly.

"Are you kidding me? This is some good stuff." Gerry taps the spoon against his bottom lip with a clink of metal on metal. "I never learned to cook."

Martin arches an eyebrow. Gerry doesn't seem like the kind of person to depend on someone else for something as basic as feeding. "How come?" he asks, and it's only then that he catches the slight head shake Jon is giving him.

"Bad mum, no dad." Gerry shrugs, and oh. "I'm sure you can relate."

Martin freezes, eyes wide. It's- he definitely can, but he's never- Gerry says it so carelessly, like it has no weight at all, even when Martin knows perfectly well Elias used it against him before... which he can also relate to.

"That's one way of putting it." Martin snorts before he can stop himself. Out the corner of his eye, he can see Jon relax as well, once it's clear none of them took it the wrong way. "In my defense though, I learned to cook on my own after I grew up. What's your excuse?"

"Spooky books. Never really had much time, I lived on what was cheap and quick." Gerry winks, giving them a smug grin. "I guess you two will just have to take care of me."

Martin rolls his eyes "Or you know, teach you." He taps at Gerry's nose with the back of his spoon, and smiles fondly when said nose is scrunched at him.

Jon just watches them like one would a sunset, and Martin's heart gives another jump. He just might be able to get used to this.

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

There's a single beam of moonlight filtering through the window, painting a stark white line over the two sleeping forms before him.

Jon watches them from the other side of the bed, immobile in his fear of waking them up.

He drinks in the sight of them like a dry field drinks up rain after a drought; Gerry's brow finally relaxed in his sleep, his head resting on Martin's shoulder, his hair a tangled puddle of black against Martin's off-white sleeping shirt. His hand resting over Martin's heart, like he'd been counting the beats to fall asleep.

Martin's nose is buried in Gerry's hair, and Jon feels a soft pang of excitement, when he realizes he's not the only one that finds safety in the faded scent of lavender anymore, when he notices Martin's free hand is stretched towards him, and that he's allowed, encouraged even, to grab that hand, to press up against them and take comfort in the warmth of their bodies.

Instead, he watches. This should be what his powers are about, he thinks wistfully. What wouldn't he give, to Know love instead of fear; to build an Archive out of the memories of these two.

Write a thousand statements about the feeling of their fingers in his hair, the soft pressure of their lips on his skin, the lazy smiles every morning, the quiet snoring that lulls him to peace during those precious nights he's allowed to sleep. Perhaps Martin is rubbing off on him, Jon thinks, but they deserve it. They deserve to be the subject of a thousand poems, after fighting tooth and nail for their happiness, and finding it in a small cottage where their only problem is that the bathtub isn't big enough for the three of them.

The world is still threatening to fall down around them, but it can wait. It can wait until this becomes the new normal, until they can go out and fight again, with the thought of coming home as their fuel.

There's a well known click under the bed, and Jon smiles, chuckling.

"I don't think so," he whispers. "I think... I'd rather tell them when they're awake."

The tape recorder clicks again almost sullenly, but Jon pays it no mind. The time for secrets is over, and the promise of waking up to them again and again, of mapping their every reaction for the rest of his life... that feels like a happy ending.

[a-s-levynn]

2020 Year In Review

@bored-already thank you so much for tagging me! I saw you posting this and i didn’t get the note for the tag and i was just hoping you’ll tag me too in this because it looked fun! So thank you so much!

Disclaimer: i barely consumed any new media this year so most of these are rewatches/rereads. I’ll put an ‘R’ behind it if it is a re-anything.

putting it under read more, because it’s long

5 favorite movies I watched in 2020:

The Hound of the Baskervilles (1988) R

The Old Guard

We Need to Talk About Kevin R

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) R

Enola Holmes

5 favorite TV shows I watched in 2020:

Kindred: The Embraced

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and following (1984–1994) R (I love Jeremy Brett so much and he forever will be my Holmes)

Wizards: Tales of Arcadia (also the Trollhunters and 3Below rewatch)

Preacher R

Prodigal Son R

5 favorite songs of 2020 (not in any particular order):

Death By Rock And Roll - The Pretty Reckless

Silver Dimes - Thousand Watt Stare R

Wait and Bleed - Slipknot R

Stabbing in the Dark or The Nature of the Beast - Ice Nine Kills R (kinda hard to choose)

Far From Home - Sam Tinnesz R

5 top albums of 2020:

Negative Balance - Christian Martucci R

Hydrograd - Stone Sour R

Indestructible - Disturbed R

The Silver Scream - Ice Nine Kills R

Graveyard Shift - Motionless in White R

5 top books of 2020: I haven’t read much this year, mostly listened to audiobooks but as a librarian-on-paper i declare them books read because they are books and i got through them

America 51 by Corey Taylor (audiobook) R

The Rose and the Thorn by Michael J Sullivan (actually read) R (and the other Riyria books listened to as audiobooks)

With My Eyes Wide Open by Brian ‘Head’ Welch (audiobook) R

A Study in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (audiobook) R

Dracula, the Un Dead by Dacre Stoker (actually read, not finished yet but already loving it)

how did you spend your birthday in 2020?

The new expansion of the game i play came out on the exact day so i was online, playing with my friends and i barely got like 3 happy bdays and zero gifts so noone really aknowledged it. It was damn near perfect that way.

most memorable day in 2020:

Februar 4. by far. I finally got to see Slipknot live.

most memorable meal in 2020:

Aaahh... i don’t know? Nothing pops into mind at the moment?

new hobbies in 2020:

Starting to learn to write with my left hand again counts as a hobby? I definitely don’t do it as often as to be a regular thing but i do it semi constantly. But i haven’t started anything new. I really didn’t had much time by my own doing.. or more like failings.

5 good things from 2020:

Seeing Slipknot live (sorry i’ve got to put it here as well because reasons)

Starting to post ToA Wizards screenshots and meeting a lot of wonderful people because of it! I love you guys!

Joining the Riyria discord and being welcomed by the author himself, asking how i found his books. Like wth? He is so incredibly nice and genuinly curious about the fans and all. He is really nice and chill. I already considered him one of my favourite authors but like.. i think he actually is my favourite author.

My friend being and absolute angel and lending me a spare digital drawing pad for indefinite time so i can draw crappy things again

My vampire obsession slowly creeping back into the back of my mind and i’m so hapy about it

big lessons learnt in 2020:

I’m disturbingly unaffected in the long run for being almost completely alone for half a year, social distancing and keeping the corona-related curfew and other rules

My ADHD is definitely worse when my flatmate isn’t here to keep me in line

I’m still procrastinating way too recklessly and it should bite me in the arse soon enough

I’m way too much more of an asshole than i’d actually like to be so i really should work on that more than i already do

The past years i became more and more impatient and i have to work on that too

what you’re looking forward to in 2021:

Finally getting rid of universitiy for the rest of my life

Maybe being able to go to theatres again

Maybe being able to go to concerts again

ToA Rise of the Titans

Finally going home for a bit after half a year (in addition: maybe..maybe being able to meet my brother again later this year)

Tagging: aaaah i don’t know if anyone would want to do it? Maybe @isawhisperer , @nikibogwater and @littlerainsworld ? But no obligations as per usual of course! Or if any of you want to do this, feel free to @me because if i’d know you want to do it, i’d tag you!

[7deadlycinderellas]

I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry, ch2

AO3 link

Gendry, it turns out, does not care for hunting. Riding in general is still a new skill for him, though he does feel like he’s getting better at it. Arya seems determined to show him every single thing in the north, and frankly, outside of his lessons, Gendry welcomes the reprieve.

Gendry knows his letters and numbers, more than well enough to keep track of his own accounts. The types of reading and writing that are expected of him as a future Lord, are quite different. Maester Luwin is beyond patient (reminding Gendry that he had managed to teach both Arya and Rickon to read and write with some degree of skill), but the process makes Gendry’s hand ache and eyes cross.

While he’s practicing one day, he glances down the table to Arya, who had quietly come in and began scribbling on a sheet of paper beside him.

“What are you working on?”

“The household accounts. Who needs to be paid, what needs to be ordered, that sort of thing. I need to finish before Mother and I meet with Varyn Poole and make the rounds before supper.”

Gendry raises an eyebrow, and she smiles.

“This is a Lady’s actual work. This I know I can do.”

She had been pleased to come home to Lady Catelyn insisting that she assist with her own duties rather than just sitting in lessons with Septa Mordane all day. Though, those still happened too. More of them than before, truly, ones about scary future things, potential queenly things.

Something strange had happened as well, the first day she had been back at Winterfell. She had left her chambers quite early, when the sun was still low in the sky, to practice the exercises Syrio had taught her. Arya missed her old master greatly, but she knew he had longed to return to Braavos, and the least she could do was keep up her practice. The only other thing she missed from King’s Landing was Ned, and waiting for every raven from him brings both anticipation and trepidation.

When she was finishing up, she had turned and realized with a start that her mother was watching from the corner of the yard. The shock hit her so hard, she braced herself for a reprimand.

“Nice to see something could teach you a bit of discipline. Go clean up before breakfast.”

Arya had been so confused she had actually done as she was told.

When she finishes up checking her numbers, she asks Gendry.

“What’s on your plate after this?”

“Luwin says history and strategy.”

“Well some of that’s fun at least.”

Gendry leans forward and pushes his head against the smooth wood of the desk. Maester Luwin had left for a moment, so he felt like he could without insulting the old man.

“Then lunch, then I’m free for a bit.”

“Same place as usual? I might be there too.”

Gendry chuckles before she gets up to leave.

“There” was the Winterfell smithy. Mikken had taken to taking a long lunch to avoid the warmest part of the day and working past supper, leaving the forge free for an hour or two to be used by an upjumped bastard who missed his trade. Gendry was confused why the man didn’t have apprentices of his own. Arya had merely shrugged and said that was how it had always been.

“Do you miss it that much?” she asked him today, while he’s beating out a practice piece.

“The work, yes, if not the customers.” He wipes his hands on his trousers. “It was how I knew my worth. I worked hard, my results were good, people paid me. Here- here I don’t know. Do highborns ever take up trades?”

Arya shrugs. She does that a lot it seems, no wonder Maester Luwin said she was a beast to teach.

“Some likely do, as a hobby. Sansa writes that Willas Tyrell breeds hounds and horses. Maybe smithing could be your thing, the way wenches and ale are King Robert’s.”

Gendry’s blood boils, he knows she doesn’t mean it that way, but the very idea of his greatest skill being compared to boozing and whoring made him light up.

“What will yours be, the queen who flings food at people?”

Arya raises an eyebrow.

“Been holding onto that for these six moons? I only did it because I thought Mother was upsetting you, I thought you realized.”

He...had not. It made sense though. He imagines he’s not a subtle man when it comes to emotions.

“The reading and writing will come easier. Eventually, it will be like second nature.” she tells him, before leaving.

And it drives him up the wall to admit she’s right, that with practice both of them become easier, even the longhand letters with all the fancy flourishes.

She’s reading something one day beside him in lessons again, and he asks what it is again.

“Letter from Sansa.”

He raises an eyebrow. For all she used to complain about how Sansa did everything right and she never could measure up, she seems to miss her now that she’s home and getting letters from her.

“How is she?”

Arya sighs softly.

“Not sure really.”

Sansa’s letters have been...odd, is the only way Arya can put it.

“She’s betrothed to...someone from the Reach right?”

Their conversation is interrupted by Maester Luwin coughing. Gendry sighs and recites.

“The Reach, second largest kingdom in Westeros after the North. South of the Westerlands, east of the Stormlands. Ruled by House Tyrell at Highgarden, sigil is a golden rose. The most fertile of the seven kingdoms, they produce much of the kingdom’s food.”

At least that’s something useful to be known for.

Maester Luwin nods approvingly, and Arya continues.

“Sansa’s betrothed to Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden,” she bites her lip, “When she left here, she was ecstatic.”

“You think she changed her mind, that she doesn’t want to marry him?”

Arya makes a face. It’s not like it would matter if she had. She had asked Catelyn once why they had accepted the betrothal given the age difference. Catelyn had spoken a bit about the strategic importance of the Reach, especially with winter coming. And then she had said,

“And with your sister’s romantic heart, we thought she might enjoy having a husband who could not go off to war and leave her behind.”

It was something to think about, when she replies to Gendry.

“I don’t know. She speaks very well of him. He is quite a bit older than her, so maybe she doesn’t think they have anything in common. He’s crippled too, he fell from a horse years ago.”

More reason not to spend more time riding than he had to, Gendry decided.

“He did write a very sweet letter to Bran after he woke up from his fall ...Sansa’s always been so certain she knew just how she wanted her life to go, maybe the reality is hitting her a bit hard.”

She’s not sure that’s it, but that’s what she’s decided to go with. Suddenly, she brightens with an idea.

“You have a brother now too, living in Storm’s End. If you need writing practice, you should write him letters, get to know him better.”

Gendry winces. Even if he weren’t self conscious about his writing, he still wouldn’t want to reach out cold to a brother he’s never met.

“That won’t...draw attention to us or anything?”

Maester Luwin interrupts again.

“Edric has been acknowledged by King Robert when he was young. His mother was of noble blood, so his existence was treated quite differently than yours. A letter or two should not arouse any unusual suspicions, and would be a fine time for me to teach you the finer points of formal correspondence.”

That’s something else everyone has begun to talk about too. That as a future king, he should start making connections with other nobles. While Robb and Lady Stark agree that’s not safe for him to travel right now, with eyes from the capital potentially everywhere. Arya sometimes speaks to him about fearing for her father being all alone in the south.

They do insist, however, that whenever one visits Winterfell, he at least be introduced. Whether they are making a petition or simply pledging fealty, he must greet them.

Gendry’s still a Waters, and they don’t wish to draw attention to his parentage, so if asked, he is introduced as a Ser, and Arya’s betrothed. The northerners still raise eyebrows, but Gendry forces his face to remain impassive. The back of his neck drips with sweat through every exchange.

The Manderly’s from White Harbour are the first. Their Lord is a very large and boisterous man who Gendry doesn’t think he could get a single word in edgewise with. His two daughters are both polite, and Arya is immediately drawn towards asking the younger one about her garish green hair.

After the first, they all begin to blend together. Umber, Karstark, Cerwyn, other names.

One, rather than an old man, perhaps with a younger relative or two, is a young woman with curly hair. She is here, she says, on behalf of her ill father. She carries a spear, and Gendry sees the spark appear in Arya’s eye, the spark that says she has spied a potential friend, a kindred soul, a ghost of which had been on her face meeting Wylla Manderly. Gendry loves that spark, it warms him inside to see it. Quite a lot about her seems to warm him nowadays.

It’s after they finish and Arya runs eagerly after, that Gendry asks Lady Stark.

“If I’m going to be king one day-” the words spill out, stumbling, running into things. The idea still will not take root, even as he finds himself growing so much more comfortable with the clean clothes, regular food and friendly faces within Winterfell. “Shouldn’t I get to do this with the whole country before I make any decisions about anything.”

Lady Stark’s mouth forms a tight, thin line.

“As a king, you will have advisors aplenty. Additionally, you may wish to suggest reviving the idea of a royal progress so that you may see much of it for yourself. Your father took his throne when much of what he knew of the country was through waging war against it, and from what I’ve heard he relies very heavily on the knowledge and experience of others to rule, so I imagine you shouldn’t be held back too much by the shortcomings of your birth.”

Gendry’s blood boils again. Whenever he talks to Lady Stark, he nearly always comes off with his blood boiling it seems, and Arya’s not here to distract him now. He grits his teeth and decides it would be best to leave right now.

He ends with a curt, “I think I will be going now, milady,” his voice very carefully emphasizing the shortened pronunciation.

After leaving, he finds Arya with the other woman (Meera Reed, Arya will chide him, while rolling her eyes later, for him forgetting her name so quickly) in the training yard, carefully examining the points of her three-pronged spear. Gendry just holds back and watches until they finish.

Once they are done, Gendry notes that Arya had an odd look on her face.

“Something got your tongue?”

Arya chews her lip.

“It’s just a story Meera told me.”

Gendry looks at her quizzically.

“Has anyone mentioned my aunt Lyanna to you?”

Gendry frowns. The name sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.

Arya nods over her shoulder.

“We’re not needed anywhere right now. Follow me.”

They’re halfway across the Keep, when Gendry realizes she’s leading him towards the crypt, and feels a queer sensation in his gut. This is deeply personal.

“Lyanna was my father’s sister. She was supposed to marry King Robert, but was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. That’s why your father started the war, to get her back. She died regardless. That’s all I ever really knew about her, that she died and King Robert never seemed to get over it.”

The crypts are dark, even in the middle of the day, they have to carry a torch, but Arya leads him easily. She tells him a bit of what Meera told her, about the Tourney at Harrenhal, and Lyanna attacking the three squires who had been beating a defenseless man.

“I knew of the Tourney, but only that it ended with her being abducted.”

They’ve reached the correct statue, and Arya raises the torch. The sculpture is of a pretty woman, only a little older than her. Gendry doesn’t have to ask before seeing the resemblance.

“Father sometimes said I reminded him of her. But all anyone ever said that meant was that she was beautiful. If what Meera says is true- then I like the comparison much more.”

On an impulse Gendry can’t quite understand, he reaches out and takes her hand.

“I still can’t get my head around possibly being Queen one day...but if there’s an upside, it’s that. I would be able to protect the people who can’t protect themselves. Maybe, anyway.”

It’s the best reason to want to be queen, Gendry supposes.

As the moons go by, he is incredibly grateful for Arya. It’s only with her that he feels like he truly belongs here.

It’s not like the others don’t try. Bran will sit with him frequently during lessons, animatedly adding and asking Maester Luwin for more information on whatever they’re studying; history, strategy. It must be the best thing Bran can find to occupy his time now. Sometimes he came riding with them, but he was far more skittish than he’d been as a child, Arya told him, even with the saddle Tyrion Lannister had helped design.

Maester Luwin had shown him a few drawings at one point, asking for input on a couple of design ideas for a way Bran could get around without someone needing to push or carry him. There must be a way, Gendry thinks, he’s hardly the first injured lordling in history.

Robb too, reaches out to him. Gregarious, dutiful Robb, always inviting him to join them on rides and hunts (he often goes) or to explore Winter Town (he’ll go sometimes during the day) who tries to teach him to play dice and cyvasse (Arya taught him the first on the down low- she’s not supposed to know how, but she’ll often join the two in a game of cyvasse).

He tries, but it still feels like there’s a wall between them. This isn’t helped by the discovery that though he has spent a decent part of his life making swords, Gendry doesn’t have much idea how to wield one.

Arya was horrified. Until his lessons with Ser Rodrik began going better, she can hardly bear to watch him practice. It made him sad a little, but it was still better than the gazes he got from Robb that always felt like pity.

He is improving though, in nearly everything. He can hold his sword right now, his handwriting is legible (and Edric does seem pleased to have a penpal), he can remember nearly all the regions of Westeros with very little prodding. He wished it felt like enough.

He’s been at Winterfell nearly a year and a half when the betrothal announcement is made official. They will marry once Arya turns seven and ten, and then they will leave for King’s Landing.

Robb invites him out to Winter Town to celebrate. Gendry wasn’t going to say yes in the first place, but wants to go even less when Theon joins in.

He hasn’t been rude or dismissive, or anything really, but Gendry still can’t bring himself to like Theon’s often brash, occasionally lecherous self at all.

And if Theon’s involved, Gendry knows exactly why they’re going into town.

When he finally begs them off, Theon ends with, “Seven hells, he’s even less fun than Jon.”

So he’s in a spectacularly grouchy mood when Arya ambushes him and asks if he wants to go for a ride. He jumps out of his skin. All this time, she still can sneak up on him. Her doing it in the forge after lunch a few weeks before ended with them in another childish wrestling match. Sometimes he wonders if even marriage will quell these situations.

“Didn’t want to go to town with them?” she asks while one of the grooms saddles their horses. Autumn has well and set in in the north, but the snow is only a light powder today, “I know Robb sometimes hogs the attention, but there are usually enough fawning girls to go around, and I’m pretty sure Theon is on first name basis with most of the whores in the whole place.”

There’s a tone in her voice he can’t quite put his finger on. And there’s a new sort of offense in his gut.

“Arya, we’re betrothed. I’m not celebrating by immediately going out and fucking someone else.”

Arya’s expression softens, but still has that odd look on her face.

“Gendry...I’m the one who’s virtue is considered paramount. If this weren’t happening here, a maester would probably examine me to prove it. No one much cares about yours, you can do what you want.”

The offense Gendry feels twists and changes into outrage. Going to a brothel when you were betrothed to someone else is something his father would do. Something he always knew his father would do, even before finding out he was the king.

“That’s horrible,” he tells her hotly, pulling back on the bit and stalling his horse so he can look straight at her.

“Look,” he starts, trying to mild his voice, “I’ve never had much attention from girls. Not many go for a nameless bastard living among filth. You saw what happened the last time a woman showed interest in me.”

All he got for that brief hand drifting down his breeches was a brick to the head and loss of his first commission.

“Wait,” Arya interrupts, “Are you saying you’ve never-”

Gendry takes a deep breath before responding, the back of his neck only a little red.

“No, I’ve never. Never had any offers, true, but also never wanted to get any bastards on anyone.”

He watches her face shift again, but still can’t quite read it.

“And once we’re wed, I don’t plan on being the sort of husband who can’t stay faithful. That’s not me, that will never be me.”

Even with the words, Gendry feels a bad taste in his throat at the thought.

Arya’s voice when she speaks again is much quieter. They’ve made the rounds and are back approaching Winterfell again .

“Thank you,” she starts. “Not many men would admit to that.” Her eyes go off onto the horizon, and Gendry has a sinking feeling when he spots Lady Stark waiting beside the stables.

“You’ve done just what I asked you to,” she continues, sliding out of her saddle as her mother approaches, “You’ve been on nothing but your best behavior.”

She then turns to face the music and leaves him behind, only a little befuddled.

Catelyn walks with Arya silently until their alone.

“You shouldn’t go off with him unchaperoned,” she starts, only a little bit scolding, “It will make him think he can take indecent liberties with you. You must remember, he is born of lust and debauchery.”

Arya’s chest burns with indignation. It would normally too, but it does even moreso after their conversation.

“Mother, we used to wrestle-” well, two weeks ago was technically “used to” wasn’t it? “If that didn’t make him think he could do those things, I don’t think a pleasant evening ride will.”

Her insides are in a twist though. In the past few days, Septa Mordane had begun to give her more specific lessons on what to expect on her wedding night. While the idea of seeing Gendry naked had slowly stopped inciting giggles and instead become mildly intriguing, none of the older woman’s words had been reassuring. Her conversation with Gendry had confused her even more.

Catelyn sighs softly and brushes the light dusting of snow off of Arya’s jerkin.

“I would think that if he tried, you would howl like the she-wolf you are, but the two of you do seem to be fond of each other, and you would probably enjoy it, so it is up to the rest of us to remind you of propriety and decency.”

Arya feels herself blushing from head to foot. Her voice sounds almost sulky when she speaks.

“The way Septa Mordane tells it, I’m not sure if I’m even meant to enjoy it.”

Catelyn smiles fondly, and squeezes her daughters shoulders.

“You must remember Arya, that while Septa Mordane is very wise and educated, and demands your respect, that she has never been married. If the two of you have respect for one another, there’s no reason what happens in the marriage bed cannot bring joy to the both of you.”

Arya’s nerves are somewhat lifted, though the slight against Gendry from earlier still stings.

Catelyn leads her back towards her chambers.

“Your sister wrote us from Highgarden,” she says, changing the subject. “She will be coming home to Winterfell in a few moons. Said she would not even dream of missing your wedding. She will be bringing Willas’s sister Margaery with her as well, and speaks of wishing greatly to help with the planning.”

Margaery, Arya recognizes the name from her letters.

“How long will we have to do all of this.”

Catelyn brushes her hair down gently.

“Your seven and tenth name day is only seven moons away, and then you will be on your way to King’s Landing.”

Arya stomach plunges down even further than it had been before. All this time, all the extra lessons, that it still the part of this whole arrangement that frightens her the most.

For what may be the first time in her life, Arya can’t wait to talk to her sister.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Are You Lepre-Kidding Me || Morgan & Mina

Making friends is hard. #cursed

@drowningisinevitable

Morgan was relieved to have another shot at a normal work friend with a normal work lunch. The whole dishonesty about magic and beautiful weirdness thing wasn’t a fun time, but it was a bargain she was familiar with. Familiar could be comforting. And Mina seemed so nice. Morgan was happy to venture to the maths and engineering quad where a thai fusion truck liked to park and catch the hungry students coming out of their four hour labs. Morgan rocked on her heels as she stood in line, trying to figure out if Mina was already there. She fidgeted with a new pendant she’d crafted for herself, amethyst wrapped in gold, and checked her phone again, sending Mina a quick message: In line! Trying to will the sun back with floral prints.

Mina had been in the quad for about five minutes (five and a half, but who was counting?) and had already ordered a bowl of shrimp and fried rice when she got Morgan’s message. She sent back quickly that she’d snagged a table in the back right corner of the quad and settled in to wait for a few more minutes. She was excited; Mina’d always had a bit of trouble making friends. She and her dad never really settled anywhere for too long, and, if they did, never for longer than a year and a half. She’d thought she’d make more friends as she settled in to White Crest, but she was always feeling that niggling in the back of her head about her promise to her father, and, yeah, there was a small (very small, so small) piece of her that didn’t want to have to fulfill it anytime soon. It made her wary and awkward around people, never knowing what to expect from them. It was time for a change, though. It was time to connect with people.

Morgan stiffened with nervousness. Mina was already here. Morgan searched the tables as the line shifted up and ordered the noodle special. She paid for her food and wandered around until she saw her. Something about the way she almost vibrated in her seat reminded Morgan of her messages. She stopped, smiling hopefully. “Are you Mina…?” She asked. “It’s Morgan. Me. I’m Morgan, hi!” She gave another cursory look around the tables, just in case she had it wrong. There was a weird sound in the bushes, she thought, but perhaps it was her own anxiety manifesting its own soundtrack. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to her lately.

Jiggling her foot, Mina’s head whipped up as the other woman walked up to her. She smiled brightly. “Hey! Hi! Hey, Morgan! Yes, I’m Mina. It’s really nice to meet you. In person. Nice to meet you in person.” Okay, stop talking, she told herself. Something rustling in the bushes caused her to pause, just for a second, before she turned her attention back to Morgan. Birds, probably, she thought, though she felt a bit… off. The off feeling wasn’t coming from Morgan, though, and Mina really couldn’t be more grateful. She’d have cried if Morgan had been Fae. She really would have. “Have you had food from the thai truck, yet? I know you’re probably usually on the other side of campus, but they’re actually really good!”

Morgan beamed with relief and took a seat across from Mina. “Oh, good! It would’ve been really awkward if I’d put all that energy out at a random person. Not that I haven’t done it a few times before, but, you know.” She smiled brightly and looked the girl over, trying to get a better sense of her. She seemed even more anxious than Morgan, even more eager. Morgan wondered what she had to be nervous about, if it was her brain working overtime or if something had happened to make her expect something to go wrong. She knew both impulses well, and it made her feel a little endeared to her. “I haven’t, actually. I’m usually at the soup place on the arts quad, but this looks so yummy! Highly recommended by my freshmen, but they eat just about anything, I think, so I’m not sure how much that’s worth.” She sniggered into her noodles and took a bite. “It’s a shame we haven’t run into each other before now. It’s so stuffy in the office space, and it’s just medievalist and modernist bros making themselves feel superior. Well, less so, now that some of them are uh, missing with this eternal night thing.” And less so since she’d threatened one with murder. Morgan hadn’t thought she’d been very convincing, but the novelty factor must have worked in her favor. This, however, didn’t seem like making-friends material. “But what about you! I don’t picture it being very different in the math department, but, you know, it’d be nice if it was.”

“I understand the feeling,” Mina said with a smile. She was constantly putting out too much energy and hoping it went out the right way, and she often ended up screwing up. One time, she’d brought her father someone that she thought was a vampire but clearly wasn’t a vampire, and he’d only barely managed to catch her mistake in time. After that, they’d stuck to having her identify Fae. Speaking off, she was feeling something strange, but… no. She was imagining things. “Oh, I know all about freshmen appetites.” She wrinkled up her nose a bit. “One of the frat boys I tutor said the other day that a friend dared him to eat spray cheese on a marshmallow, which he did, of course, and he liked it. However, the Thai truck is no joke really good! I almost always grab a bite from here unless I pack lunch.” She frowned as Morgan talked about some of her coworkers. “Yeah, the, uh, the math masters program is, I’m sure you can guess, quite small. Quite. Most of my colleagues are… very nice gentlemen at times.” Most of them really weren’t bad, but there were two or three that she really wouldn’t mind just taking home to Dark Score and not drowning them. Not completely, at least. Mina gave Morgan a big smile. “But it’s certainly nice to meet someone outside of the department and outside of tutoring! I’m all about differential equations, but… it’s nice to not think about numbers!” 

Morgan had no problem believing Mina had problems with awkward first impressions. But whatever the cause, there was something kind under it all. Morgan smirked about the frat boy, and her colleagues. It seemed pretty clear there was a whole other word besides ‘gentlemen’ that she wanted to use. She smiled warmly at her as she gathered another scoop of noodles. “That’s fair. Although I do know something about those too. And, much as I can and will talk about books all day, it’s good to just, you know, be normal sometimes.” Or normal-ish. Normal-ish for humans, anyway. “I don’t really have any gal-pals up here. And I’m not really sure the TA bros would even get some of of--” Morgan never finished her thought. With a strangled yelp, her head snapped back, and just before she hit the ground, she saw a strange, wormy-gray looking critter leap on top of her forehead and reach for her neck.

This was nice, Mina thought as she ate a bite of shrimp. Nice company, nice food, a nice day (well, night). She could do this. Really, she could. “Right, you also teach some chemistry classes, yes? That’s really cool! But, I agree, it’s very nice to be normal.” Mina felt something kindred with Morgan, especially when she mentioned not having any gal-pals around. Mina didn’t have any pals at all, really. She agreed, and she would have told Morgan as much as soon as the other woman stopped speaking, except for one (or, rather, several) small problem: leprechauns. Brave ones, too, as one immediately took to Morgan, leaping on her. “No, no, no!” Mina yelped. She looked around the courtyard and, wow, just them and the leprechauns. Lunch must be over for most. There were too far in the back for the food truck guy cleaning up to see them, not in the dark, and-- Leprechauns. Mina needed to focus on the leprechauns. “Hey! Back off!” They wouldn’t bother her, not with her Fae blood, but Morgan was another story. Mina attempted to grab the one that was on Morgan as she told the other woman, “Iron! Need iron!”

Many, many strange things were happening at once. For starters, Morgan was on the ground, staring at a new upside-down world peopled with more strange gray faces, like something out of a scary children’s movie. They were toddling towards her, making strange noises that set her teeth on edge. Then Mina was there, throwing one off her and calling for...iron? Wasn’t that just a supernatural know-how thing? But Morgan didn’t have time to think. She was too busy scrambling onto her knees and looking for something, anything, to transmute. Her catch-all bag was too far and now there was one pulling on her ankle. Morgan screamed and tore out her hair clip and slammed it on her cuff, making--one tiny rod with a pointy end, not even the full length of her hand. Morgan held onto it tight as she was dragged back by too many tiny hands. She hooked one arm around the leg of the picnic table and thrust the other out to Mina. She seemed to know what she was doing. The why part could come later. 

Mina’d already tore a section of the bottom of her sweater off and wrapped it around her hand as she watched the leprechauns bearing down on them Of course, of course, the one time she actually begins to enjoy lunch on campus, and leprechauns decided to come along and ruin it. The one that she threw off of Morgan was looking at her in complete confusion, unable to comprehend that she’d chosen the other woman over a fellow Fae. Mina snatched the rod of iron from Morgan, grateful that the other woman was a magic user as she watched the hair clip transmutate, and it felt hot even through the cloth around her hand, but it was a familiar burn, and she should be somewhat protected. And, then, she went for one of the leprechauns around Morgan’s feet, lashing out with the rod. Many of them panicked at the approaching metal but seemed resolute in hounding their quarry. In their focus, they weren’t quite as fast as normal, and Mina took her chance, grabbing one and shoving the iron rod under its jaw and through its skull. Then she went at another one. To Morgan, she said, “I don’t suppose you can find a way to do that again?”

Morgan scrambled up and onto the table as soon as she was free, pulling her bag up with her. She wasn’t sure what the plan was besides ‘don’t get maimed,’ But seeing the pointy end of her rod go through one of the little gray head made her yelp and spill everything from her catch-all bag. Less rummaging. More doing. “Uhh, sort of?” She found the rod she’d been gifted and held it up like a bat. Only-- right. They were all at her ankles, and the second Morgan jumped down from the table, they were at it again. She swung down hard, batting one away. The sound the iron made sent cringe down her arms. Cold iron really was no joke. “What are these things?” She asked, swatting away another. “What do they want?”

“They’re leprechauns,” Mina said. “And not the kind of the cereal box, unfortunately.” She grabbed one by its abnormally large head and twisted. If Morgan wasn’t around, she’d decapitate the thing with her claws. However, she just snapped its neck, knowing it probably wasn’t dead. “They like stealing things, rare things, expensive things. They’ll kill to get it, too. And they travel in packs. Iron and decapitation are the two ways to dispose of them.” She recited what she’d been taught years ago, and she’d actually put this knowledge into practice. Leprechauns were not what her father considered humanoid Fae, the kind that she should be targeting in White Crest, but they were definitely the kind that she’d gone after with him when she was younger. “They’re also quite heavy so-- oof!” Apparently, Mina was no longer Fae enough to protect as one of the leprechauns threw itself at her. She grunted under the weight and kicked it off. “So watch out!”

“Rare things?” Morgan asked, taking another swing. “But I don’t--” Shit. Morgan hopped back on the table and pulled on Mina to come with her. She took off her necklace (oh earth, and it was some of her best work, too) and dangled it on the end of her rod. “Is this what you want? Seriously?” She tossed it down to the ground and braced herself while the leprechauns inspected the newfound ‘treasure.’ Morgan waited, tense, and reached for Mina’s arm so they could make a break for together if they had to. “Will that make them go away?” She asked in a whisper.

Mina tensed as Morgan grabbed her arm, but she kept her gaze steadily on the leprechauns. Four. Eight. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fourteen of the foul creatures, all surrounding Morgan’s necklace. “I don’t know,” she said lowly. “They usually kill when they get caught.” The clicking sounds they made caused a shiver to run up Mina’s spine. Though they couldn’t speak any sort of human language, she knew that leprechauns weren’t to be underestimated. They were smart, quick, and nimble, and they had a nasty habit of making and using their own tools. Plus, there were so many of them, and though she was impressed with how Morgan had handled herself so far, Mina didn’t know how the other woman would be able to take on fourteen of the bloody creatures. 

The leprechaun critters were plotting, negotiating, maybe even laying claims on who got to eat which toe for their lunch break. Carefully, Morgan stuffed only her essentials into her bag and slipped it over her shoulder. “We should run?” She mouthed to Mina, clumsily pantomiming their great escape with one hand. She eased onto her knees and inched back, balancing the cold iron in her grip all the while. It might have even worked if it hadn’t scraped on the edge of the table. The leprechauns turned their heads her way, their grim, tiny faces unreadable. Well, so much for being sneaky about it. “Yep! We’re running!” She leapt off her perch and sprinted away, leg throbbing with each step.

Though she would have loved to stick around and tear into the rest of the leprechauns, Mina followed jerkily after Morgan. She turned around and bared sharp teeth at the wretched little creatures, hoping that would deter them. If they figured out that Morgan was under her, another Fae’s protection, they might leave her alone. Whatever the case, Mina planned to come back at a later date with one of her father’s swords and slaughter the remaining leprechauns to ensure they didn’t do this to anyone else. She followed after Morgan, and, when she felt they were far enough away, she stopped the other woman. “We’re-- I think we’re good. Are you alright? Did they hurt you at all?”

Morgan slowed, staggering, to a stop. “Uhh...not too badly, I think?” She patted herself down carefully. There were some tender spots on her back from where she’d fallen, and a nasty scrape where she’d been dragged along the ground, but given what else had happened to her lately, Morgan felt like she couldn’t really complain. “At least I don’t need another hospital visit. I can’t stand Nurse Denise judging me again. What about you? Are you--” For the first time since they’d been disrupted, Morgan actually took a good look at Mina. There was something else in her, something firm and stringently capable, something like the iron, which she held with a hand wrapped in fabric. Morgan stared, trying to make sense of the last few minutes. “Mina, are you okay after all that?”

Mina ran a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh. “I’m glad you’re alright. They really tried to--” She stopped herself. What they tried to do was kill Morgan. All for a necklace. She really hated leprechauns. “I’m glad you’re alright.” She was concerned about the need for a hospital trip, though she didn’t say anything, it probably showed. Another implied that there had at least been one, in not multiple. “I’m fine,” she said. The leprechauns had barely touched her due to what she was, and the few scrapes and bruises she had would easily be taken care of when she got home. She looked at the iron rod, covered in bits of leprechaun and still in her wrapped hand. She wiped it off on her shirt. “I’m quite used to things like this. I grew up taking care of monsters like them.”

“T-tried to--?” Morgan prompted, eyes wide. She already had a decent idea from all the other times she’d almost-died recently, but there was something so strange about the prospect of getting her head dashed on the pavement over a bit of gold and amethyst. She’d heard by now of a few kinds of fae critters that subsisted on humans or thought nothing of hurting them, but it was different, feeling the ghosts of tiny leprechaun hands on her. Morgan shivered and tucked her rod back into her catch-all bag and took the one she’d transmuted from Mina. She touched it to her wrist to bring back her hair clip and distracted herself by fussing with her hair, wincing only a little in pain at the way it irritated the scrapes on her back. “Right. So, I don’t think there’s any point in pretending we’re normal by human standards,” she said, a little unsteadily. “Me, alchemist. You--? I mean how do you grow up uh…’taking care’ of leprechauns?”

“They don’t usually let people live when they get found out,” Mina said quietly. She felt uncomfortable saying the words out loud, making them real. As long as she had her way, though, those leprechauns wouldn’t be touching another person. She unwrapped her hand and flexed it. Thankfully, the iron handed touched her flesh at all, so while she’d felt a bit of discomfort, she was still fine and human, if in appearance only. She did laugh a bit as Morgan stated that they weren’t normal. “And here I thought all adjuncts had the chemical know-how to transmute a hair clip into an iron rod.” Mina played with the strip of cloth in her hand. “My father, he hunts creatures, creatures that hurt human beings. He raised me to do the same. I try to protect humans from the evils in this world, like those wretched things.” She jutted her chin in the direction that they came. “They would have killed you, Morgan. Without a thought and without a care.”

Morgan nodded. This was all kinds of not good. First leprechauns, and now--a Warden? Morgan lost her grip on her hair and had to start over. The last thing she needed was another complicated not-friendship with a kind of hunter. And yet here Mina was, young and nice and sweet in her own peculiar way. Everything had been fine until a short while ago. But who knew what she would do in front of a fae that was less critter, more person. “I um, I get that,” Morgan said at last. “And I’m grateful that we both made it out okay. Thank you, Mina,” she said. “Really.”

Mina ran a hand through her hair and sighed. From Morgan’s reaction, she had an awful feeling that she’d done or said something wrong. She couldn’t really understand it, couldn’t figure out what she’d said wrong. “Of course. There’s no need to thank me, really,” she murmured. “Just, ah, doing my job.” She gave a soft smile. “Lunch was nice, you know, before the leprechauns showed up. If you’d-- I mean, you don’t have to, obviously. But, if you’d like, we could do it again sometime?” Whether Morgan said no or not, Mina made a vow to herself that she’d watch out for the other woman, especially around campus. If she’d ended up in the hospital multiple times, she was either accident prone or a target for supernatural shenanigans, and Mina wanted to make sure she was okay. She was so kind, after all.

Morgan smiled back at Mina, if only because she didn’t know what to do. She had turned sheepish and anxious again. She knew something was wrong, maybe she knew that Morgan understood exactly what and who she was looking at. Maybe she was starting to guess Morgan knew fae, maybe other supernaturals who could end up on her menu. And she was being so earnest about it, so gentle. Morgan felt for her even as she felt the impulse to bolt cord through her body and she inched away. “Um, maybe sometime, yeah,” she said with a noncommittal shrug. She couldn’t find it in her to be harsh about leaving, no matter how rattled she was inside. “After I have a chance to uh, live all this down. A little. And somewhere probably inside. Maybe without shiny things.”

“Right, of course,” Mina said quietly. It wasn’t a no, but it was close enough. She was resigned to making sure Morgan stayed safe from afar. Whatever she’d done wrong, it was enough that the other woman likely wouldn’t want to see her again. Perhaps it was stabbing the leprechaun the way she had. She should have been less violent with it. Or maybe… Was it possible that Morgan figured out she was Fae from the way she’d had to hold the iron rod? Mina truly hoped not. She just wanted someone, anyone, to see her as human. “Do be safe, please? I think you’re right. Ah, stay inside, stay safe, avoid the maths and engineering quad. I would… it wouldn’t do, like you said, for you to end up in the hospital again.” She pretended to check her phone. “Goodness! I need-- I’ve got to-- Class! Tutoring! I should just-- It was very nice to meet you, Morgan, truly. I really do hope I see you around!” Before the other woman could say another word, Mina darted off. She could study a bit, or, she could go home and prep for the night. She was going hunting.

[leroiloup]

Das Biest

⚜ The entirely unnecessarily long & violent story of how Klaus gave up on trying to be human.    ➥ Takes place : Fall of 1359 in present day Germany    ✥ Trigger Warnings : violence /gore

❝ –– the true problem remains my brother Niklaus ; he continues to hide his loneliness with                   cruelty. ❞                                     Elijah’s Journal ║ August 1359

                                                                       -✦-

                              Understanding   /  Forgiveness   /   Love   /   Redemption

         ❝ Such notions were thrown my way towards the latter years of my life, perhaps encouraged by the love that melted my frozen heart when my daughter was born. I wonder, though, does sixteen years account for well over a thousand ? Does the path I took mean anything so long as my destination was justified ? If you’re to ask me, I’d say no. Yes, when I died, I did so selflessly as a father ,  a brother ,  a friend ,  and a lover. But first and foremost I lived my life as only one thing :    a      m o n s t e r .

❝ I’m no mere villain in the stories you hear. I’m not the lackey who lives to serve under tyrannical rule. I’m not the bad guy thrown into the path of the hero set to challenge his ways and ultimately make him rise above and vanquish evil, thus becoming the pure symbol of good–– et cetera et cetera. No, I’m none of these things.

                                                                                         I’m much worse.

❝ I’m the nightmare that demons cower from. I’m the shadow from which evil flees. True, I softened in the final years of my life, finding a selfless focus of my power, but make no mistake. It is my name that makes the night itself tremble in fear.

❝ How did it come to this, you wonder ? How did the simple son of a wayward Viking become the ultimate terror to plague this world for over over a millennia ? There’s a plethora of examples from which I could cite, but the one that could truly drive my point home takes place in the fall 1359. Humanity was never a thing I could easily turn on and off as vampires today can, but in that time, I was truly anything but   h u  m   a    n .  ❞

                               ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists, bruising them deeply. Rope, however, was nothing but a nuisance for a vampire. Klaus could have easily snapped them and freed himself in an instant - if it weren’t for the witch chanting incessantly. The words were like daggers through his very skull. The original vampire was on his knees in a wooden church, a small group of people surrounding him. They looked frightened but determined as they watched the witch subdue him. Dark red and black eyes framed by rippling veins stared back, his fangs bared as he yelled, promising unending torment the moment he was free.

It wasn’t often that a vampire was caught, and it was nearly impossible to catch an original. The people of the small town of Bedburg, Germany in the autumn of 1359 didn’t even know what vampires were. They were hunting a werewolf and ended up with Klaus in their snare. How could such a feat be possible ? How was the infamous and powerful Klaus MIkaelson overcome by the simple minded townsfolk ? A beautiful pair of brown eyes, of course.

His name was Johann and he had the unfortunate luck of coming across a vampire feeing in the woods under the cover of night. Elijah, Rebekah, Kol and Klaus had taken up residence in Cologne Germany, just fifty kilometers away from Bedburg. After a particularly nasty blow out over the morals of being a vampire, Klaus headed out into the night to clear his head. Not wanting to attract attention back home, he found the small village and hunted on the outskirts. It was just after a drank a pair of lovers out for a roll in the hay dry that Klaus heard the snap of a twig, announcing the presence of another.

Turning to the source of the sound, Klaus seemingly disappeared and reappeared right in front of the young man. He was tall and fit, clearly a labor worker like a farmer. Shoulder length brown hair was tied back at the base of his neck and his youthful face was void of a beard. He couldn’t be much older than Klaus was when he was turned. Wide brown eyes looked up at the vampire, fear mingled with something else - something that took Klaus by surprise : wonder.

❝ Aren’t thou afraid ? ❞ he asked in German, having learned the language a century earlier.

A tense moment passed and the young mortal finally broke the silence.  ❝ They- They told me t’was a beast who hunted in these woods. ❞  That immediately took Klaus off guard. As far as he knew, this was the first time a Mikaelson had set foot near Bedburg. The village was too small to even be on a map. It was a complete fluke that his rage fueled path took him there.  ❝ Something like a hound straight from the bowels of hell. Some thing like- ❞

❝ A wolf ? ❞ Klaus asked.

The mortal’s eyes widened a bit as he nodded. He looked to the two dead bodies, then back to the killer before him, blood still on his chin.  ❝ I didn’t know you’d be a man. Are you both ? ❞

Finding himself far more intrigued with the inquisitive mortal, Klaus felt his earlier anger ebb away.  ❝ I am not what you’re hunting. ❞  The fact that there was a werewolf in these parts was fascinating and Klaus filed it away for later.

❝ But you killed them, ❞ the mortal stated.

❝ Yes. ❞

❝ And you’ll kill me now ? ❞

Klaus took a couple of steps froward, wiping the blood from his chin with his thumb, bringing himself within reaching distance of the young man.  ❝ Thou art unafraid at the prospect ? ❞  Usually this would be the point of running and screaming, but the mortal seemed merely curious.

❝ Not of dying, ❞ he admitted.  ❝ I loathe this town. And the people in it. ❞  His eyes were on the dead couple when he spoke.

There was a kindred spirit in the mortal that Klaus could feel. He’d never loved anyone since Aurora had shattered his heart, and while the concept of love wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, he found himself yearning for kinship ; someone who could understand him. Taking a risk, he slowly reached out and brushed back a lock of stray brown hair from the mortal’s face.  ❝ Small minded people are never able to see the greatness within those like us. ❞

❝ Us ? ❞ he asked, not shying away in the least. On the contrary, he leaning into the touch, fascinated by the creature of fantasy.

Klaus nodded, dark blue eyes holding his gaze with a growing intensity as he leaned closer. When next he spoke, it was in a whisper as though worried that any volume would shatter the moment he’d unwittingly found himself in.  ❝ I can show you a better way to live. ❞  Drawn together by an unseen force, their lips met, and Klaus felt the first wave of peace overtake his soul in centuries.

Only when their lips parted did the mortal smile and say, ❝ I am Johann. ❞  Klaus grinned in return before kissing him again, letting his emotions take hold and guide his actions.

                                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━���

The young love lasted three nights. Each night, Klaus would slip away from his siblings to meet Johann in the woods outside of Bedburg. At a time when his loneliness mingled with insatiable hunger had started to melt away the traits that made him human, it was Johann’s warm touch that coaxed a bit of his old self to the surface. It was pure bliss, reminding the vampire that there was more to life than rage, torment, and blood. There was beauty all around if only one were to open their eyes and look.

On the third night, Klaus didn’t even greet his new friend. He pounced from the darkness, shoving Johann up against a tree and kissed him with the passion he’d denied himself for so long. When the kiss ended, Klaus grinned, a playful expression in place. It was only then that he saw the fearful and saddened look in the brown eyes he’d come to crave.  ❝ What’s the matter ? ❞

❝ I am so sorry. I did not know- ❞

Confusion clouded blue eyes as Johann rambled, but before Klaus could make any sense of it, there was a searing pain that shot through his skull. Instantly the vampire was brought to his knees, hands to his head as he yelled. A witch had come into view from around a tree. Her hands were outstretched and she chanted, holding strong to the spell that was able to subdue the original. Betrayal and hurt boiled deep within his eyes as Klaus looked to Johann. A group of mortals had no descended and shackled Klaus, tying him up to bring back to town. As far as the townsfolk were concerned, their period of strife had ended : the werewolf of Bedburg had been caught. Oh, how wrong they were !

                                        ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The sun had begun to rise when Klaus was tied down on his knees, hands behind his back in the wooden church at the end of the village. A ring of salt was around him as the witch continued her ritual to kill him. He wondered if he were a regular vampire whether or not it would have worked. The small handful of people who surrounded him weren’t recognizable, though they appeared to be people of powerful positions within the little community. One man in particular stood in front of the group, looking like the mayor.

Head bowed under long tresses of tangled blonde hair, seemingly given up, Klaus calculated the many ways he would introduce pure anguish into their lives. The inexorable torment that pounded through his black and broken heart fueled the machinations through Klaus’s mind. For a brief glimmer in his life, Klaus had found happiness ; the kind of happiness that he didn’t think would be possible after Aurora. It was nothing more than an illusion, he realized - not unlike his humanity. To hell with Elijah’s morals and speeches about being better than the beast. Klaus had learned where compassion would get him, and it was a road he never wanted to travel again. He wasn’t a human any longer, and he decided that eternity would be better spent accepting that truth. He was better than them - he could rise above them. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t human, but rather their god. Unfortunately for the town of Bedburg, he’s not a merciful god in the slightest. They needed to be punished and the monster within him reared its head, begging for blood.

Sunlight shone through the church windows, bathing Klaus in its light. One of the wives stepped back, confused. Apparently she thought demons couldn’t survive in the sunlight. It gave Klaus an idea - one that he was sure he’d regret later - but his mind was running solely on the need for revenge. Logic be damned.

Head raised slowly and inhuman vampire eyes met the group. Fighting against the searing torment of the spell, Klaus’s face set with a new determination. Apparently the blood thirsty look they were met with was enough to cause concern and the room froze. Even the witch paused, though her hands were still up. He couldn’t leave the ring of salt, so she felt safe.

That feeling was misplaced.

Hands still behind him, Klaus’s fingers found his daylight ring and pulled it off. Instantly his body was engulfed in flames, wide grin and dangerous eyes seen through the fire. The wood of the church caught instantly, going up like a tinder box.  It was an unseasonably dry year which worked in his favor. The mayor pushed his wife towards the door as another man was caught, screaming as fire lit him up. The ring of salt was gone and the people panicked as they ran for the door. Klaus moved at preternatural speed to the witch who stood in a shaded area. He sunk his teeth into her neck and she screamed as her healing blood filled his mouth and flames engulfed both of their bodies. He didn’t stop until her head was nearly severed from its neck, then Klaus dropped the body to the floor. He put his ring back on and moved with the same speed to the door and those trying to escape. The wind created by his movement was able to kill the flames still on his body. What clothing was left was singed to his melted flesh, hair gone and red eyes wild. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and yet the original was able to harness it and let it fuel him.

There were more screams as people were trapped in the flames. Those who would survive were met with sharp fangs.

Outside, the villagers were taking to the street to behold their church up in flames. The screams within died and after a few tense moments, the grotesque figure of Klaus emerged from the smoky doorway. It was immediately clear to anyone that he wasn’t human, for anyone with burns that bad wouldn’t still be walking. Blood fell from his lips as it began to heal him. His eyes scanned the ground as people started to run back to their home. He wasn’t bothered with them, though, as his eyes found Johann in the crowd.

The mortal had the sense to finally look afraid as Klaus approached. A scarred and singed hand reached up, affectionately caressing the side of Johann’s face.  ❝ I did not want to, ❞ the mortal pleaded, tears in his eyes.  ❝ You have to believe me. I never wanted this. They- ❞

Words ceased and brown eyes went side as his expression froze. When Klaus pulled back his other hand, it was dripping with blood, holding the beating heart of the man he thought to be his lover. There was nothing but a steely resolve forged by hurt and betrayal in Klaus’s eyes as he brought the heart to his lips and took a drink. Johann’s body fell limp to the ground and there was a piercing scream from one of the villagers who’d witnessed it. Klaus smirked and dropped the heart before turning his blind hatred on the people of the town.

The slaughter didn’t last long as Klaus tore through as many people as he could find. Blood painted the sides of buildings, limbs fell detached in his wake, and smoke began to could and blot out the sun. No one was safe from his ire and blood soaked fangs. The fire continued to spread, a visible metaphor to the vampire’s ever growing and all consuming rage. It wasn’t long before the entire village was on fire and not a soul was left alive.

Satisfaction wasn’t the emotion that Klaus carried in his heart as he walked away from the smoldering remains of the carnage. The tragedy of loss in his heart was gone, washed away with any semblance of happiness or peace. Instead, the only thing Klaus felt was numb. All attempts at being human were a thing of the past. The original would move forward in life only as the thing he was forged to be :  a beast.

Finding a wandering horse, Klaus approached it and - not bothering with a saddle - he mounted and guided the animal back towards Cologne. The village of Bedburg would be resettled in coming years, though to this day, there are still stories of the werewolf that once plagued the town. What there will not be stories of, is the monster far more terrifying - the one who gave in to the animalistic side and embraced his true nature in their very church.

[charlemange1]

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 4 Shadow Over Ingolstadt

The churning river was an inky black beneath the moonless night. I met the man Curwen had described standing beside a small sloop in a narrowed channel hidden from the main docks by a stretch of pines. His hat was pulled over his face as he directed the handful of crew members to load the cargo into my newly purchased wagon.

“Thank you, sir,” I extended my hand to the fine fellow. “I cannot express how much these contents will benefit me!”

The man let out a scratchy laugh as he rubbed the strange necklace Curwen had given me for payment with calloused fingers. He stank of peat and dead fish.

“You swim in deep waters, boy. Do you know the contents of this cargo?”

“Dark magic trinkets. Vials and weird mushrooms, I would imagine?” That was what Victor had worked with.

The man laughed again, shaking his head. Feeling my incompetence, I set my cane against a tree and limped over to grab a crate not yet loaded on my wagon. The weight made me stagger as liquid sloshed back and forth inside.

“Careful scamp,” the captain called. “That is the finest chemical France has to offer! Only thing those hounds are good for.”

“I know,” I puffed, though my feet stumbled and the crate smashed against the rocks. A passing sailor snatched it up with a chuckle as the group roared with laughter. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the gashes the rocks had torn in my new pants. I felt the same heat in my cheeks that arose whenever the kids in Geneva had mocked me for being unable to keep up with their games. The jeers evolved in both their frequency and intensity until I had stopped coming outside altogether. Victor had been the one to convince me to rejoin society. He had taken my hand and led me past the laughing faces at the market to buy me a wooden sword for my aspiring career as a soldier. Victor cared little for the opinions of anyone outside our home and took no issue with hurling rocks at my tormentors until they left me alone and I was a happy child once more. Elizabeth had once said that my parent’s extensive travels across Europe when he was a boy had deterred Victor from forming any real connections outside our little circle. Family, he once told me while bouncing tiny William on his leg, were the only permanent forms of fellowship one could count on.

Yet he had ruined ours.

When the laughing crew had finished loading my wagon, I left their mocking behind and led my new horse down the winding backroads. Cannonballs lodged into trees reflected us as we passed. It seemed revolution had penetrated even the depths of nature. My horse clopped along the overgrown paths without complaint until we neared the gates of Ingolstadt University.

“Come on,” I encouraged, lightly tapping him with my cane. The horse bolted up with a sharp bray that echoed through the forest, nearly knocking me from the wagon as I fought for control with the bucking beast. I would never reach Curwen at this rate! If I could not do the most basic of tasks, what sort of assistant was I? Justine’s face flickered in my mind, her hands shooing me away.

“Do not trouble yourself, young master. I can sweep up this broken vase just fine by myself.”

“But I can help!”

“Not with those lungs. You must take it easy.”

“Life is not easy,” I muttered and yanked the reigns sharply toward the gateway. The horse reared up again and flung me from the wagon to the forest floor. I rolled over just as a hoof smashed down where my head had been. From the ground, I saw Curwen’s feet rushing over, a wooden plank swinging from his hand.

“Down you beast, down!” he screeched and whacked the horse between the eyes. The horse struck out his hoof, but Curwen dodged and smashed the plank into the horse’s head again. The creature staggered backward, and the wagon creaked beside me. I jumped up and steadied it as Curwen pulled a glass vial from his pocket and shoved it beneath the horse’s nose. The horse let out a smaller neigh and shook its head with less force than before. Curwen grabbed his chin and pressed the horse’s face to his. “You will obey me, bloody brute!”

Curwen’s usually calm face contorted as he struck the creature again, though the horse had given up long ago.

“Mr. Curwen, that is enough,” I pleaded. The poor animal was swaying!

Curwen’s eyes locked on me, and I felt myself falling into the pits of his eyes. Shaking my head, I hobbled between him and the horse and rested my hand against the creature’s sweat-slick neck. There was something about the beast’s helplessness that pained me.

“I shall lead him the rest of the way,” I said. “He is calmer now.”

Curwen’s face flushed with returning color. “A fine idea. I shall show you where to leave our supplies,” he smiled at me, a gentleman once more. “You did well, Ernest. I would have never reached the docks on my own.”

My momentary unease withered beneath Curwen’s praise. Fetching his materials was dangerous, but I had succeeded! See Justine, I can do more than watch from the sidelines!

I guided the dazed horse along gently as Curwen led us to the old lecture building where he had set up his makeshift lab. After I tied the steed to a nearby tree, Curwen loaded a good portion of the crates and odd vases onto a smaller wagon and motioned for me to follow him. I instinctively turned down the hall where his lab was, but Curwen pointed to a stairway I had not noticed before. The scorch marks around the opening were not reassuring.

“These materials must be stored deep underground, where it is cool.” Curwen gave a formal bow. “After you.”

“Me?” I squeaked. That unnamable smell from the lab was practically rolling from the crypt.

“Who else can hold the torch?” Curwen’s teeth flashed. “Unless you can push this cart yourself?”

Feeling my uselessness, I snatched a torch from the wall and descended the steps. Curwen followed behind with the wagon, each step sending the mysterious liquid sloshing around within the crates. Unlike the plain cobbled stone utilized aboveground, the stairway and walls were smoothed down and decorated with chiseled images that boasted a technique aesthetically evolved to the highest degree.

“Weishaupt had these catacombs constructed during his time as headmaster,” Curwen’s voice echoed unnaturally. These walls absorbed sound too. “Officials sealed the crypt off after running him out, long before our time. Victor and I used to speculate on what secrets the Illuminati hid here beneath the world of man. I only recently cleared the stonework to enter myself.”

“It must have taken years to chisel the artwork alone,” I breathed. The dancing shadows made the artwork look alive.

“Legend says Weishaupt’s crew finished in three months.”

“That is impossible!”

“Not if the workers were more than human,” Curwen smiled as he passed an image of a star-shaped plant creature in that utterly alien style. “Consider this an honor. Besides us, no mortal has trod this sacred ground for decades!”

A screech sounded ahead of us.

“See, in our absence the rats rule this world!”

“That was no rat,” I breathed, halting on my step. “That was a bark. No, a dog imitating a human scream!”

“Do you hear how ridiculous you sound,” Curwen laughed, and I fell silent, ever aware of how feeble my lone torch was compared to the surrounding darkness.

At the end of the stairway, Curwen began lighting the mounted torches that slowly revealed a massive circular room with honeycomb corridors splitting off in multiple directions. My eyes broke from the cryptic symbols etched above each entrance to the image chiseled into the stone floor. Nearly the entire floorspace was dedicated to the horribly realistic etching of a creature with curling swaths of tentacles dotted with glowing orbs of yellow eyes. So many eyes! Such a dreadful yellow!

“That creature,” I whispered. “I saw it in my dream!”

“Your deep grief must be manifesting into literal monsters,” Curwen frowned. “It will pass once your family is returned.”

“No, this is identical to the monster in my dreamscape! How can that be, when I have never seen it before?” I shivered from more than the crypt’s biting cold. The surrounding carvings radiated the same unearthly quality as Curwen’s mysterious merchant jewelry. Sunlight had never touched this place, and neither should creatures that belonged in its light like us.

“Calm yourself, Ernest,” Curwen patted my back. “Perhaps the lack of air is too trying for your weak lungs?” He raised two fingers to stop my reply. “These vases of salt are small enough for even you to handle. Bring them to the room on the left. I shall carry the crates to their own resting place.”

I started to protest, but the eyes chiseled into that life-like stonework seemed to be watching me. Studying. I did not wish to linger here any longer than necessary.

The salt in the vases rattled as I entered the stone room of furnaces half-hidden by dust and white ash. My arm cleared charred wood chips from a furnace to place the vases. I noticed the corner of something white peeking from beneath the stone structure. Pulling out the paper and brushing off the dust, I stared at a letter with the wax seal still intact. I held the paper to my torch with trembling hands, but my poor literacy skills were not deceiving me, the wax emblem was imprinted with the distinct Frankenstein seal! I broke the wax and the aged paper crinkled in protest as I read the contents dated nearly nine years ago:

Dearest Family,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, assuming it finds you at all. I have yet to receive any communications from your end, though I am told such delays are common here at Ingolstadt.

Rest assured though, that I am not alone. Fate has been kind to bless me with a fellow kindred spirit! Though he too is a first year, Mr. Curwen has shown me much to compensate for my late start due to Mother’s abrupt passing.

The next lines had a thicker consistency of ink, as though the author had taken a long break after recounting this death.

Curwen is a true friend. He eagerly shares my enthusiasm for Agrippa and Paracelsus and has introduced me to the writings of Borellus and other great men M. Krempe relentlessly mocks in his lectures. Do not fret Father, for I assure you that these genius writings receive little more than chuckles from my peers. My research does not involve the forbidden texts you have warned me of, and certainly not that horrid Necronomicon, contrary to Curwen’s attempts to convince me of its worth.

In other news, I have made terrific progress on my theory of galvanism, which my next letter shall humor you with in greater detail, for I fear I have bored you enough. Give little William many kisses for me, and do write soon! Curwen is a fine companion, but he is steadfast in his ambition and does not understand me as you all do.

Postscript: I found this particularly vibrant leaf native to Germany that I am confident Ernest will enjoy, nature fanatic that he is. I entrust you will deliver it to him safely.

Best,

Victor Frankenstein

My finger traced the imprint of the long-since decayed leaf on the paper. Victor had written! Frequently too, if this letter was to be believed, and these were not the rambles of a madman. Rather, they were the sincere concerns of a brother. My brother, who had taught me to catch moths without damaging the wings so I could show Mama. Who Curwen said had never walked these formerly boarded halls.

“Ernest, are you in here?”

“Yes, Mr. Curwen,” I said, stuffing the letter in my coat and turning to the figure in the doorway.

“Good. A man can become lost down here if he wanders. When you have finished unloading, come up to the dining hall.” Curwen’s voice lightened. “The revolutionaries did a poor job raiding the pantry!”

“I will, sir,” I nodded, and waited for his shadow to pass. As Curwen’s footsteps faded, I dropped the letter and watched it float back beneath the furnace, perfectly hidden from the surrounding ashes. My stomach lurched from more than hunger as I snatched it back up. We had heard nothing from Victor for years until Henry found him. Had someone burned Victor’s letters, and I held the sole survivor? If so, why had Victor kept silent when we confronted him on his lack of communication and told Walton he had neglected to write at all? Why hide proof that he cared? Dead or alive, Victor’s secrets seemed intent to haunt me.

The weak neighs of my horse reached me long before climbing back into the world of men. Whatever Curwen had given him had worn off, and his sides heaved as he tugged against the rope. My fingers made quick work of untying the knot. The motion rejuvenated the horse, and he rushed off into the waning night to leave all this mystery behind. I would tell Curwen the animal had overpowered me. No one deserved to be trapped here, and if they were, it should be their choice to make.

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of January 22nd, 2020

Best of this Week: Amazing Spider-Man #38 (Legacy #839) - Nick Spencer, Iban Coello, Brian Reber and Joe Caramagna

I can read the headline now: Spider-Man vs. Fake News.

At least that's what it seems like this next Spider-Man arc will be about as the titular hero has to deal with his "biggest supporter," J. Jonah Jameson, and his new job as a clickbait hound in the age of modern online journalism. Who knows what hijinks will ensue?

This issue exemplified the kind of humor that Nick Spencer excels at: the hilarity of hypocrisy when it comes to some of Spider-Man’s supporting cast. This was best shown in Spencer’s hilarious Superior Foes of Spider-Man (2013) as Boomerang did everything in his power to create a new Sinister Six while selling them out at every turn and not learning from his actions as everyone in his sphere suffered the consequences of his betrayals. Spencer channels that same energy as Jameson has to face the fruits of his journalistic practices in the form of Norah Winters and the new Threats and Menaces blog office.

After Jonah launches into a (Boomer) rant about today's journalists, calling them soft, self-obsessed and lacking the edge that made him what he is, Norah tells her team to sound off about the stories they’re working on. Without missing a beat and with faces of malice, thanks to Coello, they tout their intentionally misleading headlines.

Norah explains that in the age of the 24-hour news cycle, they need to get those clicks by any means necessary and that Jameson was the inspiration for this because of his past headlines calling Spider-Man a menace usually without real evidence. She expects villains to repost it to their audiences and heroes to quote it with malice, giving them more clicks.

Everyone likes to take the piss of millennial journalists and can often come off as cringy, but somehow Spencer, Iban Coello and Brian Reber manage to really capture the essence of modern open architecture office spaces filled with young kids and their kooky hair colors. Coello draws a really good shot of this with the addition of a space for video games, two bright green vending machines and tables full of people either on desktops without dividing walls or on personal laptops. Of course, all of this comes after Jonah is nearly hit by a douchebag riding an electric scooter.

Reber colors everything in contrast to Jameson who wears a professional brown suit. The office itself is brightly lit, all of the freelancers and employees are given brighter clothes with striking reds, pinks, blues and purples. Even the basic Threats and Menaces banner is a bright red, kinda signalling how bad this company might be. It’s really fun to see how out of his element Jonah is among these kids and how much more awful they are in comparison to him… aside from creating supervillains.

As all of this is going on, Spider-Man is robbing a bank. One can see how this might be a problem as Jonah is doing his best to defend Spider-Man to Winters who wants him to write a smearing headline about the crime. Coello and Reber introduce us to the act with an amazingly dynamic splash page of Spidey zipping into the sky carrying bags of cash. The webs are slung so hard that they blur, laser gun blasts almost fly off the pages with vibrant red and orange colors and Spider-Man’s posing makes him look like he’s avoiding danger with ease.

We get a sidestory with Silver Sable trying to regain her strength with the help of (former?) Spider-Man villain, Foreigner, as the two are now lovers. After helping her, Foreigner goes to a secret casino where the use of superpowers is encouraged and there’s betting on the battles between superheroes, villains and everything in between.

Foreigner still maintains his supervillain connections, but he seems to be using it towards helping Sable. Minor supervillain and assassin, Chance, has set up the robbery and casino in order to place bets on Spidey's performance and potential property damage. Of course, he also rigs it so that surprise drones appear to make things harder. As things begin to get hectic, lo and behold we get the best shot in the entire book: J. Jonah Jameson riding in to save Spider-Man on an electric scooter.

Coello and Reber make Jonah look like an absolute mad lad as he rushes into danger without a second thought to save Spider-Man. Fiery explosions ring out behind him, his pose makes him look like he came straight out of a Tony Hawk game and Spider-Man is absolutely shocked at all of this. Legitimately, it’s a really badass panel and one that should go down as one of the best out of context shots in comic history. 

Spider-Man reacts as we would expect, chastising Jonah for putting himself in danger. Jonah retorts that he and Spider-Man were supposed to be a team after Jonah owned up to his some of his worst actions after a gang of supervillains confronted him and Spider-Man earlier in the series. Though he was supposed to keep it secret at the request of his sister, Teresa Parker, Spider-Man reveals to Jonah that the bank he robbed was a front for a criminal organization and that he needed to run because there were too many bad guys. As Jonah flees, he vows to Spider-Man that he’ll make his life easier one way or another.

Soon after, we get an amazing double page spread of Spider-Man taking down these nameless villains as Chance counts down. He thwips, kicks and smashes these clowns over the head with his signature Spidey style before Chance announces that the house wins after Spider-Man takes them all down.

As far as art showcasing goes, Coello, Reber and Joe Caramagna smash it out of the park here. The panels flow as the action moves between Spider-an acrobatic antics and Chance’s excited facial expressions. Colors are rich and switch between explosive oranges to dynamic blue skies. The lettering is truly amazing as every sound effect is emphasized and given proper placement for effect.

Spider-Man wins, but soon gets a call from Teresa, asking him if he knows what Top Secret means. He questions what’s going on and then sees the headline from J. Jonah Jameson exposing the plot and why Spider-Man is a hero for it, accompanied by Jonah raising his arms into the air with childlike excitement. This is gonna be a wacky adventure.

This book was a lot of fun and I’m glad Nick Spencer is writing it. He’s able to bring the funny and really works with his artists to give each issue and story its own identity. None of them feel exactly the same and that’s commendable. With much thanks to Chip Zdarsky, Nick Spencer continues to build on the relationships established in the Spectacular Spider-Man series with Jameson doing his best to repay Peter for all the times he’s called him a menace after revealing his identity to his former biggest antagonist. At the same time, it’s nice that Peter’s also keeping in contact with his sister Teresa, a character that absolutely has a lot more going on that people might expect.

Iban Coello is an amazing artist and makes every page look so dynamic and fun, combined with Brian Reber’s coloring, this is an awesome looking Spider-Man book. Joe Caramagna as always does a stellar job by placing each balloon so that the dialogue is easy to follow without cluttering up the pages, emphasizing words to give every character a unique voice and placing sound effects so that one can almost hear the pages as they turn. I enjoyed all of this immensely.

If there's any criticism I could level at this book, it would be the drawing out of the eventual conflict between Spider-Man and Kindred. I know Nick Spencer is playing the long game and he's very good at it, making me anticipate it with every issue the creepy villain appears in, but there has to be substantial storytelling in the mean time. Hunted was an amazing story from start to finish, but the 2099 crossover left a lot to be desired.

In between, there hasn't been much to rave about. Even the Absolute Carnage crossover and the Sinister Syndicate storyline have been on the lower levels of Spencer's stories during his time on Spider-Man. Sure they were fun, but unlike the absolute hilarity that is the storyline with Boomerang, they feel a bit disjointed from the rest of the stellar story that Spencer is telling. I get a similar feeling from this issue despite how fun it was.

But don’t let my impatience stop you from buying this book!

[umccall71]

Chapter 3

Characters:Prince Liam x (mc) Lady Saige

Rating:Mature Content includes profanity, sexual content,talks about depression.

Word Count:2896

Disclaimer: All characters used are sole property of Pixelberry. I am simply borrowing them for entertainment.

Summary:After a summer of a Lifetime Prince Liam thought he could have it all. He was carefree, free, and sharing time with the woman of his dreams. When life as easy a balancing act between love and duty, he realizes his truths are lies, wrong is right, and decisions do have consequences.Lady Saige never imagined she would be one of his consequences. When an act of utter horror throws her world into a tailspin.

Warning: This series contains subject matter of depression and hopelessness .The story may trigger certain individuals. Please be advised. If your reading this series you are acknowledging you are at least 18 +.

~~~~~~~~

Tags

@hopefulmoonobject @elles-choices

~~~~~~~

A few days later Liam drove himself over to Olivia’s estate to pick up Saige for their dinner plans.He drove a Rhodium Silver F type Jaguar convertible. He wanted to appear normal, yet impress Saige. He was greeted at the door by one of his closest friends, Olivia. “Liam.. I’m not sure what you have in mind, but you hurt her and I will commit treason again a member of the royal family.”, she narrowed her eyes glaring at Liam.

“Olivia, I have no ulterior motives where Saige is concerned. I find her … refreshing and would simply like to spend time with her getting to know better.”, he smiles apologetically. Before Liam could say another word, Saige descended the grand staircase. She was positively glowing as she sauntered down the stairs smiling in his direction.

He took in her beauty, noticing the lady in red backless midi dress with a spin at the bottom. The dress was flattering to her curves and complexion. She wore her auburn hair is a sexy loosely fishtail braid cascading to the side. She paired the dress with a pair of red peep toe strappy suede sandals.Olivia silently laughed watching Liam’s reaction to laying eyes on Saige in this dress.Liv whispered, “she knocks your socks off huh?”

Liam leans down and kisses the back of her hand, you … you look stunning lady Saige”, he was breathless. Liam could not tear his gaze away from her eyes… which were sparkling like the ocean beneath the early morning sunrise. “ Good evening Liam”, she softly spoke his name. He bowed his head to her in acknowledgment, “ Good evening Lady Saige. Are you ready for our evening?”, his baritone tone was like velvet when he whispered near her ear. Saige felt a slight thrill in the close proximity to Liam. She cast a playful smirk as she glanced at him over her shoulder. “ I’m ready when you are.” With that being said… they set off on a quiet evening out.

Liam opened her car door, allowing her to slide into the sleek, sexy roaring luxury sports car. He glanced over to gauge her reaction as the car hugged the curves of the road along the coastline heading into the capital. She couldn’t stop smiling as she took in the picturesque beauty of the drive. A few times , he noticed her eyes close just soaking it in with each passing moment. A short time later, they pull up to a quaint little bistro nestled between the library and a few small collectible shops. He helped her out of the car and tapped the side entrance door to the restaurant to gain access. Saige side eyes Liam wondering why they didn’t enter from the front door she noticed on the way in. Upon entering, Saige noticed how empty the restaurant was for the time of evening and the day of the week. She figured there would be patrons enjoying a quiet meal discussing the work week.The waiter guided them to a hidden nook off near an uninhabited corner of the restaurant.

“This is a lovely restaurant… are they usually this empty this time of evening?”, she inquired quietly. “ I would think with it being a Thursday… there would be more traffic here.”, she smiled at the rich mahogany woods and vibrant sea blues and turquoise decor. The lighting soft and muted, the flicker of candles on the tables lending a glow to the patrons.

“ How did you find this place Liam? It’s not very large, but that’s a good thing. You want to take away from the ambiance of the restaurant. I like a place where the food is the star of the show..”, she grins as the manager came over to personally greet Liam and Saige.The older, balding gentleman greeted Liam with a hug… familiarity evident from the exchange. “How have you been this beautiful evening?”, he smiled widely while eying the young lady sitting across from Liam. “Who is this πανέμορφος (panémorfos) beauty?”, he asked with a rich Greek accent . Liam smiled and Saige blushed where her cheeks were tinged red, she became flush. “ Yiorgos… this is my new friend, Saige. She’s visiting our fair country from America. So … I really need to impress her with your delicious cuisine.”, he chuckled . Yiorgos’s eyes darted back and forth between the two . “ I will surprise you with the best of the house. I will send over my finest Ouzo.”, he boasted. He disappeared into the kitchens.

Liam could not take his eyes off of Saige. He felt a warmth in his chest as he locked eyes with her. He could not look away. She looked around wondering what he was staring at around her. “Do I...have something on my face?, she questioned.

“Why would you think you have something on you? I just happen to think your beautiful and it’s a little difficult to get you out of my head”,he shrugged and shot her a crooked grin.Saige’s eyes veered down to the cloth napkin, staring processing what he had just said. Saige was momentarily speechless before a waiter bought the Ouzo over to the table, pouring the drinks and removing himself from the interaction quickly.

“How did you manage to make dinner plans in a restaurant this nice … to have only the two of us dining here?”, she quirked her brow waiting for his response. Liam tried to contain his smirk and evade her questions. He didn’t want to be evasive, but he also wondered what she would think of the real Liam.

“Did you ask for a private party or something?”, she chuckled.

“ My family has been coming here for years. My mother and father would make plan to come here to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. I remember my mother would bring me here when we would spend time together at the library. She made a point of it being just she and I for lunches. She would ask me … about my day and plans for my next birthday. Over the years… after she died, my brother would come here with his dates , or my father , when he reminisced of their time together.”Saige recognized a kindred spirit of sadness in his voice and eyes. She reached across the table , she gripped his hand comfortingly. “That was nice that you all continued to return. The owner must really like your family,”, she laughed trying to lighten the mood.

“Well… there’s that and security requirements.”, he spoke nonchalantly.

“Wait.. what? What does that mean? Why would your family have security concerns?”, she glanced quizzically.

My family is in the public eye quite a bit and to have a few places that we can just unwind … is needed.”, he said.

“Really? Did you bring your girlfriends here as well? You mentioned that your brother made use of the private restaurant.”, she rests her chin against her balled fist.

“ That… that’s not really something I saw a desire to do. I spent most of my time hanging out with close friends or time alone. The girls my brother brought here were seeking of the spotlight.. to be seen with … with my brother was welcomed.”, he smiled softly.

Moments later the food started to arrive to the table. The plethora of Gyros,Dolmades,Souvlaki,Moussaka, the final touch a decadent dessert of baklava .They fell into a comforting silence enjoying the evening and the food. They traded mmms and aahs over the timeless lingering flavors that saturated their taste palettes.After awhile, the table was being cleared and Saige picked up her line of questioning.

“You never told me what you family does to garner that type of attention.”, she cupped the side of her face as she stared attentively awaiting an answer.

“Saige… my family ,my father happens to be the ruler of Cordonia”, he whispered in passing.

“Ruler???... as in King of Cordonia?, her blue eyes widened in realization. “ So that makes you … a prince?, she gasped in shock. Saige’s hand flies up to cover her mouth and her eyes widened, “Liam… you're the prince?”

Liam released a deep breath he never realized he was holding, “Well yes and no… my brother is the crowned prince, he’s next in line for the throne.”, he slowly shook his head while trying to make his point. “ I hope this doesn’t change your thoughts about spending time with me.”, he swallowed the knot in his throat.

Saige paused for a few seconds, she whispered, “ why would you not lead off by telling me your a member of the royal family?” She sighed, “ how often do you take women out like this? This is a little bit of a shock…”, she trailed off.Liam reached across the table.. reaching for her hand desperately needing to convince her of a compelling reason to keep his secret.

“ Saige”, he gasped , “ this is not me… this is not my normal.My brother is used to all the attention and bouncing from woman to woman in the public eye. I’ve never had a need for all the attention. I have never felt moved to want to impress anyone or subject them to headlines.”

“Wait Liam… how can you move about without being hounded by the press? I would think you would have security with you.”, she inquired with her brows raised in surprise.

Liam flashed a guilty grin, he paused,” I do.. I do have security with us here tonight. It was a battle to convince my security to allow me to drive myself. He followed behind at a comfortable distance… to not make you feel uncomfortable.”, he paused thoughtfully, “I hope this doesn’t affect your decision to be out with me tonight.”

“I enjoyed spending time with Liam last night and tonight. It was you, not your title that convince me to want to spend time with you. It was the gentle, caring, exciting man that made me want to spend an evening with you. This doesn’t sway me one way or the other. I’m a big girl… We can just enjoy this evening.”, she smiled.

“What would a perfect first date consist of for you Saige?”, he asked leaning forward, listening intently, never breaking his eye contact.

“ Well, this is pretty nice, a quiet dinner… I guess following up with a slow walk close by the restaurant… or even a stroll on the beach. We’d spend time just hanging out. I enjoy dinner, a movie, bowling, the beach, music… any of those things would suit me just fine”, she giggled. Liam stood up, extended his hand to her to stand, wave at the manager acknowledging they were leaving. Dinner had already been arranged and paid for prior to their date. Liam guided Saige out of the restaurant, gently placing his hand at the small of her back. She felt a spark in that moment, his finger tips touching her bare skin. She softly bow out a cool breath unnoticed. Liam opened the restaurant door, escorted Saige back to the sports car and they continued the evening taking a drive back down to the private beach.

“ Why me?... I’m sure you could have your pick of any woman to spend time with, but me?”, Saige was questioning his decision. Liam took her hand in his and slowly entwined his fingers with her fingers. He strided down the beach with her after allowing her a moment to remove her heels. “Saige… why not you? You had me at hello, I had never met anyone like you… so down to earth, so sweet and funny. There was no pretense when we talked yesterday. You were open to getting to know me. Other women in this country know the image of a prince, whispers of the royal family, but none of that mattered to you. Even when I briefly mentioned the monarchy, you let the subject drift away in the night.”, he paused in their stroll. Liam turned to face her, blue eyes meeting under the moonlight, deep in thought contemplating her reaction.

“You seem like you have something on your mind Liam? You know you can talk to me about anything.”, she smiled gently , focused on his eyes. She felt his thumb moving across the back of her hand, grazing her knuckles. “ I was thinking… how very much I would like to kiss you. Nothing too forward, but watching you beautiful lips… I wondered how they’d feel against mine.” Saige felt a slight breeze against her face and her back. She smirked, “ well .. go for it.” Liam slowly cupped the side of her face, lowering his lips to meet hers, feeling a warm sensation of her mouth, so soft. He felt an electricity in that moment. This was not too presumptuous, it lasted several seconds. Liam rested his his lips on her a few moments following, savoring this first. He hesitated to pull away, opening his eyes and leaning his forehead gently against her forehead.They smiled softly while she was biting her bottom lip. “That was nice Liam.”, she reached up touching his face gently. “ This has been a wonderful night, but perhaps we should go… I’m sure Olivia is wondering where we are.”, she chuckled.Liam smiled, “ I suppose you right… I must say… I’m going to hate seeing this night come to an end.”Saige could see he was genuinely happy with her, but were she being honest, she didn’t want the night to end either . They can’t stop smiling and glancing at each other. Saige brushed her feet off before putting her heels back on and the drive back to Lythikos .

Liam found himself reaching out for her hand and gently kissing the back of her hand. He had never felt such a pull with any woman before… he felt a need to touch her in one way or another. He glanced into the rear view mirror the closer they got to Olivia’s house. Saige noticed the black SUV behind them that had been inconspicuously absent all evening. She supposed she hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it at the restaurant. She grinned at Liam as he pulled up to the front of the estate. “I had a nice time tonight Liam.”, she whispered turning to see his eyes. In that moment, Saige felt a heat wave building, anticipating if he would kiss her again. She was excited, yet nervous and she smirked. Saige turned her head , eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, signally she was open to see what happens. He unbuckled her seatbelt followed by his, his hand slid up embracing her face, sliding gently behind her head, he leaned in and gently kissed her lips, he wanted to go for it, but didn’t want her to be turned off by his forwardness. Liam felt an overwhelming feeling of wanting in that moment. Their lips slowly moving in sync , her lips parted ever so slightly better allowing him access to her mouth. “May I ?”, he whispered softly between kisses. Saige slowly nodded, and in that moment, Liam thought , what the hell… I may never have this opportunity again… his lips moved slowly against hers in a fervent desire. They met gently brushing lips, lips parted ever so sweetly when his tongue moved past her lips to meet hers in tender Union. They massaged tongues , careful not to be too aggressive. It was just right balance of sweet and sensual. Saige’s hand slid up to the nape of his neck , playing with the fine hairs as she leaned into the kiss .After several moments, they parted breathless.

Saige giggled, not believing that she had done that, but no regrets. “ I should really go inside now.”Liam nodded smiling, he opened his door heading around to open her door to walk her to the front door. “I guess this is good night Liam.”, she stared into his eyes, punch drunk from their kiss. “Good night Saige… sleep well.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek before turning back toward the car to head back to the palace.He stopped when he heard Saige call out to him, “Liam… I do love flowers, but you don’t have to fill the house with every flower in Cordonia “, she laughed knowing he would know precisely what she meant. “Duly noted”, he gestured with his hand before opening his drivers side door and disappeared down the drive followed by security.

Saige went inside where she was taken aback by the sudden emergence of Olivia wearing a silk bathrobe, “ I take it you had a good time with Liam?”, she quipped. “You left out a pretty important piece about him… being a prince?!” Olivia shrugged, “ it wasn’t my secret to tell.. I figured he would tell you in the right time.”Saige smiles, “ in reference to your question… I had a wonderful time… about a good of a date as you had tonight”, she grinned as they ascended the stairs toward their rooms. Olivia’s green eyes flashed dark, “who says my date is over?”, she smirked walking back to her room , “Good night Saige”, she waved over her shoulder not looking back to see her jaw drop in shock. Saige shook her head laughing as she made her way into her room and turning in for the night.

[hopebliss]

A DRUMMING OF ASPHALT

SUMMARY: It’s routine - a short walk for a Ventrue bureaucrat and the Anarch leader. (hinted!gretel x nines rodriguez, 1.6k words)

“You won’t compromise.”

A statement, not framed as a question. A statement strung out, vowel and consonants clicking, in a manner that suggested Gretel had said this before, time and time again.

Defeated repetition. Nines Rodriguez supplied his usual answer, as expected. “No.”

They had found - through a similar kind of repetition -  the quiet routes in L.A, the streets that were easy for two Kindred to meander through, lined with empty warehouses and the occasional rumble of midnight traffic. Pavements well-mapped by a pair of clicking Ventrue heels and well-worn Brujah boots under hazy city lights.

“That makes life difficult, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Difficult for you and the LaCroix. The Camarilla.”

“For the city, too.” Her side-glances during these nights were sparing, still, she used up one of her quota then, slate grey hewn sharp behind dark-rimmed glasses. “It cannot carry on like this.”

Familiar sentences; as if they hadn’t already circled around this topic, night after night, long after she had first entered the Last Round bar, spine rim-rod straight and refusing to move five feet away from her Toreador friend. As if their hissed arguments hadn’t eventually dragged them onto the street, pacing around L.A like tempestuous animals in a cage.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Nines voice, caught between a drawl and a snap. Impatience coupled with resignation. They would be here again, in a couple of nights, when Gretel would return with another set of negotiations - the same as ever before, but glossy-laminated and presented with slick new titles, a new barbed wire cage around old stories. “Listen, Rushforth, you’re the ones who chose to stampede back here as if nothing ever happened. You’re the ones trying to push against us and failing.”

“Failing? Your Anarchs aren’t exactly standing steady on two feet.”

“They’re not mine. They don’t belong to anyone. That’s the whole point.”

Tremere theorists and scholars often talked around the houses when it came to a Kindred’s state of unlife. Kindred biology was a point of fascination, a series of contradictions within itself: they were alive and yet they weren’t. Not exactly changed but transformed into something else entirely, human and monster coalescent in the same form. 

Breathing was one of those funny things: lungs that should be dormant twitched. A mimic of a sigh and Nines reached inside his shirt pocket.

It was mildly concerning when Gretel realised her first instinct wasn’t to think gun. Either the past few weeks had dulled her, or she had learned to recognise when Nines was reaching for his cigarettes.

Oh.

“Don’t pretend to care for the city either.” He continued, splintering the two-second silence with a flick of the cardboard carton lid. “Can’t be here two seconds and pretend to give a shit.” And, absurdly, he gestured the carton in an offering.

“No thank you, I’m trying to quit.” She caught his look. “It’s a bad habit.”

“I’m pretty sure there are worse things in your line of work, Cammy.”

“Still bad.” She reached over and took one. “Just because I haven’t lived here all my life does not mean I’m not invested.”

A lighter was soon procured and the two naturally slowed down on the sidewalk. The sharp lines of Nines’ face grew deeper in the darkness. “Invested. Provin’ my point there Rushforth - you Ventrue putting all your stock into who you think is useful and when they’re not? You don’t want to know anymore. Cut your losses and head to the next big thing. L.A is just another kind of Camarilla project to you all. A conquest we’re paying for.”

“And it’s not to you?” She shouldn’t have bristled. Shouldn’t have let the hound dig his claws under her skin. Flint to the flame, like the one she balanced between her fingers. Ironic, considering the danger of fire to the Kindred. Since when had she been so drawn to self-sabotage? “The great last ‘free’ state. The Anarch playground. It’s chaos, it’s not sustainable, you’ll burn out before the year is over.”

His answer arrived after a plume of smoke. “We won’t. Even if we do, ‘least we keep our pride. ‘Least we don’t treat everyone around us as expendable.”

“They’re not-” Too quick, too hasty, she wanted to curse it, “- expendable.”

“No?” Nines looked at her, then. Gretel wondered how many could stand that gaze: Nines Rodriguez did nothing in halves, nothing without the fullest push of intensity. It was different than the Prince she served, having long weathered the shifting of clinical disinterest to scathing hyperfocus of Sebastian LaCroix. It made her feel too solid. Too heavy. Too present.

But the Ventrue can take the heat. And she did. She met him, eye-for-eye, grey-for-bright-blue. “No.”

They had stopped again: another empty side-street caught in a gasp of forgotten industry, grey brick and glass interrupted by the slick outlines of graffiti. Modernism claiming old ground, just as it had every decade, looking different every time. The twenty-first century was colour and nihilism in one unholy package.

His cigarette was fading out, fingers curling tight.

It had been part of Gretel’s training - as a Kindred, as a Ventrue, most importantly as the childe of the new Camarilla protege - to predict the question before it arrived. To be clever and duck against the verbal blade of politicians, the simpering placating of diplomats. To read the weighted curve of a mouth, the flick of a tongue against fangs.

She knew, with certainty, what Nines was going to say.

“Who?”

There was a stone lodged in her throat, in her chest, in her stomach. An inevitability in the sudden knowledge that Nines knew. 

That he knew about capricious Cassandra and how close Gretel followed her into the Last Round, echoing a familiarity with every movement. 

That he knew about the rainbow reflections of Becca, neon lights glinting off the edge of the pier as they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

That he knew about Hester, drawing in Gretel’s pride with her talent and obstinance towards conformity. 

That he knew about Katya and her blood-soaked, ichor-lined brilliance and Gretel’s worry for her, and her awe for how far she could reach - if she wanted.

She couldn’t give them to him. To anyone. Not yet.

“It doesn’t matter.” It does, they both agreed silently, but Nines didn’t push. Thankfully. “The Camarilla will not stop, will not cease. The Prince has never strayed from his goals. I’ll keep coming back, and if nothing changes then it doesn’t matter who’s expendable or not, the whole city will burn.”

“You’re the ones rolling in, pushing for war-”

“It wouldn’t be war.” A room exploded outward, her Sire blackened and charred, melting into the wind. Her scalp bleeding, hands slick and slippery, ducking her body against a hail of bullets. 

Gretel knew war. 

Had he ever served, or had he been tucked away in L.A, ducking from the jaws of gangs and cops alike? “It would be a slaughter. It would be needless.”

“Is that a threat?” His voice was quiet, pulled tight. The wolf prince raising his hackles.

“No.” The edging night was draining something out of her. A blanket of darkness, unperturbed by the absence of street lines ringing the roads from the Last Round. A smear of grey against a broad shoulder and Gretel was automatically reaching out. “Yes, perhaps. You have ash on-”

A hand grabbed her wrist just as her fingertips brushed the indent of bone and muscle. Nines was suddenly there, cold as all Kindred tended to be, but her arm burned all the same.

For a moment, there was nothing but the pressure of his thumb pressing the dip of her palm. Her elbow locked, the flat of the  arm pressed against the inward curve of his chest

It didn’t hurt. Her sensibilities dictated that somehow, somewhere, that must be wrong. Enough space for her fingers to uncurl, for nails to scrape against the thread of a worn shirt, to collect and fix the irregularity how she wanted.

“Doesn’t matter.” He parroted back. She could almost feel the sound - the deepness - coming from inside of him. “You’re not gonna protect them like this, you know that. LaCroix’s got you playing for the wrong side. For the one that’ll get them killed.”

“What side is the right one then?” Her shoe slid closer despite herself. “Yours? A revolution clinging on? Rebels without a plan?”

“The side that doesn’t treat its people like playthings. The side that looks after their own.”

“Is that what you want, Rodriguez?” Words that weren’t laden in spite, words that ran away from her, tempered down by the gravity emanating from him. This is how you get caught in his orbit, his momentum. It’d be easy, too easy- “To look after me?”

She had meant it as a joke, deprecation - to him, to her, either way, she expected him to reel back.

He tightened his grip instead, looked like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.

 “I could. Them too.”

A beat.

Somewhere, a broken exhaust pepper the air like a gunshot. Gretel’s arm was suddenly at her own side - when had she torn it away? - and she was turning and she was walking, quickly, a jaw slack, slamming shut. Cold air burned the arch of her cheeks, seared her eyes hidden by her glasses.

Ash, still collected under her nails. She wiped them against her coat, but it was resolute in clinging to her cuticles. Stubborn. Damn him -

“I’ll tell the Prince that you don’t accept.” Sentences, hewn,  meticulous once again. She felt the weight of him, his stare, even when he was behind her, even when she was walking away so quickly. That’s what it was - the peturbing nature of it - of being flayed open so nonchalantly. It wasn’t the meticulous unravelling of a Ventrue Prince, it was the Brujah who could burn you open immediately.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days then.” Nines called after her.

To her utter fury, he sounded like he was smiling.

A grin stitched into the night.

[elitaxne]

INTERVIEW MEME

                                        REPOST. DO NOT REBLOG !!

» HOW TO —· //  Fill in the questions as if you are being interviewed for an article, and you were your muse

◤— TAGGED BY. @oneshallstand & @heligooddeals ( thanks honeys <3 )

◤— TAGGING. @tertiaxdecima, @pleasedontgethurt, @incarnes​, @chromiatfp​, @oh-councilor-my-councilor, @thesoundlessvoid​, @knightofnullity, @heals-on-wheels, @exitiumsuum, @therisingdarkness, @thesoundlessvoid, @animicertaminis​, @ignisirae​, @nautihca && anyone else who wants to do this just say I tagged you !!

        ** Let’s go ahead and assume this was transcribed from an in-person interview **

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?    ❝ Elita-1, High Councillor of Cybertron, Reigning First Chair. ❞

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME? ❝ Originally, I went by the designation of Ariel. However upon entering the political realm I was given a new designation, and have used it ever since. ❞

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE CALLED THAT? ❝ Loosely, Elita translates to ‘chosen’ in some dialects, and coupled with ‘one’ my designation then becomes: Chosen One. I conflate the meaning with the event of being CHOSEN to be High Councillor, where I received my new designation. Whether that is a correct assumption or not is not for me to say, unfortunately. ❞

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN? ❝ Very much taken. ❞

5. WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS AND ABILITIES? ❝ The most notable ability I have would be Total Recall --- otherwise known as highly sophisticated photographic memory. It allows me to memorize vast amounts of information both major and minor, without ever forgetting. The same goes with memories, conversations, et cetera... it has proven to be very useful over the course of my career. ❞

6. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES? ❝ Cerulean, but in certain light there is an iridescent sheen. ❞

7. HAVE YOU EVER DYED YOUR HAIR? ❝ Given that our species does not have hair, my answer is no. However, I have changed my paint scheme a handful of times throughout the course of my life cycle. ❞

8. DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? ❝ My Creators both off-lined a very long time ago, and to my knowledge I was the first and only kin. However, I have a family of my own now with an incredible bondmate, and two beautiful sparklings. ❞

9. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? ❝ Yes, we have an Iaconian Hound by the name of Kaal. ❞

10. TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE. ❝ I am not keen on having my privacy breeched, for one... Another being ignorance. ❞

11. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES OR ACTIVITIES YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME? ❝ I do, I quite enjoy reading many different types of literature, predominantly historical texts, and biographies. Occasional anthologies include plays, and mythology both from our world, and off. I also enjoy seeing local theatrical performances, as well as live music, and spending time with my family. ❞

12. HAVE YOU EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE? ❝ I have. ❞

13. HAVE YOU EVER… KILLED ANYONE? ❝ Such was, unfortunately, a necessary component in surviving the war. ❞

14. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU? ❝ I never considered such until I became wise to a particular breed of Earth fauna known as wolves; more specifically, their Alpha’s in regards to pack structure. I believe we are kindred spirits in that regard, by sharing many attributes such as independence, loyalty, and a certain ferocity upon taking a leadership role. ❞

15. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. ❝ Admittedly, smoking is one of my less admirable tendencies, in addition to being an perfectionist... I always feel an incessant need to micro-manage others around me, and scrutinize even the smallest details. I think is the root cause for the majority of my traits and habits. ❞

16. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE? ❝ I very much admired Zeta Prime while he briefly served as my mentor before his untimely passing... ❞

17. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL? ❝ None. I consider myself to be a part of the asexual spectrum, more specifically, Demisexual... Which, for further reference, should be included in your questions list as an effort for further inclusivity. ❞

18. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL? ❝ I did. I attended Iacon Academy for my post-secondary education, wherein I graduated with Top Honours in Political Science, and minored in Prime History, coincidentally. ❞

19. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS SOMEDAY? ❝ Considering I have done just that, I am inclined to say yes... ❞

20. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANS? ❝ Yes, and admirers as well --- both of the secret and public variety, amusingly enough. ❞

21. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF? ❝ Losing a loved one through my failure to protect them is what I consider to be the greatest weight on my spark, it always has been. ❞

22. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR? ❝ I have a rather wide array of garments I will wear to the Council Towers, the majority being  rather simple top and accompanying skirting pieces, along with a helm ornament. ❞

23. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE? ❝ I do, with all my spark. Along with my progeny, of course. ❞

24. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? ❝ I would be wary in using the word ‘class’, there still lingers a connotation to the Golden Age, you would do well to keep this in mind in the future... That being said, my occupation is First Chair of the High Council, making me a High Councillor, or more commonly, a Councillor. ❞

25. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE? ❝ I have a small circle of close friends, beyond that I have many others I would consider to be friendly acquaintances or colleagues. I have never felt inclined to tally the numbers, however. ❞

26. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE? ❝ Are you referencing an Energon tart, perhaps? I have no comments to make on pie. ❞

27. FAVORITE DRINK? ❝ Mid-grade with a sweetener injection. ❞

29. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE? ❝ On Cybertron? The Crystal Gardens, definitely, for a variety of reasons... all of them personal. As for elsewhere, I have only travelled to Earth. But I do have a fondness of the ocean, mostly its warmth and scenery. I find it calming. ❞

30. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE? ❝ Not romantically, or anything of that sort. However, I am interested in learning about the new acquaintances I have recently made. ❞

31. WHAT’S YOUR DICK SIZE? ❝ I do not have that particular modification, nor do I think it is appropriate to discuss. ❞

32. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN? ❝ Ocean, without hesitation. ❞

33. WHAT’S YOUR ‘TYPE’? ❝ As far as physically, I do not have one. My attraction lies with a mecha’s spark, and their personality rather than appearances. For argument’s sake, I looked for intelligence, honesty, and dependability in a significant other. ❞

34. ANY FETISHES? ❝ Next question. ❞

35. TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE? ❝ No comment. ❞

36. CAMPING, OR INDOORS? ❝ My only experience with camping came from the war, and I found no enjoyment in it whatsoever, circumstances aside. Indoors. ❞

37. ARE YOU WAITING FOR THIS INTERVIEW TO BE OVER? ❝ Yes, I am on a rather tight schedule. I believe this is all the time I have, but thank you for having me. ❞

[sheikah]

The pro-Daenerys and pro-Sansa meta no one asked for.

So I felt compelled to write this in response to the growing ugliness between the Jonerys and Jonsa fandoms. It’s something that puzzles me and makes me sad. It’s no secret to anyone that I am a Jonerys shipper, but that doesn’t mean I dislike Sansa as a character or hate the Jonsa ship in general. What does bother me, though, is the constant bickering over which will be canon, and the constant attacks from each side aimed at the female protagonists in an attempt to devalue the opposing ship. 

I don’t understand these attacks and to me they just perpetuate the damaging tradition of female competition over a man. I realize all of this is fictional, but in most cases of the Jonerys/Jonsa feud I see people tearing down Dany or Sansa in order to legitimize the ship in question by saying that Jon could only be with Dany because Sansa is weak or only be with Sansa because Dany is evil, etc. What’s worse, I stumble upon a lot of fics where the main conflict is a love triangle in which usually Dany but sometimes Sansa becomes a villain character. Think about this for a second. A complex, interesting, multi-layered female character who is not canonically a villain in either case being used as a mere obstacle to a romantic ship, thereby creating a love triangle and feminine competition that doesn’t--and probably won’t--canonically exist. Maybe it’s the feminist in me screaming, but that makes me so, so sad.  Now, fic writers can and should write whatever they want, and I am actually a huge fan of the love triangle trope. But in this case, it is being fabricated out of thin air and the end result is a lot of hate thrown at these women because of imagined scenarios in which they fight over Jon Snow.  So now that I have given you this lengthy preamble, here’s a post about why, as far as I’m concerned, that would never happen--because Dany and Sansa are actually very similar. I believe that both women are confident by this point of the series and would not chase a man who is divided in his feelings for them and, in my opinion, they would actually be great friends.

1. Dany loves and protects women.

I feel like the idea of Dany fighting Sansa for Jon’s affection goes fundamentally against her character. 

Dany would not try to destroy another woman’s happiness that way. We have seen her defend other women and display a special concern for women on several occasions. 

In season 1, Dany used her power and influence to save the women in the shepherd village from rape at the hands of the Dothraki. We all know how this turned out, but it is the first instance of her trying to stand up for women and establish them as something more than property in Dothraki culture. 

In season 3, Dany makes it a point to save Missandei from Master Kraznys and take her into her care. This is not something she needed to do. She doesn’t need a translator and was easily able to take the Unsullied without Missandei’s assistance or friendship. But she saw how Missandei was mistreated and wanted the opportunity to give her a better life. The famous line, “But we are not men,” just further illustrates Dany’s awareness of the plight of women in this culture and her desire to fix that. 

In season 6, when Dany is held captive by the Dothraki horde and has been placed with the Dosh Khaleen, she is kind to the young, widowed khaleesi who brings her outside the tent, understanding and sympathizing with her situation. 

But these women seem to love their chains--they feel the Dosh Khaleen is not a terrible situation to be in. They are an obstacle to Dany’s freedom but she understands their reluctance to question their status and doesn’t view them as her enemies. She liberates them, only burning the khal’s men who sought to harm her.

Finally, at the end of season 6, Dany forms an alliance with Yara Greyjoy, knowingly and willingly establishing another woman as leader of the Iron Islands. While a woman like Cersei sees other queens as dangerous competition, Dany seeks to aid, protect, and elevate other women. 

We have no reason to assume that she would treat Sansa Stark any differently, and (as I will argue below) their similarities would probably lead to a meaningful friendship if they spent enough time together. 

2. Sansa craves (and deserves) friendship.

Sansa’s character has changed noticeably through the course of the series. I would argue that the only person to change more is Jaime Lannister. When we first meet Sansa she is selfish and a little rude. But I can’t fault her for this--she’s a teenage girl, and one who starts the series in a place of considerable privilege. 

But when that is taken away from her, Sansa becomes noticeably kinder and more understanding of other people. While she used to be annoyed by and somewhat mean to Arya, the loss of her little sister seems to affect Sansa and she misses that companionship. 

She first tries to replace it with Margaery Tyrell, who seems to care genuinely for Sansa’s wellbeing--something Sansa isn’t used to at court, where everyone has questionable motives and hidden agendas. Sansa and Margaery’s friendship was sweet and offered us a glimpse of a happy, grateful young girl who was giddy at the prospect of marrying Loras Tyrell and eager to develop a closer friendship with Margaery. 

Again, as we all know, that doesn’t exactly go according to plan, and Sansa’s next option is Shae. While Shae is only her handmaiden, Sansa seems to trust her and is thankful for her support in moments like the one when Sansa starts her period and tries desperately to hide it from Cersei. She doesn’t have a mother to talk to or a sister or any close friends, so she relies on Shae to help her. In this moment, Shae does. Shae tries to protect Sansa and even tells Tyrion that she loves the younger girl. 

But jealousy sours this relationship when Shae believes that Tyrion actually wanted his marriage to Sansa, causing so much trouble that Tyrion is forced to remove Shae from Sansa’s service, leaving her alone again. 

After that happens, Sansa is left with no one but Tyrion himself, and after Joffrey’s death her only ally is Petyr. He cannot fulfill the role of friend and confidant because their relationship is very sexually-charged and he clearly sees Sansa as a younger, lovelier version of Cat--his lost love. Yet Petyr throws her into the Bolton’s clutches where it becomes immediately apparent that Sansa’s only friends are the rugged Northerners. But Ramsay puts a stop to that very quickly when he flays the woman who tries to help Sansa, and with no one but the Boltons themselves, Theon as Reek, and Myranda, Sansa is alone again. 

Sansa has almost given up on finding someone who can truly be her friend, as evidenced by her very well-placed distrust of Myranda from the beginning. 

This is why Sansa is so willing to forgive Theon and to accept Brienne’s service the second time--because she has realized how lonely and desperate she is for a companion, someone to trust. 

At the end of the day, Sansa is like a lot of us. A girl who fantasized about a beautiful life and grew up to realize it hardly works out that way for anyone. This experience hardened her. She is stronger and smarter than ever before but she isn’t heartless and still needs other people in her life. So I feel like meeting a woman like Dany wouldn’t arouse territorial feelings of jealousy in Sansa, who we already know doesn’t want to take the Iron Throne. Instead, she would see a kindred spirit--a woman who has also suffered, been used by men, lost everything, but emerged victorious and strong. 

3. Dany and Sansa have a lot in common. 

Although they lived very different lives and followed very different paths, Dany and Sansa have a lot of similarities that make both women such interesting and enjoyable characters to watch and read about. 

Both women have had, at one point or another, magical creatures: Dany’s dragons and Sansa with Lady the direwolf.

Both women have lost their parents. Both women have lost two brothers. 

Both women have been raped, if we are going by the show!universe. Dany was raped on her wedding night by the khal. Sansa was raped on her wedding night by Ramsay.

Both women entered into marriage arrangements to advance themselves politically so that they might avenge their families and take back their rightful homes. Dany, at Viserys’s behest, married Drogo for his army so that she might overthrow Robert Baratheon and take back her kingdom. Sansa married Ramsay at Petyr’s behest so that she might ingratiate herself to Ramsay and eventually take Winterfell for herself.

Both women have vengeful streaks, and it’s badass. Dany and Sansa aren’t murderous villains, but they recognize the necessity of violence as a means to an end and as a tool of vengeance. Dany’s burning of the slavers’ fleet was one of the most intense moments in the entire series and I will never forget it. It was also amazing when Sansa had Ramsay killed by his own hounds in an epic display of poetic justice.

Both women are still softhearted and loving despite their many hardships. We can still see love and compassion in Dany’s treatment of her friends and her dragons. I especially liked her gesture of giving Tyrion the Hand of the Queen pin, and her decision to forgive Jorah and urge him to save himself. Sansa displayed similar kindness in her gesture of sewing Stark clothing for Jon to symbolize his true status as a member of her family. 

4. Their friendship would be mutually beneficial, and also really sweet ^.^

Last but not least, here are my cheesy ass headcanons about what would happen if these two spent a significant amount of time together at King’s Landing or Winterfell, and became friends. 

--Dany seeing snow for the first time, and Sansa--who is apparently the Westeros Champion Snow Castle Architect--showing her how to sculpt things in it. 

--Sansa showing Dany how to wear her hair with more of it down in the Northern style, and Dany fixing Sansa’s hair in intricate braids. 

--Dany giving Sansa advice about men and sex, since poor Sansa has not had a positive sexual experience yet. 

--Sansa being a welcome and valued member of Dany’s council meetings, because Sansa’s time at court is a valuable asset and Dany recognizes that. 

--Both of them swapping funny but totally endearing stories about what it is like to live with Tyrion, the hilarious wino. Tyrion being super uncomfortable that his two favorite gals are always walking around arm-in-arm giggling and whispering conspiratorially in his direction. 

--Both of them being girl power af and disrupting the fuck out of the patriarchy by making the most important decisions and strategizing like a couple of bosses.

--Trying to borrow each other’s clothes, but Sansa’s are hilariously big for Dany because of the height difference, and Dany’s dresses show even more skin on Sansa and are totally impractical in the Northern climate. So Sansa, expert seamstress extraordinaire, sews Dany some nice furs. 

--Both women being important parts of Jon’s life, and vice versa, and all of them working together to leave the world better than they found it because that is literally like Dany’s motto now.  

Wow, okay, so if you read all of that, thanks for being interested in my ramblings. Hopefully I convinced someone that we should all love each other and be friends lol. I know none of those headcanons will happen because there is no time for people to be cute and friendly with a war happening and everything. But a girl can dream.

P.S. My super-smart bff @oadara expressed interest in my ideas on this, so I’m tagging her now :D

[hellsbovnd]

two of a kind.

wc: 1890 focus: leonnaux altoix

[ PDF MIRROR ]

Day three of Leonnaux’s stay at the Scholasticate and it was already starting to wear on him. The classes were easy enough—the Duskwight had never studied in a classroom setting before, but his time as an information broker digging for secrets to sell and as a journalist for the Mythril Eye made it simple to filter out the bullshit from the lectures. He was used to dividing his attention, so the persona he adopted as the man supposedly known as Paschale de Vimaroix was one of an aloof foreign-raised heir—bright enough to make it into the Scholasticate on his own merits, but easily bored by the material. There was a test in a week and Leonnaux had already memorized half of the material. By comparison to the intricacies of aether theory and alchemy, Ishgardian history, politics, and (ugh) scripture were child’s play.

No, he had no trouble with the classes… But adjusting to life at the Scholasticate was another matter entirely. He lived among the other students in a communal affair that Leonnaux hated more than he anticipated. There was a room for a single student provided in the suite he was assigned, but he hadn’t been lucky enough to get it. Instead, he had been assigned one roommate in a room that was set up in such a way that it gave the impression that it was intended to be a storage closet—at least in comparison to the loft he called home in Ul’dah.

If it had only been him in the room he might have been able to stomach it—or hells, if his roommate had been a Hyur then maybe it would be tolerable because at least Leonnaux wouldn’t have to be self-conscious about hogging leg room.

Even another Elezen around his height or shorter would have been tolerable, but instead he was assigned one Rochevert de Laurent as a roommate, who had done a much better job of (as Leonnaux mother had always put it) growing into his ears than Leonnaux himself had. He had a good half-fulm on Leonnaux himself even though he was a year his junior. Rochevert’s one saving grace was that he wasn’t half the diva that Leonnaux could be: whereas Leonnaux at home spent about a bell peacocking in the mirror, Rochevert could be ready and heading to class within a quarter bell of waking up. He often tied his long, strawberry-blond hair up in a high ponytail rather than letting it hang loose as seemed to be fashionable of Ishgard’s noble men, spent no time on ‘powdering his nose’ at all, and didn’t even bother to have his uniform pressed in the wash. While he assumed that they were natural, the man’s manner meant that Leonnaux also couldn’t rule out the fact that he’d put the red highlights in his hair as an act of adolescent rebellion.

If Leonnaux didn’t know him any better, he might have taken him to be a lowborn attending the Scholasticate in an effort to move up in life, but if Rochevert was to be believed then his blood was thoroughly blue. First son of a vassal house (which Leonnaux was only beginning to wrap his head around the concept) to House Haillenarte, Rochevert had about as much interest in playing heir to his house as he did in his studies at the Scholasticate—which was to say, none at all. But heirs had little say in their fate it seemed, and he had been sent off to the Scholasticate anyway to be straightened out—or find the Fury, or something.

And unfortunately for Leonnaux, it seemed that Rochevert considered the man supposedly known as Paschale de Vimaroix something of a kindred spirit. Perhaps it was his developing penchant of dozing off while the scripture teacher droned on and on about the holy texts or maybe Rochevert sensed something about the supposed-heir that drew him to Paschale. Whatever the case was, Leonnaux hadn’t been able to get him to stop talking since the night they settled into their room. He was getting good at tuning him out, though, similarly to how he was getting good at tuning out droning teachers and the priests he had to suffer through when the students were led down to morning service.

He was talking even then, Leonnaux distantly realized as he twisted himself over the book that Alaire had given him before his departure—some text on Ishgardian decorum, though given the man’s apparent distaste for the Holy See, Leonnaux had no idea why he’d keep such a thing on hand or why he’d want it back when Leonnaux was done with it. (Not that Leonnaux wanted to keep it—it was in too poor condition to justify stealing and Leonnaux had no desire to provoke his client’s ire.)

No, correction: he had started talking when Leonnaux had gotten back from class and simply never stopped talking.

Leonnaux had returned from class a bell ago.

The book closed with a dull clap and was tucked once more beneath Leonnaux’s pillow. He could feel his blood pressure rising, but eventually worked up the nerve to look over to Rochevert, who was seated on a cushioned bench across from their bunked beds—directly across from Leonnaux himself, unfortunately, since he’s been unlucky enough to arrive late when it was time to move in, and Rochevert had already called ‘dibs’ on the top bunk. Normally, Leonnaux wouldn’t care. But the privacy that a top bunk would have afforded him as opposed to the bottom one would have been nice…

“… Anyway that’s how I decided I wanted to be a marksman, but Father said no, the Foundation is dirty and gross and beneath us. But the lowborn, you know? They aren’t so bad, once you get to know them; they’re certainly a lot more fun to hang around than the folks around here. Anyway…”

“Rochevert…”

“The point is! They’ll call you whatever you ask them to—but—Oh, have you met Amalie from Pre-Church History yet? Anyway, when I asked her to call me Revolver Ocelot she just looked at me and laughed! What’s so funny about that, huh? It’s a perfectly good name, I think—I mean, they call the leader of the Hounds Mongrel. And I mean, I think that’s a little degrading but it doesn’t sound like she minds so I guess I can’t judge…”

TRADERS. “Rochevert,” Leonnaux starts, a little more forcefully. He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly before his hand trails up to brush his bangs out of his face, eyebrows going up with his hand as Rochevert keeps fucking going.

“But some folks still call the Lord Commander the Blue Bastard, so why can’t I be Revolver Ocelot? I guess it’s back to the—” Rochevert abruptly cuts himself off, as if he suddenly realized that he wasn’t just talking at a brick wall anymore. “Hn? What’s it, Pasch?”

“… Don’t. Don’t call me that. And please. Be quiet. Isn’t your throat sore?”

Rochevert briefly looked at Leonnaux as if he’d grown a second head, but then he looked away, pulling his ankle into his lap. “… Oh—I mean—sorry. I just thought, you know—we were friends?”

“I’ve known you for three days.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, right… Sorry; I guess I got carried away again.”

Leonnaux let out a sigh, letting himself flop down on the bed and just stare up at the bottom of the top bunk for a moment, which he’d already taken the liberty of affixing a well-worn poster depicting some Gridanian minstrels who were well-known in lower Eorzea to in order to lend his persona some credibility. It was the little details that mattered, and while Leonnaux only knew of them in passing, Paschale loved them. This particular illustration also depicted them putting on a show at the height of the Moonfire Faire—a performance that Leonnaux had a poster of because he had managed to personally attend said performance and pre-order the illustration from the artists in charge of making them. It just so happened that he hoped that on the colder nights when even the thick blankets couldn’t keep the frigid draft at bay, maybe memories of the Moonfire Faire might keep his toes from freezing off.

When he looked back over to Rochevert, the young man was still unfortunately dejected. Leonnaux’s heart sank, and his breath left him in a sigh. “… I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. I guess I’m just not used to people being… Chatty.”

“What, didn’t your maids ever regale you with tales of their youth?”

“You don’t have to run your mouth to keep yourself warm on the La Noscean coast.”

“Oh…”

“But if you would slow down, I think I could bring myself to pay attention, Revolver Ocelot.”

Rochavert perked up, then.

“The key, you see,” Leonnaux began, pushing himself up onto his elbows, “To telling a good story is that you have to hook your listener. If you just ramble on and on then they’re going to tune you out. Which is what you’ve been doing for the past bell. It is very hard to hook a listener if you don’t pause to, say, breathe.”

“Oh… Well, I guess I never thought about it that way. Our kitchen-maid never complained.”

“I am sorry to inform you that she never complained because she wasn’t listening. It’s kind of late for storytelling now, but if you manage to catch me after… Uh…” He paused a moment to crack open his thin, leather-bound notebook that he kept his class schedule, daily activity logs, and notes on his peers and teachers—among other things—in. “… I have two bells of free time after Philosophy and Morals lets out. If you meet me at the Hoplon, I’d be willing to take a walk and… Coach you on the art of storytelling.”

Rochevert’s mismatched eyes practically lit up, then, and he nodded emphatically. “The Skywatcher said that a blizzard’s due in the morning, but it should let up enough by the afternoon that we can meet up. If we head down to the Crozier, I can pick you up some of that tea you’re always drinking. Nice choice, by the way; Mother always told me that that’s the best brand there is.”

Leonnaux blinked. He hadn’t realized that Rochevert paid that much attention to his habits. At least, though, Leonnaux pretty much just picked whatever tea was being offered in the dining hall at first—and it just so happened that he liked it enough that he decided that it would be the replacement for the Ul’dahn tea that he usually brewed. That might be… Inconvenient.

“Yes, that sounds wonderful,” he replied instead, pushing himself to his feet. “Well, I’m going to draw a bath before bed if it’s no trouble. Don’t let me keep you up.”

“Right! Well, enjoy, then; I think Chancel might be in there right now, so if you cross paths would you tell him that I need the syllabus for that Speech and Etiquette course we were in on the first day…? If I flunk this semester, Father’s going to be pissed.”

“Fury forfend; do it yourself! I’m not going to strike up a conversation with someone while I’m in the process of undressing.”