#i watch it every night in a state of great merriment even though there is much coughing of blood etc etc

[athrisen]

He's genie for you boy

[rocorambles]

Finding Home

Pairing: Terushima x Reader

Prompt: Mythology

Genre: SFW, Fluff, Slight Angst, Greek Mythology AU, Dionysus!Terushima, Human!Reader

Summary: Terushima has never liked winter, the land too barren to produce his prized grapes, the weather too harsh for the merrymaking he’s known for. But maybe, just maybe, a certain mortal can help change his perspective.   

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Friday, March 12th!) 

Terushima has never really belonged here and even after centuries and lifetimes, he doesn’t feel any more a part of Olympus than when he first joined the ranks of the gods and goddesses above as Dionysus, protector of misfits. 

He scoffs at the title. How fitting when he himself is a misfit among the beings of Olympus, the son of a mortal mother, a “human-lover” (a title he’s actually quite fond of despite the disdain and judgement tainting it when spoken by those around him). Ironic when he dares say most of his fellow divine beings have had more than their fair shares of “loving humans”. It’s how he was created himself after all and he scowls at the thought of the handsome brunette who he unfortunately is forced to call father. 

One would think that with all the affairs Zeus, or Shittykawa as he prefers to refer to him as, nickname courtesy of Poseidon, is off and about having, the king of the gods wouldn’t be so stringent and watchful over his kingdom above. But as free with his affection as he is, Oikawa is a stickler for tradition and Terushima sighs as he enters the gates of Olympus, plastering his trademark cocky grin on his face as he greets his family. 

It’s ironic really how Oikawa insists on these family reunions considering how they hardly really consider each other family. But no one dares to disobey and they all force themselves through the polite small talk, extravagant meals, and elegant parties, everything so detailed and beautiful yet cold, much like their organizer, and Terushima skin practically crawls at how different this is from his much more impassioned festivities, never used to how restrained the manners of Olympus are despite how many of these he has attended. 

But it’s not all so terrible and this time he doesn’t fake his wide toothy grin when two beings burst into his quarters late at night. 

He’s not foolish enough to believe Apollo and Ares are the strapping gods they’re portrayed to be, knowing too well just how monstrous and terrifying the two can be, knowing the atrocious acts they’ve committed. But as brothers? As fellow gods? They make Olympus bearable and that’s more than can be said for anyone else. So he sets aside their differences temporarily, humming along to the sound of Apollo’s music, laughingly joking that his talent for songs is the only reason women and goddesses look past the rooster-like mess on top of his head. He drinks goblet after goblet of mead with Ares in an attempt to see who can outdrink the other this time around, not stopping until his vision is so blurred that he can hardly tell if it really is Ares in front of him or a large owl with vaguely human features. 

But as soon as sunlight begins filtering in marking a new day and the end of his forced return, he’s quick to bid farewell, nose diving back down to Earth and immediately feeling more at peace as he lands in a flourishing rice field, slowly making his way to the quaint home just ahead. 

It’s an admittedly strange camaraderie, the friendship between the God of Chaos and a demi-god son of Demeter, but Terushima’s heart swells with fondness when he sees Kita sifting through the grains of his latest harvest, chuckling at the slightly quirked lips on the other’s usually impassive face when he sees the blonde making his way towards him. 

He knows the other Olympus immortals find it strange how he prefers to spend most of his time on Earth, whispering and spreading rumors about the strange god who so easily casts aside the splendor of Olympus for the humble life and home of a farmer, who prefers to idle his days away with humans and a demi-god rather than his own much more powerful and esteemed family up above. And he knows even Kita has his doubts and disagreements with the wild debauchery and havoc he wreaks upon the mortal world, preferring his mother’s more wholesome ways of providing and caring for humans. 

But both of them are tied by their kindness and benevolence towards mankind, frowning upon the hostility, cruelty, and selfishness the other gods and goddesses subject humans to. And Kita never says a word against Terushima, knowing that even if they aren’t methods he understands or condones, Terushima’s rituals and revelries bring joy, provide an escape, take away the suffering of mortals, even if only temporarily.    

Besides, the demi-god is far too busy with helping Demeter prepare for the harvest to really pay much mind to Terushima’s antics, flitting here and there as he helps ensure the earth is fertile, making sure grains and seeds are plentiful, working seamlessly alongside Terushima as the god of wine cheerfully goes about making sure there’s more than an adequate amount of ripe grapes and fruits for wine making and merriment. 

As far as Terushima is concerned, Olympus can keep its cold splendor. Here is where he was meant to be, thriving in the heat and brilliant light of the sun, sighing in content as he pops grape after grape in his mouth, the sweet juices coating his mouth as he watches the humans in amusement as they excitedly crush the small fruits, making the beverage he had shown their ancestors long ago how to create.

And then the harvest is officially upon them and Terushima joyfully cheers as his followers indulge in the delicious nectar of their hard work, wine sloshing from cups as music blares, the earth resounding with raucous ecstatic celebrations and the stomping of feet as mankind wildly dances and jumps around. 

It’s a wild frenzy and Kita slightly winces at the chaos that has overtaken the world, but it’s hard not to look on in affection and amusement as the humans and his dear friend enjoy themselves, finding temporary freedom and escape from the restraints of society. So he lets them be, spending time with his mother as she also enjoys the festivities of her followers (albeit much more demure), glad to see both Terushima and her in high spirits, knowing the hardest part of the year for both of them is just around the corner. 

A practical person might scoff at Demeter’s extreme reaction every time Hades comes to retrieve her daughter, but there’s nothing rational about a mother’s love and the world turns dead and cold as the goddess grieves and mourns the loss of her daughter, even though she knows it’s only temporary. 

Terushima sighs at the cold white snow and ice that blankets the barren grounds, feeling his own vitality drain from him when the majority of the revelries come to an end as the humans prepare for the harsh winter months ahead. He hates the mortal world when it’s like this, finding the cold quiet far too similar to Olympus and he sulks, retreating and staying put inside his shared abode with Kita, impatiently waiting for Persephone to return to her mother so that the world can defrost and resume. 

Kita is patient at first, alternating between checking in on his mother and Terushima, ensuring both great gods of the Earth are alive and well. Although “well” is a relative term and the demi-god sighs at how both their depression and grief permeate throughout the world, adding an icier edge to the already brutal atmosphere. However even his patience has a limit and though he doesn’t dare disrespect his mother, he shoves at least the god of the vine out the door, shooing him towards the nearest town and telling him not to return until he’s in a better mood. 

The blonde listens, albeit reluctantly and with a few muttered grumblings, but it’s a nice distraction, wandering around and masquerading as a human. And although he’s not in the mood to join in, he appreciates how advanced civilizations and technology have become, allowing those brave enough to face the harsh frigid weather to frolic at bars, even if it means being bundled in layers and layers of winter clothing. It isn’t anything near as rambunctious and lively as the harvest season, but he feels his mood lighten as the streets are roused by drunken and rowdy crowds, laughter and cheer filling the cold air. 

Feeling more himself after a few hours of amusedly observing from afar, a steaming mug of mulled wine in his hands, he begins to turn around and make his way back home only to be interrupted as someone crashes into him and instincts have him catching you as you tipsily stumble and giggle in his arms. He can smell the sweet scent of wine rolling off of you in waves and he fights back the urge to laugh as you sloppily smile, clinging onto him for dear life as you try and steady yourself on wobbly legs while you simultaneously thank your hero for saving you. 

Humans really are the most adorable things sometimes.

He’s a bit apprehensive about just leaving you when you’re in such a state, but he relaxes when your friends rush to your aid, profusely apologizing to him as he carefully hands you over to them and he just waves them off, telling them to have fun as he makes to walk away again. But he’s stopped by your hands still holding tight to him. 

“Come party with us!” 

This time he does laugh as one of your friends angrily admonishes you for your behavior and he gently tries to loosen your grip on him, telling you empty promises of “maybe next time”. But he freezes when one of your hands he’s managed to unhook from him softly rests on his cheek and he chokes at the genuine concern in your eyes despite the drunken haze in them. 

“You look so sad...Please stay? Maybe it’ll make you feel better.” 

The words are childish and slurred, yet Terushima is moved by the pure intentions he can sense in the syllables, drawn in by the heart and love he can feel pouring from you. All his life he has cared for others, cared for the world. But when was the last time someone had cared for him? When was the last time he had allowed someone to care for him? 

So in a moment of weakness he allows himself to let go of his responsibilities, his duties, his own walls and rules he had created to maintain a distance from the mortals he oversees in an effort to avoid dragging them into the messes caused by diving beings, to make sure no one else is subjected to what his own mortal mother suffered through because of Oikawa’s selfish desires. 

It’s ironic how little a god known as the liberator allows himself to be free, usually preferring to watch from afar and not partake in the frenzied chaos of his followers. But tonight he joins in, entangling himself among the throngs of bodies moving to the vibrating pulses of echoing music and beats, submitting to the wild energy around him, pretending just for a moment that he’s finally found where he belongs. 

You make it easy for him to believe he’s found a new home, a place he’s accepted, and even amidst the blinding lights and smoky haze, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met, your liveliness, energy, and humanity far outshining any of the gods or goddesses he knows. There’s nothing reserved or distant about you, no feeling of someone keeping up pretences or a front. You’re just...you and he knows even without the help of liquid courage you’ve generously doused yourself with tonight, that you wouldn’t be all that different. 

Maybe a little less handsy and definitely quieter (he subtly winces when you practically shout in his ear asking if he wants another drink). But the genuine warmth and kindness he can feel radiating from you? Your easy and uninhibited acceptance of him? That’s just who you are and he allows himself to find temporary comfort in this new sense of belonging you make him feel.  

Despite how he’s sworn to never rope a human into the twisted world of immortals, for the first time in his life, he feels the temptation to break the promise he had made to himself all those centuries ago. 

But it’s a pipe dream and as dawn’s light begins to peek through the night sky and clubs and bars close shop, reality comes crashing down on him. He remains steadfast in his beliefs, promising himself that he’ll leave and forget all about you as soon as he’s made sure you’re safely tucked in bed despite the desperate pleas and cries of his heart. And he grits his teeth as he fights to ignore his desires. 

He’s stronger than this. He’s better than this. Above the immoral lust his family is infamous for. Above the preying ways of Oikawa. 

Or so he’d like to believe. 

But he can’t help himself from sitting at your bedside, gazing down at your peaceful face, finding comfort in your deep even breaths as sleep overcomes you, telling himself that he’ll be just another minute, over and over again, until he’s forced to his feet hours later as you begin to rise. And as he makes his escape before you can awaken and see him, he knows that he’ll never be able to fully forget you.

Sometimes Kita is far too observant for his own good and Terushima groans when he’s immediately pinned down by curious knowing eyes as soon as he walks through the front doors. But he’s never been good at keeping his thoughts to himself and he rambles, spilling every little detail (probably too many details) to the demi-god who patiently listens and brews a pot of soothing hot tea that Terushima greedily grabs and indulges in as he recounts the night. 

Kita holds his own cup to his lips, hiding the smile playing on his face as the god talks about you, sharp eyes noting the unusual softness in Terushima’s eyes and quietness of his voice as he speaks about you, describing you so perfectly Kita can almost imagine exactly what you look like from his words alone.

But his smile turns into a thoughtful flat line at the sadness in the usually exuberant voice as the blonde tries to lightly wave it off and convince himself that it’s all in the past now, just another mortal he’s happened to interact with in his long life before breaking off into an awkward silence. 

“Terushima, not all relationships between gods and mortals are doomed and cursed.” 

Kita rolls his eyes as the other begins to squawk and flail his arms as he recounts some of the most tragic relationships in Olympus history to prove him wrong, quickly cutting him off after another languid sip of his hot beverage. 

“So do you think the union between my parents was also a mistake?” 

The demi-god smirks as Terushima squirms in his seat, floundering for words, weakly clarifying that he meant the majority, not all. 

“Exactly. Not all relationships between gods and mortals are destined for failure and we all know you’re certainly not like most gods. So if anyone were to beat those odds, I’d say it would have to be you.” 

Kita Shinsuke does not mince words. He does not care to flatter even the most supreme beings with unwarranted and undeserved pleasantries. He only calmly speaks his truth. So despite how casually the words are thrown, as if the demi-god was just mentioning the weather or how his day was, Terushima gapes at his long-time friend, letting the true weight of their meaning sink in. 

Not like most gods. 

Terushima has been called an outsider by both gods and humans alike his entire life, but for once, the title feels like something to be proud of, to hold his head up high and triumphantly proclaim, and he blinks back the tears threatening to slip from the corner of his eyes as he shakily returns the warm smile on Kita’s face, choking out a laugh between his sniffles at the demi-god’s next words.

“You’re not your father, Terushima. Don’t let Zeus- What does Poseidon call him these days? Ah yes, don’t give Shittykawa the satisfaction of ruining your chance at love and happiness.” 

It’s startling, absurd really, to hear the foul nickname from Kita’s usually polite and mannerly mouth, but it drives home his point that much more and almond eyes glint with steely resolve. 

If Kita notices how Terushima rarely spends the night in their shared home anymore despite how he’d practically hibernated in his room during past winters, he doesn’t say anything.

If he notices how much more energetic and boisterous the god is despite the barren lands and frigid weather that would normally have dampened his spirits, he doesn’t comment on it. 

And if he just happens to accidentally meander around town and see a familiar blonde figure whose hand is interlaced with a mortal woman’s hand, he chalks it up to pure coincidence and certainly not because his curiosity had gotten the better of him. 

Kita Shinsuke is not nosy, even if the pictures he secretly takes of the couple and proudly develops, frames, and gifts to the god of wine during the holidays that year say otherwise.

It’s Terushima’s favorite and only gift he’s ever received during the human holiday season (although that quickly changes after he makes things official with you) and the first thing he hangs up on the walls of your shared bedroom years down the line when you move in together. 

And as he holds you in his arms and fondly smiles at the photos on the wall, reminiscing on the beginning of this joint journey with you, he thinks that winters aren’t so bad after all, affectionately kissing the top of your head as you snuggle and squirm closer to his body heat, slightly jostled by him adjusting and retucking both of you back in your warm and cozy blanket cocoon protecting you from the chilly air.  

He waits for you to settle back into a restful slumber before letting his own eyes drift shut once again, melting into the bedsheets and embrace of a place and person he can finally call home. 

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 10)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2624

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence​​​​, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little over a week after your romantic evening, things seemed to be moving in the right direction. You felt less like a live in nurse, nanny, maid, and chef. You actually felt like his soulmate now. You weren’t sure if it was the unplanned vocalization of feelings, or the romantic dinner itself, or what it was, but things shifted. 

Mornings weren’t comprised of insisting him to take the new serum over the old, throwing open his drapes, setting to cleaning the house -- he was doing that on his own now. He went to you or Hank when he got up. You still made him breakfast, as well as Hank because everyone needed fuel to start their day; but ultimately he was back to being independent. 

And so were you. You were starting to give it considerable thought to go back home, at least for a while and sort things out. Only thing was did Charles even want you to stay? Did you want to stay? You had a life, a career, and a family back home. Could you give all that up just for him? 

It was the middle of summer, your favorite time of the year. Of course, you loved Christmas, and the heat could be overbearing sometimes, but at the end of the day, you preferred a hot summer day. Something about the grilling out, the parties, the fact that good times never seemed to end, it made you smile. 

Now, tonight was July 4th, your second favorite holiday. Ironic, since your soulmate would be British, and you’re American. But here you were, at 7:00 nestled on the lawn of the mansion in the back about to watch for fireworks that would explode over the horizon. You’d heard about the park nearby hosting an event. 

Thoughts of Charles bean swirling in your mind. You remembered asking him to join you tonight… 

“There’s a fireworks display on July 4th,” you mentioned casually as you got his lunch ready for the next day. 

“And you’d like me to go,” he commented with a cheeky grin. “That’s a bit bold of an American to ask a British man, no?” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose, but can you blame me? Oh come on, it’ll be fun,” you encouraged with a wider grin. “I’d really love for you to be there. It’s my fa--”

“Favorite holiday aside from Christmas, yes, I remember,” he noted with fondness. The little reminder that you two shared a lengthy history warmed your heart. 

So he did remember things about you… you mused to yourself. 

“Just like I remember it making me laugh,” he continued. “Actually,” he sighed, “I can’t.” He walked over to the island, staring across from you, his ocean blues somehow more blue and clear than normal. “I wish I could, truly. But I’ve got grades to report and I have a deadline for my research proposal.” He gave you a sad smile. “I’m sorry, love,” he said, grabbing your hand and kissing it softly before stroking it with his thumb. “You should go without me though. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.” 

You thought for a moment. “Yeah, I think I will. Maybe Hank could join me, if you don’t mind?” 

“Of course not. You two should have fun. He never gets out,” he remarked with a grin. 

However, Hank let you down. The following day, he said he couldn’t go. That he had a date of all things. Not that Hank couldn’t get a date. He was quite the catch. But he’d been almost a prisoner of this house. You had no idea he was even interested in anyone new since Raven. Apparently though, he met this girl at the place where he ordered his lab equipment and they hit it off. She asked him to a firework show about forty five minutes away from the mansion.

So it was just you tonight. Which was fine. Of course you missed Charles, but you could enjoy this just as much without him. 

The first firework came soaring over the treeline of the horizon and you marveled at it, smiling like a giddy child. The colors were fantastic. You partially wished you’d gone out to get some of your own to set off, but without anyone to share it with, it wouldn't have been as nice. 

Five more fireworks exploded and you clapped, knowing full well no one could hear or see you. 

“Enjoyed that one, did you?” Charles suddenly said from behind you. 

You spun to face him. He stood above you on the side of the lawn that sloped down. He smiled happily down at you before walking down to meet you.

“I brought us some things,” he informed you, raising the basket to make his point. 

“I thought you had to work?” you asked, shocked. 

“Were you rather I not be here?” he questioned, a bit of a laugh in his voice. That merriment was something you very much missed since he’d disappeared. He was always joking, positive, and bursting with great energy before a year ago. Then you got here and up until he started working, he barely smiled. 

“No, of course not, I’m just worried about your work.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine. I got the grades in and the proposal isn’t due for another few days. I may have to work here late a few nights, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” you agreed. “Anything you need. I’ll be happy so long as you’re here.” 

“Good. Well I brought us this blanket,” he informed before unrolling it and fanning it out. When it was settled on the grass, you sat on it and he joined you, kneeling. “I’ve got finger sandwiches, chips, grapes, cheese plate, and wine.”

“Wow, a whole spread. I thought you didn’t cook?” you teased.

“I don’t. I put things on plates, wrapped them, and brought them out. I didn’t need a PhD to teach me that. Give me some credit,” he said with mock hurt. 

“Ah, you’re right,” you said, raising your hands in defense. 

“What would you like first?” 

“Mmm, some wine and the cheese plate,” you said. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

He got out the plate, a little knife, some crackers, and poured wine in two plastic cups. 

“Here’s to America’s independence,” you said, raising your cup. 

He peered at you with a bemused expression. “To America’s independence,” he agreed with a coy grin before touching his cup to yours. 

“So when did you think of all this?” you asked as the two of you watched the fireworks. 

“Actually the night you brought it up. I already knew I wanted to do this for you, I just knew I had work to do.” 

“I see.”

“But then as I sat at my desk, I realized I’d much rather be here with you and I could make it happen.” 

“I’m glad you thought of me,” you noted.

“I’m always thinking about you,” he said casually and quickly. 

You smiled to yourself. 

The two of you slipped into a nice quietness, enjoying the show as you leaned back on your elbows. Your head rested on his shoulder every once in a while. Every now and then, one of you pointed out one you really liked. You seemed to like the sparkly ones and he loved the red ones, the ones that had the biggest spread. Every so often, you picked at the food he brought and sipped on the wine. 

Slowly, the fireworks died out around eleven o’clock and you sighed. “Well, I guess that was it. I wish--”

“That we had our own?” he finished as he pulled out some sparklers from the basket. “Way ahead of you.” 

“Either you thought of everything, or you read my mind,” you accused, partially joking. 

He handed you a sparkler before grabbing the lighter and lighting them. Once they sparked and began sizzling and glowing, he said, “I didn’t read your mind. I just know you love to have your own fireworks.” 

You frowned for a moment, thinking, gazing down at the sparkler before making mindless shapes in the air. “Do you ever? Read my mind that is,” you asked. 

“No,” he softly stated. 

“But how--”

“The loudest and the most painful can get in when I’m not paying attention, but I take great effort to give people their privacy,” he informed.

“That’s nice of you,” you mused. 

“Speaking of… privacy,” he started when the sparkler fizzled out and it was just you two in the darkness under the glow of the moon.

Dread began to wrap around you. What could this be about? 

“I wanted to talk to you about… well about staying,” he began, seeming nervous. “Just--Just hear me out. I know you have a life back home, I know, but I was just wondering if maybe… you’d want to stay here, with me.” 

“Charles… I,” you started, having no real idea where you were going with the statement. 

“You don’t have to decide now. I know you have a lot to do. A home to sell, a business to move, family to part with. I just… I want you to think on it.” He gently picked up your hands and held them closer to him. “I love you, Y/N, and I’ve missed you. I’m very happy when you’re here.”

This was the first time he’d said it. He loved you. You suspected it, you wanted it, it seemed highly intuitive. But up until a second ago, he’d never uttered the words in any form or fashion. And now you were on top of the world, feeling as if your insides were warmly melting and softening at his words, his voice, his face...

“I’m happy too, Charles.” 

Even in the darkness you could see him smile and before you realized it, the air turned heavier. Ever so slowly, you two inched towards each other. You slowly shifted to your knees as he began to raise up to match you. You two were now on your knees, facing each other, only a few inches apart. Was that his heart or your heart racing? All you could hear was an erratic thumping. 

As if gravity pulled you to him, you two closed the gap at the same time, your lips finally touching for the first time. It felt like Heaven inside you. Every fear, worry, regret, wish, dream - vanished. You were nothing but whole inside. A feeling of warmth wrapped all the way around you as you reached out with one hand to entwine your fingers in his hair, and the other to touch his hand. Your fingers laced with his as he used his other arm to pull you closer to him. 

His lips tasted sweeter than you’d ever imagined. Heat went from his body to yours, to back again. The two of you couldn’t get enough of each other. You gently put pressure on his lips and he pushed back, his mouth working on yours expertly. 

Although you didn’t want to, you two broke away for much needed air. 

“I uh, don’t think that was the answer you were looking for,” you said with a chuckle. 

He leaned forward, his lips a hair away from yours, both hands in your hair when he replied, “No, but I love the response.” 

You hummed a laugh as he eased you down onto the blanket. 

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

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted to Hank the next day while Charles was at work. You were helping him with his wing design for his job. 

“Well, what do you want to do?” he asked point blank. 

“I want to stay,” you said as if it was obvious. “I mean, I know he can’t give up this home to come back with me. My house wouldn’t fit him, I just… I don’t want to give up my patients and my practice.” 

“Well, you might have to.” 

“I just don’t want to abandon them, you know? A lot of my patients feel like they don’t have anyone so if they feel like I’m just giving up on them--”

“What if you scheduled remote sessions? You know, did video chats? They could do it from the comfort of their homes and you could still help them.” 

You cocked your head side to side. “That’s actually not a bad idea.” 

“Yeah I’m chock full of them,” he said with a smile as he glanced up at you from underneath the model wing. 

“I may do that. But what about the rest? My house, my family…” 

“I can’t say anything about your family, I don’t know them. But they know you’re up here, they know you have a mate. Your house -- all you have to do is sell it and have your stuff moved up here.” 

“You use logic so well, it’s so hard to argue,” you said with fake anger. 

“I know. I’m so hard to get along with,” he agreed, rolling his eyes.  

“Totally irritating.” You smiled at him before slightly hitting his shoulder. “Well, I better get to my plans then, huh?”

You made your way out of the lab and began your arrangements home, packing your bags, calling your office, and selecting a flight. When Charles got home that evening, you were ready to tell him your decision. In a way, you were excited. A new life, finally with the man you’d dreamed of for years. 

With everything packed, you awaited Charles arrival. 

He came in the door, dropped his things off in the entryway. He met you in the kitchen, where you always were at this time, finishing dinner for everyone. 

“How was your day?” he greeted as soon as he got in, kissing you swiftly but passionately before grabbing a drink for himself. 

“It’s good. I made a decision,” you told him, ready to rip the bandaid. 

“Oh?” he asked, worry in his tone as he took a sip of his drink. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna close up shop back home and come live here,” you informed, trying to keep the smile off your face and failing.

He all but dropped his drink onto the counter before sweeping you into an embrace. He twirled you twice in a circle before setting you back on your feet. “That’s fantastic news! Oh, I know you’re going to love it here, darling.” 

“I know I will,” you assured once he let you go slightly and stepped back. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his brows knitting close together. You could get absolutely lost in those eyes of his. 

“Yes,” you promised. “I’ll miss my family but they know my place is here, beside you.” 

“Right, and we can always visit and they’re always welcome here. Actually… how would you feel about me meeting them?” he asked. “When were you planning on going?” 

“Well at the end of the week,” you stated. “I have to go tell my landlord I’m leaving my office, pack all my things from home. It’ll probably take a whole week.” 

“Perfect. I’ve got three weeks before my next semester starts,” he said. “I could go with you and they could meet me. I have a feeling they might want to know who you’ll be living with.” 

“They probably want to know who I’ve been talking to all these years, more like,” you said with a laugh. 

“So I am coming with you, yes?” he affirmed, his hands on your shoulders as he peered into your eyes, checking if it was alright with you.

“Of course. I’d love that.” You quickly leaned forward and pecked his lips. 

“I’m looking forward to this,” he said before he rolled up his sleeves, ready to help you with dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

@essie1876​​​​​

@magpiegirl80​​​​​

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​​​​​

@iamwarrenspeace

@marvel-imagines-yes-please​​​​​

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification​​​​​

@thejemersoninferno​​​​​

@rda1989​​​​​

@munlis​​​​​

@thefridgeismybestie​​​​​

@bubblyanarocks3​​​​​

@igiveupicantthinkofausername​​​​​

@kaliforniacoastalteens​​​​​

@feelmyroarrrr​​​​​

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​​​​

@damalseer​​​​​

@heyitscam99​​​​

@yknott81​​​​

@sorryimacrapwriter​​​​​

@glitterquadricorn​​​​​

@xxqueenofisolationxx

@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama

@bittersweetunicorm​​​​​

@alyssaj23​​​​​

@sea040561​​​​​

@princess76179​​​​​

@thisismysecrethappyplace​​​​​

@sarahp879​​​​​

@malfoysqueen14​​​​​

@ellallheart​​​​​

@breezy1415​​​​​

@marvelmayo​​​​​

@lyniboy​​​​​

@paintballkid711​​​​

Charles Xavier

@bohemianrhapsody86​​​​

@lenawiinchester​​​​​​

TSMU

@tilltheendwilliwrite​​​​​

[aswithasunbeam]

I have a prompt idea: Jealous Ham post-RP, some men are you know giving Eliza that “I can treat you better” energy and Ham’s like: “You can’t expect me to just sit here and not fight for you, not fight for us” Canon era preferably but whatever works best for your style. I hope you find the time to fit this in!

A combination of a couple different prompts (those above and another asking for jealous Ham) that had to do with Ham and Eliza after the Reynolds Pamphlet - thanks to everyone for the great suggestions!

–

Trifles Light as Air

Rated: Teen and Up

“Well, if it isn’t little Betsey Schuyler. It’s been an age since I last set eyes on you.”  

Eliza started slightly and looked away from the portrait she’d been studying to find Philip Van Cortlandt approaching her with a wide, open smile. Alexander had been whisked away almost the moment they’d entered, leaving her to bear the weight of the curious guests, eager to gather more tidbits about New York’s most salacious scandal to feed to the maw of the gossip mill. She’d found this out of the way little corner to hide when the stares of the room had felt too oppressive.

“Phil,” she greeted, allowing him to scoop her into a friendly embrace. “I think I was beating you to the top of that big oak on your father’s property last we met, if memory serves.

They’d had a few brief encounters since, of course, the Van Cortlandts and Schuylers entwined as they were, but Phil laughed and readily played along.

“Right after stealing all my marbles.”

“I won them fair and square,” she retorted.

He held her by the shoulders as he released her from the hug, looking at her with a fond expression. “It’s good to see you, Bess.”

“And you,” she said, surprised at the sincerity of the words. “But you know it’s Betsey Hamilton now.”

The reminder of her married name caused something to darken behind Phil’s eyes. “Yes, that’s right. I’d heard.”

She felt blood rising to her cheeks in shame for just what he’d likely heard of late. “Art thou a wife?” a recent article had taunted. “See him, whom thou hast chosen for the partner of this life, lolling in the lap of a harlot!” Her eyes were cast down towards the floor, fighting the familiar wave of humiliation and anger.

“A day of great heartbreak for me, I’ll have you know, when I learned of your nuptials,” Phil continued, a note of forced joviality in his voice. She met his kind grey eyes again. “I was always rather sweet on you.”

She smiled at that. “Really? I didn’t know.”

Wry amusement lit his expression. “I suppose it wouldn’t have risen to your notice. Half of Albany society was sweet on you, after all. What was one among the throng?”

“That’s not true,” she argued.

“It assuredly is.” He held out an elbow to her. “Take a turn with me, Bess. We’ve so much to catch up on.”

She took his arm. “Tell me, how is your dear sister?”

“Oh, Catherine’s well, married and settled. Helping me look after the manor, in fact.”

“Really?”

They settled into easy, familiar conversation as they walked.

She was laughing by the time the call came for dinner, real, true, wonderful laughs that made her cheeks ache from all the smiling. Their trip down memory lane had been far more pleasant than she had imagined, reminders of the girl she’d been sweeping over her like being reintroduced to an old, dear friend. Phil escorted her into the dining room and held out her chair, lowering himself into the seat beside her without the least bit of care for their hosts seating arrangements.

“You’d already pushed poor Peter down in the mud. I didn’t think I stood a chance,” Phil teased as the soup was ladled into his bowl by a servant.

“I didn’t push him,” Eliza said. “He fell.”

“Sure, sure,” Phil replied, tone full of doubt. She shoved playfully at his shoulder as went to raise his spoon. “See, you’re at it again.”

The sound of a sneeze from a way down the table drew her attention away from their private merriment. Alexander was snuffling into a handkerchief and waving off a chorus of “Bless you” from those around him. It was the first she’d noticed he’d rejoined the wider party. Their eyes met, and his jaw clenched before he pointedly looked away.

Unhappy with her, then.

She allowed Phil to reclaim her attention and heard herself laughing with him just a touch louder than before.

They were sipping a sweet dessert wine in a corner of the parlor when Alexander finally approached them.

“Colonel Hamilton,” Phil greeted, courteous if not particularly warm.

“General Van Cortlandt,” Alexander nodded, a peculiar emphasis on the rank. A flash of memory recalled that Phil had been promoted after Yorktown in thanks for his brave service in battle before leaving the army; an honor not similarly granted to her husband. “I suppose I should thank you for so thoroughly entertaining my wife this evening.”

“No need, Colonel. Bess and I go way back. We’ve been trading stories from our youth. She and her sisters terrorized and fascinated in equal measure every young man in New York society.”

“I have no doubt,” Alexander said, and though he smiled, he didn’t look particularly amused. He finally looked at her as he added, “Well, I hate to interrupt your reunion, dearest, but I was hoping to slip away shortly. This head cold of mine is growing a bit bothersome.”

His pallor and bright pink nose attested to his misery readily enough, though she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d be leaving so early had she been silently suffering in a corner by herself.

“I can see her home, Colonel, if you need to retire for the evening,” Phil offered.

She felt Alexander watching her, waiting for her to refuse, to jump to his aid, to coo and comfort him while they waited outside for their carriage together. Months ago, that’s exactly what she would have done if he’d confessed to feeling poorly at a dinner. But then, she thought again of that taunting headline, of Philip’s expression when she’d mentioned her marriage, something sour curling in her stomach.

“That would be lovely, Philip, thank you.”

Alexander’s jaw bunched again, and his eyes flashed. “Eliza.”

“What?”

His lips hardly moved as he hissed, “You’ve made your point.”

She straightened her posture and narrowed her eyes. “My point?”

“Just come,” he said, holding his hand out to her expectantly.

“I expect you can see yourself home and get yourself to bed without my assistance, dearest.” She hurled the endearment like an insult and noted with satisfaction his slight flinch as it landed. “I’d like to stay. I’m enjoying reconnecting with my old friend immensely.”

His gaze swiveled between her and Phil, color rising in his cheeks.

“Fine,” he bit out. He looked for a moment like he was going to stalk off in a fit of anger, but then he paused, as though thinking better of it, and bowed slightly to Phil. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Feel better, Colonel,” Phil replied.  

When Alexander caught her eyes one last time, he didn’t look angry, she noticed; rather, he looked stricken, almost betrayed.

She wanted to slap him. Her teeth clenched as she watched him retreat, her breath loud and deliberate through her nostrils as she tried to reign her temper in. The nerve of him, to act as if he were the aggrieved party in any of this.

Lolling in the lap of a harlot.

Tears pricked at her eyes.

“Come on, Bess,” Phil encouraged, voice soft. “Let’s go for a walk.”

She swallowed, swiping at her eyes quickly, and nodded. “Thank you.”

The chilly fall air helped ease her distressed thoughts, and soon enough they were laughing over old times again. By the time they’d climbed into Phil’s carriage, she had the passing thought that she didn’t wish for the night to end. She relaxed back against the soft cushions of the seat and requested, “Could we drive around for a little while? Before you bring me home?”

He smiled easily and leaned out the open window to call, “The scenic route, John, as you please!”

“Yes, sir,” she heard the driver reply before the horses started off down the cobblestone street.

Phil watched her as they rode, mouth taut in careful consideration. She kept her expression open, waiting for him to speak. At last, he said, “This may be an impertinent question, considering we aren’t closely acquainted in our adult lives.”

“What is it?” she invited.

“Have spoken to someone yet?”

Her brow furrowed.

“An attorney, I mean?”

“An attorney?” she repeated, more confused. What need did she have for an attorney; and really, if she did, it’s not as if she didn’t have Alexander close to hand to manage any legal issues she might encounter.

“Even if he’s willing to go along with you, which I’d hope he is given the state of the evidence against him, you ought to be sure your interests are being looked after.”

“I don’t—”

“And, forgive me, I know this is unpardonably forward, and you’ll need time to settle, of course, but…well, I want you to know that I wouldn’t think any less of you, any differently of you, than any lovely unmarried or widowed lady.”

If she were divorced, she understood, his meaning dawning on her with awful clarity. He would still think her suitable for courting if she were divorced.

“I’ve always thought the world of you, Bess.”

“Phil, I….” She closed her eyes a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Alexander rose up in her mind’s eye: the little half smile played on his lips; the pattern of freckles she traced upon his back each night; the way his hand felt when it closed around hers, fitting over her palm so perfectly. “I love my husband. I have no intention of leaving him.”

“Oh.” He sat back, nonplussed. “I…I thought…especially the way you were together tonight, so cool, I just assumed…. Pray, pardon me.”

“There’s nothing to pardon,” she assured him. “And as for tonight, loving him doesn’t mean I don’t want to throttle him on occasion. More so of late than ever before.”

He chuckled softly.

When the carriage pulled up in front of her house, Phil dismounted first and held his hand out to her. She took it, pausing before him, and leaned in to give him a fond kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I hope we’ll do a better job of staying in touch than incidental dinners and family gatherings.”

“I’d like that, Mrs. Hamilton.”

She smiled as she turned towards home.

She thought she saw the curtains rustle before the window of Alexander’s office and frowned. Surely, he’d gone up to bed when he’d come home? When she let herself in the front door, she saw that, indeed, candlelight still spilled out from under the door to his office.

Sighing, she unwrapped her cloak, hung it up neatly on the stand beside his coat, and steeled herself for another encounter with her infuriating husband. She gave three short knocks upon his office door before pushing inside. “I’m home.”

He was seated at his desk, a hand pressed against his forehead as he wiped at his nose with a handkerchief. “I heard the carriage pull up,” he muttered.

“I thought you were going straight to bed to tend to your cold. What are you still doing up? It’s getting late now.”

“Quite late.” His tone turned icy. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

“I did, in fact. I know you and he don’t see eye to eye politically, but he’s a very old friend of mine.”

“A very good friend, by the look of it.”

“Stop it, Alexander,” she warned.

“It was a suitable punishment, I’ll grant you, watching you fawn all over another man all evening.”

“I was not fawning all over him,” she argued. “And what are you talking about? You think I was punishing you?”

“I suppose you’ll tell me I ought not be angry over being given a taste of my own medicine.”

Her voice turned deadly quiet. “That’s not what I was doing.”

He stared up at her, something spiteful in his expression. “No?”

She glared at him. “I have another years’ worth of late nights before it would even come close.”

He paled significantly. “So, you…you and he, you…”

She let the silence linger for a cruel moment. The devastation in his eyes wasn’t as satisfying as she’d thought it would be. “No. Nothing happened. Nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman.”

“He wanted you. He wanted something to happen. I could see it his eyes, the way he looked at you, touched you.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong, she supposed, considering his veiled proposal. The accusation rankled no less. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were childhood friends, that’s all.”

“Childhood sweethearts?” he pressed.

“We raced, and climbed trees, and played marbles, like all children.”

“You kissed him when you got out of the carriage.” He announced this with something almost like triumph, as though he’d trapped her in a lie.

She gave an exasperated sigh. “I kissed him on the cheek, Alexander. It’s not as if you caught us in a passionate embrace.”

He was breathing hard, his cheeks a florid pink oddly juxtaposed against his otherwise sickly pallor. “I don’t want you seeing him again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want you alone with him again!”

Her vision flashed red. “You presume to…as if you have the right, ever, to—”

But her fury cut off when she noticed a dribble of bright red blood starting from Alexander’s nostril.

“What?” he asked, visibly confused by her abruptly halted ire.

“Your nose,” she said, motioning to her own nostril. “You’re bleeding.”

He touched his fingers to his nose, smudging blood across his upper lip. A guttural sound issued from his throat as he reached for his handkerchief again, red immediately starting to spread across the bright white fabric as he pressed it to his face. When he started to tilt his head back, she moved towards him.

“No, no, honey, forward a little, or you’ll choke,” she directed. Her hand rested on his neck to encourage him into the right position. With the number of boys in their house, she’d had her share of experience with bloody noses.

Blood continued rushing into the handkerchief and started staining his hand.

“Pinch your nose,” she said. “That’ll slow it. I’ll get you another handkerchief.”

He mumbled something into his handkerchief, voice muffled and congested.

“What was that?”

“Drawer,” he repeated for her, removing a hand from the bloody mess his face had suddenly become to gesture to his desk. “More in the,” he cleared his throat, “the drawer.”

She pulled open the drawer he’d gestured to and pulled out the stack of clean, pressed handkerchiefs he’d squirreled away from himself. Holding one up, she helped him exchange the soaked handkerchief for a clean one, tossing the bloody one into the rubbish bin beside his desk. Then she squatted by his side, her hand tracing slow circles across his upper back.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into the silence.

“Not your fault,” she hushed him. “Just relax. It will stop soon.”

“I didn’t mean,” he started, sniffling as he moved to handkerchief to check the progress of the bleed, “Not for the bloody nose.”

“Oh.” Her hand paused.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I just…seeing you with him, laughing, relaxed. It made me crazy.”

Her mood darkened. “I know the feeling.”          

“I know that. I know you do. And I can’t say you wouldn’t be right to leave me. But I can’t just…just watch you slip away from me like that. Let you run off with some other man without a fight.”

“And that little performance was your way of winning me back?”

“It’s possible I’m not thinking very clearly.”

She shook her head even as a little laugh escaped her lips. “I’m not running off with anyone, you goose,” she said.

“No?”

“No. You’re right that Phil was…interested in me.” His head whipped around, eyes the size of saucers. “He thought we were getting divorced, before you get it in your head to go duel him. He’d been sweet on me when we were young, and he made clear that he wouldn’t consider me, tainted, I suppose, if I were divorced. When I told him that I had no intention of leaving you, he really was a perfect gentleman.”

He snorted lightly, then coughed, pressing the handkerchief to his face more tightly.

“Worth it?” she asked, mostly teasing.

“Yes,” he muttered stubbornly.

“I love you, Alexander, for better or worse. There’s never going to be anyone else.”  

His expression softened. “Really?”

“Really. It doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt, still furious with you. Or that I don’t want to murder you from time to time. But I love you.” That earned her a little smile that she saw tugging at the corners of his eyes.

“I love you, too, Betsey.”

She rubbed his back again and leaned closer to inspect the handkerchief. “Has it stopped?”

He pulled the handkerchief away. The trail of blood appeared to have ceased. “I think so.”

She leaned over to press a kiss against his temple. “Let’s get you into bed, honey.”

[eternityunicorn]

Game Night at the Safe House +18

Author: eternityunicorn  Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Camille O’Connell

Genre: Romance/Friendship/AU

Warnings: Smut

Summary: AU Set in Season 2 - While at the safe house, Elijah and Camille decide to sit, drink, and continue their game of Trivial Pursuit after Hope is put to bed. They enjoy each other’s company. As the alcohol courses through their veins, things grow heated between them. But what happens when Cami boldly kisses Elijah?

AUTHOR’S COMMENTARY: This special oneshot was encouraged by the lovely @elejah-wonderland! I’ve been meaning to write an Elijah x Cami story for a while, so here it is! Enjoy!

———————————————————————————————————

The Arkansas night was quiet at the safe house. Little Hope was asleep in her crib upstairs, leaving Elijah Mikaelson and Camille O’ Connell free to spend the evening as they wished. This particular night, the Original was invited by the blonde human to join her for a continuation of their previous Trivial Pursuit game, which had been disrupted by his mental instability. 

In the weeks that had followed being charged with protecting Hope at the safe house and being helped with his trauma, Elijah found he was feeling better now, after the many therapy sessions he had sat through with Camille. However, despite her best efforts and his own, his mind was still plagued by the nightmares his mother had unleashed upon him. That was why he agreed to sitting with the lovely therapist and distracting himself from the demons inside his own mind with a competitive, but friendly game. 

As with before when they had last played, the ancient vampire knew the answer to every question that Cami asked him, no matter how obscure the question. Having lived for a thousand years, he had experienced much of history, including literature, music, arts, and even television and tv shows. He loved knowledge and knowing everything the world had to offer, which was why he knew as much as he did, much to the dismay of the young woman.

Still, as they drank copious amounts of bourbon, Camille only laughed and feigned frustration with each correct answer he gave. She was rather adorable, if he were perfectly honest with himself and Elijah could certainly see why his brother, Niklaus, was so enamored with the lively lady. She was charming, compassionate, brave, and understanding. She was truly a beautiful human being.

“How do you know so much, Elijah?” Giggled Camille, as she drank from her fourth glass of bourbon, after he answered another question correctly. “You’re like an encyclopedia!”

He grinned in return, feeling a little tipsy himself, “Well, I’ve lived for a long time, Miss O’Connell. I’ve studied every aspect of this world throughout the thousand years of my existence since I’ve had so much time on my hands. Not every waking moment has been dedicated to defeating enemies and averting the destruction of my family.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” the blonde replied. “I’m sure you’ve experienced a lot in your time. It  still makes this trivia game frustrating though. You are unbeatable, but I am determined to best you. There has to be something that you don’t know!”

“Highly unlikely, my dear,” he smirked. “But you are certainly welcome to try to stump me.”

Camille laughed again, “You’re on!”

From there, she continued to throw question after question at him and he continued to throw back correct answer after correct answer. The human female laughed and shouted in playful frustration every time, as her competitiveness drove her to find that one question that he wouldn’t be able to answer. She flung the cards into the room, every time he answered until they were scattered about the floor and on the couch around her. 

Elijah felt more and more relaxed, now that he wasn’t thinking about his troubles and focused upon the merriment of his companion. Though, that could have had more to do with the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He was in a haze of bourbon and joyfulness. 

This had been exactly what he had needed, he decided. A carefree night with the company of a beautiful woman, of whom he considered a good friend. He wouldn’t forget this moment of peaceful joy ever.

“Ugh! You’re just impossible to beat,” Camille finally sighed in defeat, throwing the Trivial Pursuit cards down on the low table in front of them. “I give up!”

The Original laughed and down the rest of the bourbon in his glass, sitting back in the armchair smugly. 

“Oh, wipe that smug look off your face,” the human woman said, as she too sat back on the couch. “You’re so lucky that I can’t exact revenge upon you for this humiliating defeat or else I’d have to get you back for beating me so completely!”

“And if you could exact revenge, Miss O’Connell, what would you do?” Elijah asked her casually, not meaning anything by it. 

A mischievous smirk spread across her lips then, as a lusty look entered her blue eyes suddenly. She sat up again and rested her arms on her thighs. 

“Well, for one thing, I’d wipe that smug smile off your face, by doing this,” she answered.

Before the elegant vampire realized it, she was off the couch and leaning over him, capturing his lips with her own. Her tongue swept into his mouth and he could taste the bourbon there. So surprised by her actions, he didn’t immediately push her away. 

In fact, he found he enjoyed the taste of her mouth, finding himself impulsively pushing her tongue out of his mouth and dipped his own into hers. His blood alit with a hungry desire that he couldn’t tell if it was bourbon induced or not. It wasn’t that he didn’t find Camille attractive, he did, but his feelings for her had always been ones of respect and friendly admiration.

Yet, despite their friendship, here Elijah was driven to lust for the young therapist. The desire to have her was strong in him and he wasn’t sure if he could resist in his hazy state of mind nor was he sure if he wanted to. He was drawn to it, wanting to let this surprise craving consume him, to further distract him from his still healing mind. 

Realizing the trail of his mind he was wandering down, the Original tore his mouth from the human’s and gazed at her in surprise. “I don’t think we should go any further,” he whispered reluctantly. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she murmured back, pausing a moment and then kissing him again.

Elijah didn’t stop her. He momentarily gave into the desire that coursed through him, kissing her back hungrily and tugging her into his lap so that she straddled him. He cupped the side of her neck with one hand, while the other splayed across her back, while her hips rocked into him seductively in rhythm with their dancing tongues.

Again, he made himself eventually stop. The vampire pulled back and tried to regain some sanity. He even grabbed hold of her hips to stop her distracting movements.

“Camille, we shouldn’t do this,” he told her, his voice gruff with unfulfilled lust.

“Why not? You want to forget your troubles and I want to forget my own,” she responded, cupping his face in her little hands, her glassy eyes gazing at him sincerely. “We can do that together. We can let go for this one night and let everything else fade away. Tell me that you don’t want this escape, Elijah.”

He gazed at her contemplatively, knowing that he should deny her. After all, it wouldn’t do well for Niklaus to find out that he slept with the lovely woman, of whom the younger Mikaelson had feelings for. The hybrid would surely kill him for touching what he perceived as his.

On the other hand, his own budding romance with Hayley Marshall mattered not, now that she was going to marry her werewolf suitor and unify her pack. Therefore, he himself was free to do as he pleased. 

Paired with that latter truth, Elijah found her words too persuasive to resist and he answered her, “Yes, I want this. I want you, even if only for the night.”

With that, the elegant vampire pulled her mouth to his in another hungry kiss. As he did, he stood up with her limbs still wrapped around him and sped them into her bedroom. He tossed her onto the bed with him standing over her, between her open legs. 

As he watched Camille pant under his lustful gaze, he admired her beauty freely. She looked absolutely wild with her blonde locks spread out over the bed, her mouth agape, and her blue eyes wide with her own heated desire. 

Elijah leaned over her and kissed her mouth briefly, before letting his lips descend over her face, her jaw, and down the column of her neck. He enjoyed the way she responded to his mouth’s caresses to her skin. She was very responsive to his touch, which pleased him greatly.

While his lips distracted her, his hands reached and caressed her body, before they gripped the flimsy material of the short dress she wore and tore the fabric open. His hands split it jaggedly down the middle, exposing her lacy undergarments. His fingers then caressed the soft, creamy flesh sensually, causing her to shiver in delight. Then his hand cupped one pert breast and kneading it gently, all the while continuing his kissing of her mouth.

Before long the need became too great and Elijah made quick work of his own clothes, practically tearing them from his body. His hands made short work of his suit jacket, then his tie and afterward, his shirt, of which he didn’t bother unbuttoning. Buttons went everywhere, but neither he nor the woman beneath him cared. 

Once he was bare from the waist up, the Original tore Camille’s lacy panties from her body, tossing the ruined material away into the shadows of the lowly lit room. The scent of her ever growing arousal drove him on, made him all the more hungry for her.

From there, after he moved her further back on the bed, he quickly moved into position between her thighs and reached to undo his own pants, releasing his hardened length from the confines. Before he joined their bodies, he kissed her passionately. 

Then he leaned back to grin at her as he affectionate brushed back her hair. He wanted to say something romantic to her, but found himself unable as her mouth reached for his and kept him from saying anything. 

Instead of saying anything, Elijah aligned his cock with her wet entrance and with one quick stroke, joined their bodies. He was more gentle than he would normally be if he were with a werewolf or a fellow vampire or even a witch who had magic to protect them from harm. Even drunk, he was conscious of her fragility as a human. Therefore, while his movements were steady and firm, he was also careful.

Even so, he was passionate, making Camille moan loudly with his sharp, meaningful thrusts. Her arms snaked around his back to pull him close, while her legs curled around his hips. He enjoyed the way she was wrapped around him, but that enjoyment was intensifying when her nails began to rake his back. 

Elijah hissed and groaned, before growling and forcing her hands away from his back, leaning back and taking them in hand, only to press them into the bed. He never ceased his steady pace, driving their combined pleasure higher and higher, moving quicker and harder with each stroke into her center. 

“Elijah! Oh god,” the human woman cried out, as her eyes screwed shut. 

Her hips began to rise from the bed to meet him thrust for thrust. It heightened both their pleasures, making the Original take her a little rougher. Though, she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she enthusiastically started to shout in ecstasy, as she continued to move with him. 

The sensations grew so wonderfully powerful that it didn’t take much more to drive them both over the edge of bliss. 

Camille’s body seized beneath Elijah’s own. She arched into him, despite being held down to the bed. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth opened in a silent scream that became audible. It echoed around the room and was soon joined by the vampire’s own cries of completion. He came quickly with a few more thrusts and them slumped against the human woman. 

In the afterglow, they held onto each other, contented with the silence between them. However, the alcohol still courses through their veins and before long, they were ready for more. 

It was the blonde that made the move for another round, pushing the Original onto his back and smirking down at him drunkenly, “I definitely think I like this game more because it’s a game that I at least have a chance of winning.”

“You think so? Well, we’ll just gave to see about that,” Elijah smirked.

After that, for the rest of the night, the two lovers tried to outdo each other. In the end, Elijah won their competition, forcing Camille to tap out when he kept going after her, making her climax over and over again until she passed out.

When morning came, Elijah was already gone from Camille’s bed. Though he had held her the rest of the night as she slept curled against him, he hadn’t felt it appropriate to remain when she awoke. 

He couldn’t say he regretted their night of passion, but he also felt guilty for giving into his own impulses. The human woman was a valued friend and he was concerned that crossing the line that they had, would ruin it. His fears seemed validated when she came downstairs with a timid expression and avoided talking about what had happened, choosing to pretend that nothing had happened between them. 

Besides using his blood to heal her hangover that morning, they went about the rest of their time at the safe house as if they hadn’t been lovers for a night.

It wasn’t until after Elijah had blown up the house to stop his wicked brother Finn and they were heading back to New Orleans that they spoke of that passion filled night.

“I know we haven’t talked about - you know - but I hope you’ll agree that it should remain our little secret,” Camille said as she drove them back to the city with Hope in tow. “For our sakes, but also for Klaus’s and Hayley’s too.”

“Agreed,” the Original nodded. “Though, I do hope that what happened won’t change our friendship. I value that very much and would hate it if our night together ruined that.”

The blonde glanced at him sincerely, “Of course it won’t, because we won’t let it.”

He smiled in relief, “No, we won’t.”

“By the way, it was a wonderful night, Elijah, and I won’t forget it,” she said, gazing back at the road. “I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“Of course. For all time, I’ll remember it fondly,” he replied.

Camille grinned teasingly, “Me too, but I must admit, I’ll never look at Trivial Pursuit the same way again. The memory of that night will always be associated with it for me.”

“Yes. I as well,” the Original said. “Always and forever.”

The End

———————————————————————————————————

Tag List: @elejah-wonderland @dendrite-lover @xanderling @missnmikealson @freshsuitcasewinnereagle @lolelijahishot @elizamonet @esclisa @inmylifeilovedthemall @elejahforever 

[aimlessfool]

Four years, One Night

Prompt: Kisses under an umbrella Thank you so much for the prompt, Spider! :D (tagging in case the ask got lost :’) @exalok​ ) And here you go! :D

Pretty much this is an AU where Corvo was given to Dunwall at the age of 20, and he and Dàud had a relationship that is low key still there, even though they haven’t seen each other for four years. And Daud has no bounty on his head yet. :’)

Seventy four in coin. Corvo had counted them all, from his coin purse in the innermost pockets of his coat, sewn in there to not be easily lost. It was all he had to spend this fugue, and all he had ended up being left with at the end of the year. A year that had little excitement in it, little sorrow else from what was left over soon two years ago. Only a month or so after he arrived. The death on an Empress or Emperor had always weighed heavily on the Empire, at least the closer to the capital you would get.

The man facing the pubs from the rooftops remembered well how news such as these reached Karnaca and his mothers stories of them, and how most of the grief took seed in the nobles, and those few middle class and lower class citizens that were loyal enough to grieve. He had rarely understood the great devotion to those above others, and how much a leader of the Empire was loved. But little did it matter, and little could he dwell on those thoughts as of years and counting, considering that he had to keep them to himself just about every day of the year, else from these few precious days. Perhaps in time he would understand. He figured so, considering he had the rest of his life left in the Tower. Forever watching over the Empress, until the day she would eventually fall. But it would not be because of him... He would make sure of this. He supposed that any child of the Empress would cast him to the hounds once he was too old. Hrm, that day that sorrow.

It was time to continue on his way to reach the pub and docks, to wander about and see how much things had changed for the last four years. Corvo had found himself wanting a break from watching over the princess, who by now had already settled into her little safe room where she told Corvo sternly, to "go out and do something" for the last hours of the fugue. So with her orders, Corvo followed what he wanted for the first time in a while, heading out and leaving his work behind for once, this going to be a secret kept from the Emperor. The thing was, for the last three fugues, Corvo had ended up only watching over the royal family, not doing much of what he wanted. This was something he had accepted very early in all this, so it was no problem, for honestly, nothing more was to be expected.

This had been fine, until he was stuck needing to do something with his time on his own, and not having work. Soon four years of this had Corvo's mind go blank, as he moved along the chimneys like a cat, crawling his way over the dirty and slippery roof titles.

At least it was fun enough to use the city's roofs to continue the training he haven't had much of, for it was perhaps best to not show off too much of his abilities to the Emperor and his sly spymaster, who often eyed Corvo with suspicious eyes when he trained, Corvo going about like a whirlwind on the training fields. If Corvo ended up showing off too much, he might end up being questioned of where he learned such things, as stealing coin purses and slipping away from sight without a trace. It would be bad enough as it were in general, but the other consequences that would follow with it would be even worse, if he were forced to reveal who he learned this from. A man that he...

...

Corvo kept moving. Slowly but surely, as he was careful and certain with his steps, Corvo reached the pub he wanted to see first. After an easy climb down and without much fuss, Corvo found himself back on the cobblestone of the city streets, right beside an old brick building, where his hand resting against it. He slid his hand along the building as he went, an old habit of his that apparently wasn't fit for the buildings of Dunwall, as he scratched his palm against the rough brick, not to draw any blood, but enough to itch. So scratching at his hand, Corvo went out from the alleyway, opening the cracking metal fence door with his foot as he went along, not bothering to use his hand, despite them both resting at his sides by now, to appear more casual than others. He was wearing an outfit of the few items he had from home of his casual clothing, the shirt draped over his chest bigger on him than it should be, with reason too. All this, so he would fit better in with the others in there, and not be as recognisable. Yet, Corvo doubted nobody but court members would even bat him an eye, for there had been no mention of his status or arrival in the newspapers. So few would know of him. Walking in with a hand lingering on the door handle, Corvo took a gander over the open floor ahead of him, seeing many being... To put it lightly, stretched out over them, enjoying their time. There were music, some song that Corvo did not know of, perhaps it being a local variant of songs that he should know, from listening to Jessamine play some on her harp. Yet, he had paid little attention due to other thoughts in his head about music, so... He could not name them, but did feel a sense of familiarity with the violin. It almost sounded like how... Daud played to him. Corvo pretended to walk in with alcohol on his mind, stepping along the drunks and tables as if he had done this several times, which wasn't that far from the truth. Thinking little of the state of the bar, Corvo still approached it, finding a seat empty beside a man that looked like a sailor, draped over the counter with his hand clenching around a glass. Hrmp, one can't choose your neighbours in a bar at fugue, Corvo knew this.

The bartender wasn't thinking of the new arrival, nor was Corvo, who by now leaned on his hand, propped up by his elbow, looking over the rest of the room, from what he could see of it. There were life, akin to those at night in Karnaca. Men howling with conversation and laughter, the thick ooze of beer and general alcohol in the air, and music, though more sombre than those songs he would listen to back home. It was like he had wandered back home, a gateway more suited to him than a ship.

Sighing, Corvo actually tapped the counter for a moment, to see if he gained the bar tenders attention. It ended with Corvo offering some coin, for prices were random at fugue, he knew this, and he was given a glass of beer, one that Corvo very, very slowly started to chip down with as he sat there, watching the life, his chest growing warm with alcohol and the warmth of a good bar, where there were merriment and good times. Not as dreadful as the rainy streets outside.

About halfway done with his beer, the man beside him apparently woke up, looking to Corvo from the counter, his face drunkenly flushed. It was a guard, one he knew from the barracks. Smiling as he sipped his beer, Corvo patted his back a few times, a friendly gesture to tell him to get up.

The man obliged, groaning as he got up, his balance pretty much off...

... And for a moment he was about to topple over Corvo, who quietly reached out a hand towards the man's collarbone, stopping him from falling. And the poor drunkard started huffing, though found that what he thought Corvo wanted wasn't right, as he was met with a amused smile, something that he truly did not expect. So he got himself back on his feet, and headed off to a table, to switch seats... And Corvo had a slight understanding as to why, and paid it little mind afterwards.

Half an hour later, with Corvo oddly enough immersed in this whole cosy and fun atmosphere, he was out of beer. And knowing how it was with prices, Corvo decided to stop there, and just slide the glass between his hands, in a bout of boredom. It had the bartender take the glass from him in mid movement, Corvo's eyes going straight to him... And he just chuckled. Smiling a little.

Bartender paid little mind to this, and just let Corvo be, supposing he have had enough, though... Today he wasn't actually allowed to stop him.

Corvo didn't mind, stretching over the counter and ending up people watching again, idly wishing that there were some Serkonian blabber about, to just feel even more like home for this very slight moment. He rested his head against his arm for a moment, head facing the room and tables out there, and the men and women there, some even starting to get frisky.. That came naturally with the hour, so it was nothing Corvo hadn't expected. He had a smile, still, and it hadn't waned often the last half hour. He was even slightly red, though he was far from tipsy, a half litre of beer far from enough to get him properly flushed. He just enjoyed this. The taste of the beer wasn't too bad either...

Though he wouldn't be idle for long, as the same man that nearly flattened him to the bar stool earlier now suddenly grabbed at Corvo's collar, this instantly causing Corvo to look to him alarmed, and trying to get the hand off it, before it could do some damage. But he failed as he stumbled off the stool, and was promptly dragged out of the bar's back exit, closer to the waterfront than he wanted to be with a drunk guard at the moment. There were little resistance from Corvo, though he truly wished he could wring himself away. Having a feeling he knew where this was going, and once he was let go, Corvo quickly turned to the drunkard, though still with a lighter expression, not going to let this ruin his night. It was just a minor thing.

"What do you want?" Corvo asked, a hand reaching to the back his collar to check for holes... None.

"A fight." The man blabbered out, his slurred speech revealing just how damned drunk he was. "Royal Protector an' all, you got a fight in you I want." Corvo snorted. This felt somehow familiar, like a lot of things tonight. Corvo considered the request...

And promptly punched the drunkard in the face, retaliation for what he did to his shirt, as he truly felt like that was something he should not have done.

The man did budge, the first too sudden and very hard hitting for him not to. And he then promptly attempted to punch him back, failing first, but with a very dirty trick of kicking Corvo's feet off balance, he managed to get him down to the cobblestone, some of them stinging as they hit Corvo's back individually and causing some pain. And then a fist came flying at Corvo's face, exactly where he should not be hit, and due to the shock of it all, Corvo got a fistful of pain right into his cheek and eye, grunting and ending up kicking the guard down, not going to take this laying down.

And with him down Corvo moved to his feet again, and ended up kicking the drunkard in the stomach, with the aim of letting him have a hangover before he would actually get it.

Hopping back right after the kick, Corvo's hopes where fulfilled, and the guard started to vomit out his very expensive alcohol right after the kick. He howled in anger and pain as he did, spitting curses at Corvo who stood over him, actually not wanting to punch him further. A punch for a punch, after all.

"Have fun with your coin then, Gallwood." Corvo muttered, ending up chuckling as he turned on his heel, and waved to the cursing idiot on the street floor.

Now, Corvo supposed he could continue his sightseeing, since the good idiot was too brick brained to understand Corvo didn't want him falling on him. So, he slipped out of sight and into an alleyway, idly wandering with a little hop in his step as he did, just happy and somehow feeling a bit more energised after getting punched in the face. He supposed within a few minutes he would have a bruise, but it would just have to be. It just might end up with others wanting a fight from him keeping away, which was good. ... And about that, for a moment, Corvo felt watched. So he stopped, suddenly and all, and looked behind him, into the darkness of the alleyway he had just turned into, and found... Nothing but rats, scuttling over the cobblestones and to his feet, passing by without much fuss.

... Tossing whatever thoughts he had out of his mind, Corvo continued.

Now turing, the docks stood before him, a little bit from the side of the whole thing, though. There were not much life, just a few sailors here and there, with the increasing intensity of the rain surely having chased off most of the people out in the streets. At first it was a drizzle, now it was getting worse. Which Corvo had found to just be good, he liked it when the rain was "warm" like this, and not icy cold as it usually where. Now at the side of the river, Corvo moved along the rock formations, and past so much rope and cargo crates. He saw shirts, coats, fishing rods, umbrellas... A lot of things, just strewn about as if in their owners where in a hurry. And from experience, Corvo knew this was the case, as it were how most dockworkers and sailors would end their day as soon as the fugue was rung in.

Now humming at a Serkonian song from the back of his mind, Corvo idly wandered along this place, and soon ended up on the other side of the docks after having picked up one of the umbrella's at the side of a barrel, wanting to just fool about with it, as he would back home, if he ever found one. He thought of many things as he wandered, the hop in his steps having started to waver to a normal walk.

This whole night had felt like he was back home, more a feeling than anything else, though. He had been content, forcing himself to think that he was, thus feeling it. For despite him having fun, despite it feeling like home, something was gnawing at him, something missing. Daud.

Even with his shirt, Corvo still couldn't help but to want the man himself there, wandering along with him. He thought, for a slight moment as he dressed himself back in the barracks, that the shirt would be enough to keep the... Longing for Daud at bay, but... Despite trying his best, it just wasn't enough. He was supposed to be there now. Like back at home. When he had work, it was easier to just use his shirt as a familiarity and distraction, but now...? It wasn't... Right. Things felt like back home, but really wasn't, due to missing Daud. ... Thinking of things to help take his mind off this, especially now that he was close to where he ultimately realised what had happened, four years ago, Corvo fished up the cigarette case of... "His."

Fished out a cigarette and his lighter, and lit it, the umbrella helping with this. Perhaps he had it in mind once he picked it up.

For years he hadn't thought of him. Until now. ... Void damnit.

Corvo stood there for an hour. He smoked three of the cigarettes, the third just being lit as he heard something at his left. Corvo paid it little mind, supposing it was a sailor looking for something he had dropped here, or whatever else.

But when a hand reached out to the cigarette he had in his hand, out of the blue, Corvo reacted with a silent shock, mouth very subtly agape as he turned to see who was that blunt as to simply take the cigarette from his mouth like that. And with the light of the smoke, came the view of a familiar face, a familiar nose... A familiar man, with Corvo's cigarette in between his lips. ... His chapped lips.

"I was wondering where my shirt went." The very familiar man muttered, his voice rougher than before.

... Corvo froze as he stood. Slightly leaned over a railing separating him and the river, with his head ever so slightly tilted towards the left as the gears in his head turned, to understand what was just happening. To get it into his brain that... This man right beside him, coming closer and inching under his umbrella... Was Daud.

... Corvo tried to say something, tried to move when Daud got so close to him their shoulders touched.

In order to break the silence, Daud leaned along with Corvo as he hummed for a moment, though half of his body was still exposed to the rain as he did so, the man not minding all that much, though.

"Took my cigarette case too, then." He said, voice trailing off as he ended up looking to Corvo, with a half smile on his lips. Corvo's mouth was still slightly agape, and first now it sank in that... This was Daud. Corvo's fist clenched, and he was about to move, about to turn sharply and punch the man before him in the face, for having been gone for four years, for not having sought him out, but... It wasn't certain that he got the letter. It wasn't certain he was aware of where Corvo had been for the last four years. He didn't know if he had gotten caught up in anything- he didn't have the right to punch him. Yet he wanted to, so badly.

"Daud?" Corvo finally managed to mutter, his voice revealing his feelings about this meeting all too well. There was a certain vulnerability in his voice too, a sadness in it. As if he wasn't able to accept what was there, right in front of him.

There was a nod from the man, and he tilted his head to meet Corvo's, the cigarette safe between his lips. "Corvo." He said, his eyes saying a lot about how he was feeling for the moment.

"... Where?" Corvo finally managed to ask, aware of Daud being within reach, if he just angled himself slightly to the side.

"I would ask the same, had it taken me longer to find you." Daud muttered, and knew that it wasn't a satisfactory answer, so he continued, his arms resting idly over the railing as he apparently relaxed. His answer was... Guarded too, which Corvo picked up on easily.

"I got caught up in something. What, you know." The man took a drag, and blew it out, towards the rain and away from Corvo. "I only got home a month ago." Corvo's heart sank, as now that Daud was closer to him, he saw an angrily red line down the side of his face, just as Daud turned to look to him again. It wasn't only the reason his heart sank, though.

"I ended up travelling. Finding things, stealing for them. A lot happened, Corvo. Thus why I didn't seek you out before now." Daud lifted his arm up, and patted his chest, just where Corvo knew he usually sewed in pockets in his coats. Like he did to his. Corvo understood what it meant, Daud always kept the things most important to him close to his chest.

... A long pause of silence followed. Daud didn't feel like he could ask Corvo what he had been doing, not because of privacy reasons, but honestly... He wasn't sure how Corvo felt about him anymore, and he wouldn't take any chances either. It would make things more difficult. "... I'm pissed." Corvo said, and had a slight smile on his face... A smile that Daud knew, but if it meant the same, he wasn't aware of.

"I told you to quit while you were ahead... Then, you end up gone for four years..." He said, looking over to Daud again, and gaining another look at his face. "And yes, I do believe you... Those bastards were the types. I just don't understand what happened.. How did they keep you?" Daud... Sighed, turning to look to Corvo more, as if seeking-.. Something. He wasn't sure what.

"Things meant little to me. My own life, less so." Daud muttered and trailed off, his eyes set on Corvo's, and his right hand, ever so slightly moved against Corvo's, all without the man realising it himself. Corvo did, though, and didn't even flinch, nor look to it... He was about to move to the others hand.

"... If I knew you had left and were safe, I'd... Quit sooner." Daud finally said, moving his hand away just as Corvo was about to touch it.

Corvo sighed, deeply, and lightly tapped Daud's hand with his finger, Daud noting it. "Yes, you should have." Corvo muttered, frowning slightly... To then just full on frown, the drag Daud took from the cigarette showing more of his face...

"... I was taken, three days before you were supposed to come home. It was a hasty delivery, they wanted me gone as soon as possible..." Corvo started, turning away from Daud, as he just... Couldn't look at that wound.

"So I took what I could, went to my mother, and said goodbye to Karnaca... To home..." Corvo sighed, a lopsided smile showing on his lips now, as he reached for the cigarette Daud had in his mouth, and took it from him, to take the last drag. "I'm sorry for the mess I left.." Daud huffed. "Don't be. It wasn't that messy."

"So they left it alone, then?" Corvo seemed.. Hopeful as he spoke.

"Yes. Most of Karnaca knew that was our place, so they left it well alone." Almost as tidy as it had been for the two years the two of them had been together.

"Good..." Corvo seemed almost relieved.

"So... What did you do?"

Daud watched the cigarette bud fly from Corvo's fingers down into the sea. "I sold everything but your things... The apartments is sold off, I needed the coin."

... Corvo's heart... Now truly sank into his chest, the man even feeling a sting from the feeling of it... Not because of his things, but.. The place he and Daud had called home... Was gone. Really so. He had already accepted that he wouldn't get home again, but... Maybe not as much as he had hoped. Biting as his lip, Corvo calmed himself down, taking a deep breath as he sighed again.

"... You knew I'd not be able to go home again." Daud nodded, picking up on the sadness in Corvo's voice. And thus, figured that... He could maybe... He reached out the same hand to Corvo's again, who didn't budge. He let Daud place his hand on his.

"So, my things are at the usual spot?" Daud nodded.

"I'd best get them delivered soon. Conrad, he's still working at the docks?"

Daud nodded. "He arranged the passage for me."

"Good." Corvo acknowledged, and finally looked to the hand on his, to Daud.

He wanted to say something that had been on his mind all night, something that most likely... Wouldn't be all that welcomed, so... He instead trailed back, trying to figure out something to say.

".. I've been appointed Royal Protector of the princess... Jessamine." He explained, finding that it had some good timing... Yet, these sort of news were never good timed, no matter what, especially to a man with such work as Daud had, and most likely... Wouldn't be able to escape, if Corvo's fears were great enough.

"So, I've been busy making sure her and her family is safe... For the last four years I've been sleeping in the barracks, but within a month of two, I'll be moved. To the Tower."

Daud's face was hard to read, but one thing was for certain. He was happy for the man before him. And Corvo, who knew him, now twisted his hand around, and entangled their fingers. A subtle way to tell him to stay. "Climbed your way to the top... Never expected anything else." Daud said, a sort of chuckle present in his voice as he spoke. And he found, that he didn't mind the entanglement.

Corvo nodded along, with a slight smile. They were worlds apart now. It was easier back home. Corvo sighed, deeply. He didn't want to ask this, but it was a given that it were. So there were no other choice.

"... What are you doing here Daud...?" He asked, as he was the one who most likely, followed him for a while. And first after the words left his mouth, he understood how they sounded...

Daud took a moment to reply. Corvo swallowed. "I came to look for you. Took me a few days, until you happened to punch a loud bastard behind a pub." He chuckled, smiling. "I knew it was you just from the shirt alone."

Corvo smiled, the smile lopsided and without much merriment. "So you're back for the shirt, then?" He asked, looking to Daud again, now noting that Daud hadn't pulled back his hand yet.

"You can keep it. It looks good on you." Daud muttered, and looking to Corvo, their eyes met, and he... Promptly looked away.

"... Sorry I took most of your clothes." Corvo muttered back eventually. "No, you're not." Daud chuckled, and found himself looking back to Corvo, starting to understand a little bit more about how things were now. Corvo was an open book to him, always were, and the more they talked, the more he understood what he meant with all.

... Soon Corvo moved, fishing his lighter up from his pockets using his left hand, and.. Lit it close to Daud's face, the man looking curiously to the flame, them to Corvo.

"... What happened to you...?" Corvo found himself asking, eyes wide at how... Bad the wound-... No- scar, looked. Daud's lips thinned, and once he spotted Corvo's face... He knew where it was from, yet.. Got a bit of a serious look in his eyes.

"Still a sucker for face punches, I see." Daud joked, but did have some concern behind it. "Don't avoid the question." Corvo replied sharply back.

Daud... Sighed. Then looked away, the lighter being put back into Corvo's pocket. That's when Daud noted a hand, moving up to him. To his face. ... Then some pressure at his cheeks, along his chin. Warmth. And the handle of the umbrella...

... Daud leaned in to it, closing his eyes, just for a moment as he exhaled.

"Sword fight getting out of it. A year ago..."

Corvo huffed.

"Fucking bastards..." He said, voice dripping in malice.

Daud... Nodded.

Corvo's hand lingered, not sure what to do with it, else than to pull the man in front of him closer to him. To untangle their fingers, and reach out to Daud, who. Was here now, and most certainly wouldn't reach out to him, the damned idiot. At least he managed to find him. And to talk, explain whatever he needed to explain.

He removed the hand eventually, and untangling the hand with Daud's, to hold the umbrella with that hand. "Tonight, I was forced to not work... Went to a pub, and spent an hour or two there... It was like being home, you know." Corvo started, just to talk. "Felt a lot like those times, when we ended up together at the bar... We would people watch, see them go by, get drunk... Even music, though it was worse here than home." Daud kept quiet.

"I miss home." Corvo muttered, the meaning behind these words more loaded with meaning than he realised himself. And looking at Daud, this statement was something he too felt. Maybe the same way that he had.

"... So, no new home?" Daud asked, knowing he had to.

Corvo shock his head.

And watched How Daud's free hands moved up to his face, first stroking a thumb against Corvo's now bruised cheekbones, while his other hand cupped his face. Corvo's lips parted, like taking in a breath.

Then Daud waited, for a moment. Asking for permission. Which Corvo granted, leaning ever so slightly down to the other, as Daud tip toed to reach him, as they had done many times. The first kiss was a light peck, lips meeting lips, testing the waters. Then another light peck followed, and more after that. Daud's lips were dry and chapped, while Corvo's warm and dry too, yet it didn't really matter for either of them. Now Corvo's left hand cupped Daud's face, and the other, draped over his shoulder, to then hold a hand on the back of his head, as if he didn't want him to leave. Which he did, just for a moment, their lips lingering so close they brushed against each other, and noses nudging against each other as they moved to... Inch a little bit closer, in a moment of needing to breathe. Their lips met again, this time leaving out the pecks, and instead pushing against each other with hunger behind it. They didn't care if anyone was watching, didn't mind if someone saw them. This was all about them.

Not knowing nor caring how much time had passed, eventually they separated, Corvo mostly breathing through his nose, but finding it to not be enough to manage to stay with Daud for any longer than this. Daud pulled back too, though oddly enough his hands had moved, down to Corvo's shoulders, and had rested there for a while, and wasn't moving even as they pulled from each other. Between parted lips, Corvo was catching his breath, Daud too, and it ended with both of them crashing together again, their kisses intensifying with every breath they shared between each other.

They ended up so caught in this that they leaned over the rope railing, Daud stopping them though before they toppled over the railing, by taking a hold of Corvo's waist and angling him away from this, Corvo gasping in between kisses as he was moved, though he had yet to realise that was why Daud touched him like that.

Eventually, they both parted, cheeks flush red and lips slightly swollen from playful bites, both happy to see each other in their own little way.

When Daud parted from him, he stopped being on his tip toes, and now, leaned his head against Corvo's collarbone due to Corvo kinda making him, who slowly stroked his hand through Daud's hair, as if trying to soothe him. It didn't really, but it didn't mean Daud didn't like it. He just wouldn't admit to that, even though his cheeks revealed his feelings very well... Good thing they were both hidden under darkness.

... Usually it wasn't this... Longing. Grumbling internally, Daud just... Relaxed. Corvo as well, the man actually slightly dizzy.

"... Got a bed tonight?" Corvo asked, a fair question for Daud. With his home sold, it was likely he hadn't spent his coin on a new one.

"No." Daud muttered, sort of understanding the more "hidden" question behind Corvo's words, but still being blunt about it.

"We're allowed visitors in our rooms." Corvo muttered, Daud feeling the vibrations from Corvo's voice on his forehead, as he had angled himself to lay his head like that, nose tucked up against the lower parts of Corvo's neck.

"Hrm. Tempting." Daud rumbled, smiling. Corvo swore he could feel that, how his shirt ever so slightly moved up where Daud's cheek where resting.

"Been a while since I've slept in a proper cot." Daud joked, and nudged with his head that he was standing up straight, which Corvo let him.

Once he stood facing Corvo again, Corvo smiled. "It's not big, but we'll make do."

"Agreed. But I'll have to collect my things first. I'd rather not have it found by any quick witted thief."

"That can be arranged." And with this, Corvo took a hold of Daud's arm, and started to pull at him, all while holding the umbrella still, having made sure that they were both under it during their first moments of reuinion. Daud didn't even hesitate as he let himself be dragged along, the two of them idly chatting on the way, about things they've learned, Corvo more than Daud, but that was usually how it was always.

Over a few rooftops, and down into a window, to then end up in an apartment left empty for what seemed to be years, Daud collected his bag and gear, his sword always having been on his hip from the moment he decided to hold it. As he went back to Corvo, he showed Corvo his new crossbow with lots of pride, the two men swinging out of the window afterwards, Corvo challenging his partner to a race. One that he won, though he could swear something was up sometimes as Daud wasn't heard for a moment or two. It was most likely in his head.

Eventually Corvo went back to his room, one more "special" than the others, as it wasn't anyone in there else from him. With his position came some benefits, of course. And it wasn't exactly at the barracks, so it was easier to sneak in there than elsewhere.

Daud came in through the window, just for the fun of it, and eventually, they both slotted themselves to sleep after a meal, enjoyed over silence, as they would back home. They fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

Corvo woke up to Daud still sleeping beside him, drooling ever so slightly on his arm he was resting his head under. Corvo didn't care, and found himself huffing while tossing an arm over him.

Enjoying the moment.

Once both were awake, Daud the more grumpy morning person than Corvo as he hadn't had a lot of sleep as of late, still found himself relaxed enough to eat another meal with Corvo, and promise he'd come back later that day.

And he did, wearing the same shirt he had "happened" to take by "accident". One of Corvo's.

[sauntered-vaguely-downward]

Competitions of the Heart Chapter Two

Loki x Reader

The Feast - Chapter Two

The feast later that evening was just as loud and lavish as was to be expected from a king of such a wealthy nation. Every table was decorated in stunning white, gold, and red flowers. The food was plentiful as was the drink, each table of guests having a whole roast just to themselves. The music was playing songs of joy and happiness, causing much merriment among the people in the hall.

The kings of the nations had joined the king and the princess at the high table, while the princes each sat at their own tables with their royal party.

“I must say, it was quite a surprise to see such a fine young princess in armour, although I must say rather refreshing too,” Odin smiled down the table towards Y/N. “We don’t have many female warriors but we do have Lady Sif, who is quite possibly one of our most feared and great warriors.”

“I would very much like to meet this Lady Sif,” the princess smiled back, sipping on her sweetened wine before she continued. “I’m glad you find it refreshing to see a princess in armour, I am aware many of the kings at this very table are probably uncomfortable with the idea of a woman leading the pack rather than being at the side.”

“Not at all, I think it is wonderful,” Odin beamed. “You remind me very much of my wife, she knew herself well, a very bright and strong woman, you’re very similar in that sense.”

“I have heard many a thing about your wife your highness, to be compared to her is a great honour,” she bowed her head, smiling. “Are you enjoying the feast?”

“Oh very much so.”

The night continued, once the starters had been replaced by mains, and the mains replaced by desert, the guests began to mingle among themselves. The princess was no exception. She danced with many a guest, chatted away to each of the kings and queens who had come to the event, and even played with some of the younger children of the royal families.

Loki watched her all night, enthralled by her. Unlike other princesses or even queens he had laid eyes upon, he could tell there was something different about her. When the children played or danced with her, the smile on her lips was genuine. When the kings joked with her and her father, her laugh was not false, it was true and sweeter than any music that was being played. She didn’t dance as though she were a princess, she danced like she was having fun, letting her dress sway and swish along with her movements.

“For someone who didn’t want to be here, you seem rather happy,” Thor smiled, sliding into the chair beside his brother. “You haven’t taken your eyes off of the princess all evening.” Loki scoffed, somewhat embarrassed to have been caught out.

“I have done no such thing,” he groaned, tearing his eyes away from her to look at his brother. “I was merely eyeing up the other princes to see what our competition is, dear brother.”

“You certainly seem more willing to compete than before,” Thor laughed. “Perhaps it is because you have now seen her, as they say on Misgard, it would appear to me that you have a crush on the princess.”

Loki didn’t have time to respond before a gentle tap on his shoulder brought his attention away from his brother to the woman trying to get his attention. Looking up he saw it was none other than the princess herself, sweetly smiling with her hand held out towards him.

“Loki of Asgard, correct? I believe you are the only person in this room tonight I have yet to dance with,” she smiled, a glint in her eye that Loki couldn’t quite place. “Would you care to dance?”

“Of course, Princess.” Loki allowed her to lead him towards the dance floor. The music was soft allowing them to be close together while they danced.

“So, Loki of Asgard,” she smirked, “you are one of the last people I expected to be here trying to win my hand in marriage.” It may have been a statement but her tone suggested it was a question he needed to answer.

“My father would very much like for our nations to be allies, this is a good way in which people can become allies, through marriage,” Loki stated, looking into her eyes as they swayed across the floor.

“Hmm.” Loki saw the glint in her eye, one he was very familiar with. It was the glint of mischief that he always got when he was about to do something that he shouldn’t do. “Correct me if I am wrong, but you don’t really want to be here, at least not for the reason of marriage to unite our nations?”

“Perhaps not,” he hummed, following her movements across the dance floor.

“So answer me this if you will,” she smirked, “if you are the great god of trickery, why are you here? Surely a god renowned for his tricks would have found a way out of this is he did not really wish to come?” Loki didn’t really know how to respond. She was correct, he was a god of lies and tricks, if he had really not wanted to come, he could have got out of it, but he came, so why was that? As he was lost in thought about why he was really there, Y/N studied him.

He was unlike the other princes trying to win her hand. He was considerably more slender than the others, but still, as his hands held her close as they dance, she could feel the muscles beneath his attire. Something about him made her feel warm and safe but at the same time, she felt a mischievousness leak from him, one that made her smile and want to do chaotic things by his side. He certainly was a handsome, perhaps not the way his brother was but there was something about his stern looks, coupled with his long raven hair that made her heartache.

“I suppose I am here out of curiosity then,” he smiled down at her. “Of course I have heard of you, but I have never met you before this moment. People talk very highly of you and your father across the entire Nine Realms, this was an opportunity for me to finally see what everyone was making a fuss about.”

“And are you disappointed? Was the fuss justified?” She smirked. Loki liked how she challenged him, it was a change from women of higher status who let him lead the conversation.

“Oh, I am not at all disappointed. You have gone above all the expectations I had in my mind when I made my way here.”

“Good,” she smiled. They talked for a little while longer before she began pulling away from him, bowing a little. “While this has been fun, I have a lot of other people to talk too, I cannot be seen to show favouritism so early on in the contest for my hand. I shall see you tomorrow Prince Loki, for the first task.” And with that she left, making her way towards a king and queen from another nation.

Loki watched as she left, her dress swaying as she went. Perhaps he hadn’t intended to come here to win her hand, but he certainly wanted to at least try to win now.

[wildefiction]

Oblivion

WORD COUNT: 1,492

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Misha wakes up on the bank of the the lake, only this seems different somehow

CHAPTER WARNINGS: None

THREE

A cascade of fluid spilled from Misha's mouth as a wet, hacking cough brought him back to consciousness. Blinking slowly, he remained still as he came to, slow breaths filling his lungs sent sharp pains through his body.

Eventually, the realization hit that he was very wet and very cold. Small pebbles bit into his face as he pushed himself up on his elbows, fingers digging into the embankment on which he rested. 

Once his knees were under him, the man was able to turn and sit properly, taking in his surroundings while wondering just what the hell had happened. Squinting into the dark that enveloped him, Misha tilted his head, staring up at the obsidian heavens - pinpricks of light dotting the immense canvas. 

The last thing he could remember was the look on Jensen's face as he lost his footing and fell off that bridge. Merriment had quickly turned to panic when he realized what was happening. 

Pushing himself to his feet, he removed the suit jacket that still clung to his wide shoulders, the hem leaving drops of water behind as he made his way to the edge of the lake. Crouching, Misha tilted his head, only slightly unnerved at the utter stillness of the dark water. Reaching out, he prodded the surface, infinite rings dancing out from the disturbance. 

His head throbbed again, a jumble of pictures chasing the pain lanced through his mind. Much how we try to remember good dreams when our bodies wake us from them, Misha grasped at the tendrils of thought, trying to remember how he'd come to be here. Judging by the state he was in, he'd either fallen or jumped in after his best friend, though he still wasn't sure which it had been. Spinning, Misha's mouth turned down in frustration. He was sure there had been a bridge. Positive actually. And yet, no structure of any kind, man-made or otherwise loomed in the general vicinity. In fact, aside from the large body of eerily still water, the only thing he could see was a thick ring of trees. 

So, with no bridge in sight, he began to wonder if maybe some current had carried him downstream. Thinking back though, he didn't remember any current at all. It had seemed so still, much like where he currently stood. Turning once more, Misha tried to find the outlet that the lake fed into, but there didn't seem to be one? From what he could see, the bank was smooth and level, the pebbly shore giving way to smooth sand as it ran into the body of water - the...perfectly, round, body of water. Okay, so, no bridge, no outlet for the water to flow into and zero signs of life. 

"Great, I'm dead, aren't I?" Muttering under his breath, it really was the only explanation Misha could think of. That, combined with the utter lack of people, or lights, or trailers...or..people, began to gnaw at the back of the man's mind. Logic told him the crew wouldn't have just closed up shop and went about their merry way.  As much of an asshole as he could be, he was also one of their lead actors, a piggy bank, if you will. Speaking of which, where exactly was Jensen? Was Jared here too? He'd seen his friend fall into the water, he'd fallen into the same water. Yet, he stood here, on the shore of some weird lake. Dripping wet. Alone.

Reaching a hand into the pocket of the blazer now resting across one arm, Misha frowned as he quickly realized his phone wasn't there. Frustrated, he withdrew his hand, dragging it across his face. Dressed as Cas, he'd removed his watch before shooting had begun for the night. So, no way to call anyone in the civilized world. No way to tell what time it was or how long it had been since he'd thought nothing of diving into the icy German river after Jensen. Even better. 

The sound of branches snapping caught his attention, and Misha turned to see someone emerging from the cluster of trees surrounding the western side of the lake. 

"Jensen?" Squinting at the figure making its way toward him, he sighed, admittedly in relief. Advancing on the other man, his toothy grin faltered around the edges as his friend slowed, and then stopped altogether. 

"Jensen, there you are - I'm so glad you're--"

"Stop." The man standing twenty yards away held up a hand, the skin stained with mud and littered in scratches. An angry, red laceration branched out across the thick muscles of his forearm, blood and dirt clinging to the edges of the wound.

Holding up his hands, as if to show he meant no harm, Misha took a few hesitant steps forward. 

He hardly recognized his friend. The man's eyes were wild, fear clouding his normally cheerful green irises. Jensen's chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands trembling as he began to back away.

"Jensen, what--" Worry prickled along Misha's chilled skin. He'd never seen his friend like this. Not in the ten years they'd known each other. They'd been through everything together. Births, deaths, weddings and funerals. But this level of sheer terror? This was new. Unsure how to proceed, Misha shuffled a few steps closer, ever cognizant of the way Jensen watched him. Watched him as if he was terrified at what might happen.

Eventually, albeit, very slowly - Misha reached out to grip Jensen's shoulder, the other man screwing his eyes shut and freezing on the spot. 

"Jensen, man, what's wrong? What happened? Are you okay?" 

It took a moment for Misha to realize, that, unlike himself - Jensen's clothes were dry. Dirty? Yes. Dry nonetheless though. He was just opening his mouth to question his friend when Jensen launched his entire body at Misha, all two-hundred and twenty pounds. Staggering under his weight, both men fell to the ground, one of Jensen's broad hands covering the string of expletives that fell from Misha's mouth when his head struck the ground.

"God-dammit, Misha, be quiet!" Hissing under his breath, Jensen flattened his body to the earth, his hand remaining securely clamped over the other man's mouth.

For the second time that night, gravel bit into Misha's skin. He still had no idea what was going on, or where he was. A groan came from the trees on the other side of the lake, the kind of noise that wood makes when it's stressed to the point of breaking. A massive limb falling from one of the towering evergreens crashed to the ground, the boughs sending a shower of needles in every direction. The silence that followed was almost palpable, tension singing through Jensen's body as he remained quiet, breath heaving a fine tremble still coursing through his limbs.

After several tense minutes, Jensen removed his hand from Misha's mouth. Slowly raising his head, he peered at their surroundings. The water was still; the trees quiet once more. 

With a quick scrabble, he got to his feet, beckoning to the other man to do the same. Grabbing hold of his shoulder, Jensen pushed Misha ahead, his voice low and terse.

"Get to the trees. Don't stop, don't speak. Just go. Quickly." "Something is out there. It's been on me for three days." "I can't seem to shake it, but I uh..I'm pretty sure whatever it is, ain't friendly."

Eyes flicking to Jensen, Misha silently did as he was asked. Three days? The confusion in his expression had to be obvious, but Jensen barely spared him a glance. He hadn't been here three hours, let alone three days. Just what the hell was going on? He could only hope that eventually he'd get some sort of answer to the one question he'd been asking himself since he'd awoken in this place. Wherever this was.

“Three days? What do you mean three days? I’ve only been here for fifteen minutes and I jumped in maybe twenty seconds after you! Where’s Jared? Where are we?” Misha’s voice held it’s usual tenor but it was laced with higher notes of panic as a few of his words came out thready and rushed. As he spoke he was pushed forward by his longtime friend who didn’t bother to try and abate his fears. “I said walk, Misha, don’t talk. Don’t make any more noise than you need to.” 

Feeling it was best to appease his friend for the time being, Misha sighed and swallowed his questions, his feet passing quickly over gravel that grew more sparse until it was instead packed soil littered with pine needles. The trees they had passed into were pressed so closely together that they appeared to be one single entity more than any forest he’d ever seen. 

“Over here.” Jensen’s voice was terse and a firm grip on Misha’s arm jerked him toward right sharply enough that he tripped over his soggy feet. 

CHAPTER FOUR

TAGS: @wings-of-a-raven @jamielea81

[allisonswritingcorner]

Challenge Days 1&2

I was super busy yesterday, so I’ve done 2k words today to make up for missing yesterday :) Characters belong to myself and @catherinewrites :D

This story isn't about my heroic deeds, some calamity I silenced, or even some woman I wooed. Frankly, this story isn't really about me at all. My name is Anton, and I've been on a few adventures in my time. It was twenty years ago when I first stepped foot on the path that would eventually lead me here.

I was born on the salty waves in a little fishing town far to the west of ____. My Ma always said I was born with the music of the ocean, and even my cries sounded like notes. My Pa would disagree. Whoever you believed, I grew up singing with them, ballads to bring in the salmon, a chorus to stay the sharks, and melodies to clear the skies. I always thought the songs must carry some magic in their key, but as I grew older, many others invited me along to sing with them as they sailed. It never rained while I was on deck, and I've never even seen a shark in my life.

At eighteen I started wondering if there was something to my luck, and saved my last pennies for my very own lute. It was old and worn, but I practiced for hours every night until I got even notes from the strings and I could tie together some kind of tune. The sailors, pirates, and tavern wenches always had a coin to spare at the end of the night, and we enjoyed many wonderful fishing seasons. But something was missing.

My missing piece found me one fateful evening in the form of a weather worn traveler at the front of the tavern. He watched me with a keen eye, and when I finished my performance, he beckoned me over. I took my complimentary tankard to his table and when he spoke, I suddenly understood the words my Ma had always used to describe me. His voice tumbled out in musical notes, though he clearly wasn't singing. "How long have you been performing?" He asked me.

"Professionally," I said as I took a theatrical swig of rum, "two years. But otherwise, Ma'll tell you I've been performing since birth." He chuckled.

"That, my boy, is clear. Tell me, how would you like to be a part of something bigger?" His voice took a conspiratorial tone as he tented his fingers in front of his face and looked at me expectantly.

I deliberated a moment over the rim of my mug and waited until I'd finished the rum off entirely before I answered. "Well, I'm certainly curious," I conceded.

"You, like so many before you, have a destiny, but it's not so flashy as you'll make it seem. Someday, somewhere, someone will need you. And you will be there for them, supporting them toward their destiny. You will never be a hero," he said solemnly, eyes piercing directly into my soul, "but you will be a part of something so much greater. A hero will not exist without you." I had so many questions, but he clearly had better places to be as he stood as soon as he finished talking. I rose to follow him, but he'd vanished as if by magic. There I stood, rooted to the spot, wondering just what he'd been talking of and why he'd disappeared, when I noticed something lay in the seat he'd vacated.

A well worn violin lay there, bow and all. I lifted it gingerly, afraid I might break it, and inspected the instrument. It had clearly seen many years of use, one of the strings needed replaced and the bow was threading badly. A long gash on it's back, from one end to the other, spoke of adventures as loudly as the mysterious man had. Strange as it sounds, this piece of wood and string sang to me, of wonder and adventure, of great deeds and incredible feats.

Much as I'd wanted to immediately take the bow to those strings, I knew it would only squeal in disapproval in its current state. I went to the peddler who'd sold me my lute and begged him to find some way to get it back into usable condition. He was clueless, a mere middleman, but directed me to the instrument's producer a town over.

I took my meager earnings and with them, my first step on what would become my new life. My new destiny.

This "Destiny", it would turn out, was tagging along on quests with other inexperienced teens to their inevitable doom that I would somehow survive, and then dragging myself to the nearest town to get myself patched up and, by some other miracle, weasel my way out of paying. After that, I found a slightly more experienced group of adventurers to follow, now with a few more songs and spells under my belt. The results were much the same. So much so that it became a routine.

Between the first band and now, I barely remember any of their names now. I learned over those years that the world is full of die hards, try hards, and blow hards, and dismally short of actual heroes. I'd just returned to a routine haunt after yet another horrifying disappointment a week before the real story starts. The tavern wenches all knew me, and the barkeep had my room at the ready when he learned I was in town.

On that stage, I sang as I always did, a few tunes that turned the room to merriment. They were all songs I'd learned elsewhere - I had been on no adventures worth relaying. This would be my life, I'd thought to myself as I drew the bow across strings that had become old friends over the last twenty years and let familiar words simply tumble from my lips. Honestly I didn't think I had another adventure in me. I knew I was getting old, becoming one of those has-been's whose glory days were long behind them. I'd expected so much more.

Feeling the melancholy tinge my words, I redirected my thoughts to perhaps something that might cheer me up. I scanned the faces at the tables, singling out any lovely young ladies that might turn my night around, if only the night. A lovely blonde in the front immediately caught my attention, entranced as she was in my performance. There was also a beautiful redhead leaning against the wall, looking all dangerous and exciting.

Neither gave me pause, however, like a young woman tucked away in the corner, dark hair spilling over her drawn shoulders, arms crossed on the table in front of her. She looked . . . tortured, haunted despite clearly looking quite young as well. She couldn't be over twenty, but when her green eyes rose to meet mine? I stumbled over my words for the first time since I was young. Something about her commanded all of my attention, and it took everything I had to finish the song I'd started. As I did, I took the violin from under my chin and bowed with my bow as I always did, and hopped off the stage. The barkeep shoved a tankard into my hand as I passed and I set a copper piece on the counter, asking for a warm cider as well. Armed with drinks and my good old bravado, I approached the corner of the tavern.

She seemed lost in her own world as I set the mug in front of her. Her eyes snapped up, wide and surprised as I sat across from her. "You looked like you could use a drink?" I started, tipping my own tankard toward her.

"I don't . . . drink," she said quietly, voice betraying perhaps a little more youth than I'd originally estimated.

"Fear not, my dear, it's cider, not ale." I took a swig of my own drink. "What's got you here in _____?" She didn't answer, instead more interested in the drink I'd brought her. She sniffed it curiously, suspiciously rather, then took a quick sip. It must have met her standards, as she immediately took a much bigger gulp after that. It took a lot of restraint not to laugh. "Are you from around here? I don't think I've ever seen you, though it's been a while since I've -"

"Listen," she interrupted, nearly slamming the tankard on the wooden table, "I don't know what you're after, but you won't find it here. I'm . . ." she trailed off. "I'm busy."

"Oh yes, busy," I chuckled, "sitting mysteriously in tavern corners all night?" She glared at me and I dropped her possible age down well below the twenty mark. This was a child I was talking to, and I felt her tug at some other part of me. "Are you on your own?"

"Yes, and I can handle myself just fine." She defiantly drank the rest of the cider and stood, turning sharply to leave. After a few steps, she paused and half turned around. "Thank you for the cider." But I was distracted by how . . . small she was. A full two heads shorter than most of the other patrons, and some intrinsic instinct in me pulled me to my own feet and out the door after her.

"Wait," I called, jogging a little to catch up. "Please." She stopped in her tracks but didn't turn around. I caught up and circled around her. "You must be after something, right? You look like someone searching for an answer." She broke eye contact, gaze falling to our feet.

"Why do you care?" She was defensive, well guarded.

"Everyone always tells me I'm too nosy for my own good," I joked. It fell flat, so I decided to take a more sincere route. "You're clearly young. Even if it's some simple task, you shouldn't be alone in places like this. Especially with a pretty face. Someone will nab you in a heartbeat."

"They'd regret touching me." I rolled my eyes. Was this why everyone complained about teenagers?

"Let me help? I have connections, experience, and the means to get you a room at the inn." She looked ready to deny me the same as she'd been doing all evening, when a gargling sound caught both of our attention. "Meals included." With a scowl, she crossed her arms over her traitorous belly.

"You'll get hurt. Probably die."

"Quit being so dramatic, that's my job. I've been through about two of your lifetimes. I think I'll be okay." I led her back toward the tavern. "What's your name?"

"Siren."

It was definitely a fake name, but I decided poking her anymore tonight was probably a bad idea. I requested another room and full dinner prepared, and the barkeep looked at me with confusion that I quickly dispelled with a gesture to my young new companion. He handed over a key that she took gingerly, making sure to keep from touching his fingers.

Her room was a number up from mine, so just passed my door. I bid her goodnight and heard nothing after save the wench that brought her dinner up from the kitchen. I had no idea what the next morning would bring, so I resigned myself to waking up before the sun.

When I woke, it was still dark out my window. I packed up my few belongings in my satchel and set off down the stairs. Siren was nowhere to be found in the dining room and I sighed, wondering if I'd been duped out of a room and food. Soft steps behind me denied this as I turned to see her not far behind me. There were dark circles under her eyes and she  looked even grumpier than she had last night. Clearly not a morning person.

"Where are we headed?" I asked.

"There's someone I need to talk to," she mumbled.

"Lead the way," I gestured in front of us. "Who is this someone?"

"He has information I need." Like pulling teeth. I concluded I'd spend much of our time together knowing absolutely nothing. Well, it couldn't be worse than being dragged into some deep cavern full of horrifying monsters just because someone sniffed out gold. She did lead, carefully, if a bit clumsily, weaving between people and not touching a soul.

-TBC-

[porchwood]

THG Reread: Interesting Tidbits from Ch 1

Disclaimer: I’ve never taken part in any official THG reread/discussion and I essentially read the book in isolation, so anything I say in these posts may well have been discussed and dismissed years ago.

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and crawled in with our mother.

I find it interesting that Prim leaves Katniss to find comfort with their mother, especially since Katniss seems to see herself as Prim’s sole protector and provider. Are Prim and Mrs. Everdeen closer than Katniss realizes (having such an abrasive relationship with her mother as she does) or is it simply that Mom will always be Mom and in a moment of terror most children prefer the embrace of their mother over a sibling?

Also: sleeping directly on a rough canvas-covered mattress? Are bed sheets are that great a luxury in the Seam? :(

I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers…

So she gets out of bed and puts on her boots, then her trousers... So...girl’s a firefighter, right? :D

(Sorry for the crummy pics. Apparently the Tumblr presence of the Emergency! fandom is microscopic at best - I guess that happens with a ‘70s show :P - so these are screenshots I made from the S1 DVD, because yes, I’m that big of an Emergency! fangirl and you can never have too much Johnny Gage!)

It gives “girl on fire” a whole new meaning!! ;D

All merriment aside, we know that fire was a constant danger in the Seam, with its “old wooden homes embedded with coal dust,” so it’s entirely possible that residents slept with trousers and boots in readiness at the bedside, to be stepped into at a moment’s notice for a rapid escape if needed.

I…tuck my long dark braid up into a cap…

This has been discussed in previous rereads so it really isn’t news, but I’d love to see more Katniss-in-a-cap popping up in fics and fanart. THG opens in summertime and she’s still wearing the cap, so it was definitely a staple of her wardrobe! (And it brings us a little closer to the girl-disguised-as-a-boy trope, which is one of my all-time faves! :D)

(Behold this adorable @ghtlovesthg rendering!)

Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour…

Somehow I had always (erroneously) assumed that there was just one twelve-hour shift that all the miners worked (ex. 6am-6pm). Since artificial light would be required inside the mines anyway, I suppose they could work around the clock with no regard to the sun and stars. Folks who live in/near coal mining communities: do they generally operate 24 hours a day or is there some arbitrary cut-off point in the evening? (I’m sorry I’m so ignorant about this!)

Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt…

Has anyone else figured out who these mysterious additional hunters are??

I watch as Gale pulls out his knife and slices the bread. He could be my brother. Straight black hair, olive skin, we even have the same gray eyes. But we’re not related, at least not closely.

First off: it truly befuddles me that Katniss’s hair color is stated on page 8 of THG (though, interestingly, never explicitly afterward) and yet it’s unusual - maybe even rare - to find fanart or even fics that depict her with black hair. Why is that? I was in love with her long black hair from moment one (truly black hair is unique, at least in my part of the world, and so striking to boot) so I probably belabor it a bit in my own writing, but it’s such an exquisite feature, why would you not?

Secondly: “He could be my brother.” That feels significant, and not merely in the “we look alike” sense. I’ve been working on a post about how Gale came into Katniss’s life in a very significant fashion after her beloved father’s death and she was drawn to him because of certain (I would venture to say striking) commonalities, but as I was wrapping it up last night (and sharing various details with my favorite sounding-board @ghtlovesthg), I realized there was a whole - vitally important - flipside to my theory that absolutely cannot be overlooked. So I might not get that finished till we’re on CF or even MJ. (No spoilers just in case someone pips me at the post - pun inadvertent ;) - but I think it’s pretty cool!)

And thirdly, because I can’t resist: I headcanon that Gale and Katniss are cousins through their great-great-grandfather (Galen Greenbrier, if anyone cares :D), who had two daughters (Aisling and Elspeth), who each had a daughter (Wren and Ashpet), who had Hazelle and Jack (Mr. Everdeen), who begat Gale and Katniss, respectively. Ergo: related but “not closely,” per canon. :)

With both of us hunting daily…

I’d always thought Gale and Katniss only hunted a few times a week, with Sundays being their largest haul/best trading day. (“Usually we devote all of Sunday to stocking up for the week.”) I know Twelve is an unusually permissive district at this point in time, but if two Seam kids were sneaking back and forth under the fence every single day and (forgive me) flaunting the fact by selling game in town (and when did they do this? before school, after, both?), surely, inevitably, the Peacekeepers would have been obliged to do something about it. Or were there some trips where Gale and Katniss only brought back enough for their own families, making their illegal activities not quite so blatant?

Cross-referencing with Catching Fire, I find Katniss saying, “Back when we were in school, we had time in the afternoons to check the lines and hunt and gather and still get back to town to trade” - exactly what time did they get out of school and how late were they doing these trades (not to mention, when did anyone get homework done)?? - but she also says it’s “an hour-and-a-half trek” just to check the snare line. I guess it isn’t impossible, but it seems a much more extensive (and time-consuming!) arrangement than I would have thought they could get by with, even in Twelve.

We easily trade six of the fish for good bread…

Like the rest of you, I’m trying to figure out who’s selling this “good bread” at the Hob. For some odd reason, at one point I thought maybe the bakery’s day-olds were sold there, à la:

They could potentially sell said day-olds at less of a discount than merchant clientele would demand but the reduced prices would be low enough for some Seam clientele to afford, and of course, even day-old bakery bread would be superior to homemade tessera bread (and therefore: “good bread”). 

I’m not sure where I got the “bakery outlet” idea (I think it was all the early canonverse fics where Katniss ran into Peeta in the Hob, so I figured he was running a day-olds stall or something) but having been away from it for awhile, I actually kind of like it! :)

You become eligible for the reaping the day you turn twelve.

I’m going to wax exceedingly about reaping ages in another post, but for the moment: I presume this rule means that anyone who turns twelve between reaping days becomes eligible for the subsequent reaping, correct? So if we arbitrarily set the reaping at, say, June 1, someone whose birthday is on June 2 wouldn’t be eligible till the following year. (Which would be especially terrible for your 18-yr-old reaping: being a day away from 19 and freedom, of a sort, but still having to go through one last reaping.) Now I think of it, it’s possible Career districts took advantage of this. Highly invested parents in a Career district could have planned their pregnancies with the intent of a late summer birth (i.e., a month or two after reaping day) so the resulting children would have the advantage of extra months up on other tributes in their same age group.   

On the flipside of this: Prim, whose birthday is in late May, would be an especially young tribute, since she’s only just turned twelve (think school kids with summer birthdays who don’t turn the “right age” for their grade till 1-3 months after school is out), and similarly Katniss, whose birthday is May 8, would be on the young side of the group of sixteens. 

“Pretty dress,” says Gale.

Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it’s a genuine compliment or if he’s just being ironic. It is a pretty dress, but she would never be wearing it ordinarily. She presses her lips together and then smiles. “Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don’t I?”

Now it’s Gale’s turn to be confused. Does she mean it? Or is she messing with him? I’m guessing the second.

Gaaah, so much going on here! I can’t decide if I want to make a proper Gadge post, so in the meantime, here’s some food for thought:

1) Why does Gale remark on her dress? Really - give me suggestions, because I’ve been turning it over in my head. If it’s meant to be ironic and she gives him sarcasm in reply (as seems to be the quintessential Gadge dynamic :D), it’s odd that he would be confused and not have a volley/riposte/etc of his own on deck. I mean, Katniss doesn’t seem to know (or at least, doesn’t clarify in her narration) whether or not it’s a compliment -

2) Which is interesting, because she guesses straightaway that Madge is “messing with him” in reply. ;)

3) Gale gives Madge what outwardly seems like a compliment and this is what ensues. One might surmise they’ve done this before... :D I mean, if there was no precedent, Madge would’ve just said “thank you” and exchanged money for berries. Since the mayor is such a valuable customer (being one of very few who can afford their asking price for strawberries), it’s interesting that Gale would antagonize Madge and risk losing the strawberry trade - not to mention bringing up the subject of tesserae at the mayor’s back door on reaping day! Does he take similar potshots at other merchants or is it just Madge? Is he irked (even threatened) by Katniss’s friendship with Madge? (I love that Katniss immediately defends Madge in the face of Gale’s tesserae rant. ♡) Does he feel like he can sound off at her (with impunity) because she’s Katniss’s friend? Or is he secretly crazy about her and resigned to the fact that he’ll never get her but the reminders of the impassable gap between them still incense him? Sorry, my hand slipped there for a sec. ;) 

Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected.

I didn’t recall this line from previous reading and it just makes me happy. :)

To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. [...]  For a while I was so angry, I wouldn’t allow her to do anything for me. And this is something special. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her.

I’d never caught the “matching shoes” bit before! Do you suppose Katniss means dyed [blue] to match/covered with matching fabric (so that’s what they do at the shoe shop!) or simply that they go well with the dress? And if she means that the shoes literally match the dress: is this a particularly special dress (hence particularly special shoes) or is it customary for merchant girls to order shoes to match their dresses?

And further: why this year? It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Everdeen has offered one of her apothecary-era dresses before, which could have been due to Katniss’s repeated rebuffs, but still: why offer one of those very precious dresses this year? Did she have a feeling about this reaping? Or is she starting to see Katniss as a young woman, not just an angry, resourceful child? (Coupled with the fact that she subsequently puts Katniss’s hair up, the latter makes a lot of sense.) 

On a sidenote: Has anyone written meta on the significance/usage of braids in Twelve? (Notwithstanding WTM: Ch 13 and all that Mellark bridal braids/braid coils/engagement hairpin business.) Ex. Does a girl "graduate” from pigtails to a single braid around puberty and then to a crown braid as a young woman/wife, or does she/her mother simply style it however she feels on any given day? I’m just now realizing that I consistently picture reaping day!Prim in pigtails because of the film, but it doesn’t state in the text how her hair is styled, so it might be in a single braid or held back at the temples with a clip or even worn loose.

The square’s surrounded by shops, and on public market days, especially if there’s good weather, it has a holiday feel to it.

I’m really curious about “public market days,” since the Hob seems to be Twelve’s primary market - or at least, has become so in fanon - but Katniss makes a clear distinction between them (“Make only polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than trades at the Hob, which is the black market where I make most of my money”). Is this public market like a farmer’s market or a craft fair - or a bit of both? Is it simply the “merchant version” of the Hob? How often are they held? Who gets to sell at this market, and what sort of wares are we talking about? (Is it just merchants bringing their product outside, like a sidewalk sale?) Does the Capitol/Justice Building collect a fee from everyone wanting a stall/booth/table?

Edit: While looking up details for a different post, I found this passage:

Gale and I went to the market on the square so that I could buy dress materials [for Prim].

So apparently they sold fabric and notions in the public market? (Not at, say, a mercantile/general store?) I’m wholly confused now!

[lifewithstainless-blog]

Immigrants from “Sh*thole Countries” Have American Dreams Too

In a time where the only stories we hear of immigration, I want to brief the public on how lucky I am to have had a good experience traveling to the United States, and how I was able to adjust to the new lifestyle. No matter how many people even presidents talk down on different countries, I want to shed a little light on the parts and people of Africa they never tell you about. I also want to give a first person point of view of the process of legal migration into the United States, and the struggles many foreigners experience when settling.

“The land of the free, and the home of the brave”, Francis Scott wrote when he described the United States of America in its national anthem The Star Spangled Banner. For a land founded on immigrants, on the basis of freedom, it is no wonder many nations around the world look up to her. Bono, the lead singer of an Irish rock band, U2, once said, “America is not just a country, it’s an idea”. I can see why he would come upon this inference as the United States is unique in being one of the only countries that have complete freedom of worship, sexual orientation, speech, and pursuit of happiness. To one living in a developing country, America sounded like a fantasy. Indeed it was for the first 7 years of my life until, that idea became a daily reality. The thoughts and emotions that went through my head when I heard that I had a chance to go to this dream-like land of opportunity, can only be expressed through the retelling of my journey there .

I was born in Port-Harcourt, Nigeria into a large nuclear family of 2 parents and eventually 5 kids. I am an Igbo, a ethnic group of south east Nigeria. Growing up in a corrupt country, it is hard to believe that I was mentally “sheltered”. This contributes to the fact that I went to a private christian school from the ages of 2 to 7 years, so half of my formal education was composed of teachings of the Bible. My parents, especially my mom are very religious, her routine and unspoken rule was to have a sturdy prayer after waking up and before going to sleep every single day. She instilled the faith of the lord in me to believe that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me “ (Phil. 4:13). She made sure we went to church every Sunday morning and chapel in the evenings. This enhanced my faith in God so much that there isn’t a decision I make or event I come across without consulting God. My social life consisted of school, church, and then maybe going to a park every now and then. One specific park I remember frequently going to was one at Shell Club. This was a casual resort exclusive to only employees of Shell Petroleum Development Company and their family members. Since my dad was a petroleum engineer there, my siblings and I had the advantage to visit many times. I did not know at the time, but visiting this resort prepared me for lifestyle in America. Shell Club had amenities such as pools, playgrounds, and restaurants that served American foods like pizza and donuts. I even encountered Americans and people of other nationalities there. Sometimes I liked to pretend I was “oyibo”, a name Igbos use to refer to Americans. I felt as though eating their food, and acting their roles were enough to mend that longing I felt to go there. While partaking in this foreign lifestyle a few times a month was preparation for the future I didn’t imagine, it didn’t feel me with much merriment compared to the mellow yet entertaining lifestyle I was accustomed to in my home country.

Nigeria is a great country filled with diverse cultures, ethnic groups, and traditions. The mores in my hometown were less materialistic and more ingenious. While I lived in a city that was privy to a few days of electricity with a family that can afford a TV, we were encouraged to go outside for leisure. I had my fair share of watching soap operas with my older sister at night, but the memories that I hold more dearly are the games made up when the generator was off. We came up with talent shows, used imagination to create scenes inspired by favorite movies, and even wrote full songs with verses and hooks. Till this day I can still remember the many songs we wrote and sang for our parents those nights when there was nothing that could interrupt family time. Yet there was one specific night in 2008 at 10:30 pm when something did interrupt family time, a phone call.

At the time, my dad was in another state for offshore drilling related to his job. In a traditional region like ours, it was improper to receive a call at such a late hour in the night. So my siblings, my mom, and I all knew that it most likely had to be my father calling with important information. A few seconds after my mother picked up the phone, I heard an exclamation come from her “Praise the Lord!” she shouts. She then commenced in singing songs of praise and worship. As we waited for our mother to regain her bearings, my older brother picked up the phone and spoke to our dad in hopes of finding out what happened.

“Mommy won the visa lottery,” he said, telling me something that changed the whole world I came to know in my 7 years of living. The visa lottery was s a lottery sponsored by the Shell branch my father worked for. An employee got to submit a name, theirs or a spouse’s, to be in the running for their family to get automatic visas to a country. My father applied every year for the previous 18 years he had been working, yet his visa had never been picked. My mother’s name was drawn out of the applicants. After going through the proper process of crying, praying, and rejoicing, we began to prepare for the life changing journey.

Once our papers were situated, fingerprints and pictures were then taken. Green cards, passports, and visas for everyone were gathered and all that was left to do was get on a plane. The last night in my home city consisted of packing and watching. My parents had to pack 14 luggage with 7 carry-ons for us and transport them to the airport. Five children and two adults accounted for 2 full luggage per person and 1 carry on each. I cannot even begin imagine the stress my parents had to undergo during the journey as all their children were under 12 years old. We are all two years apart so, my older brother was 11, older sister 9, I was 7, my younger sister was 5, and my little brother was 3. I have immense respect for my parents for being able to get all of us from one continent to another. While my parents had the responsibility of preparing for the journey, my siblings and I took up the responsibility of preparing for a new country. We stayed up watching VH1 that night memorizing the popular tunes of the time such as “No One” by Alicia Keys, “Piece of Me” by Britney Spears and “Umbrella” by Rihanna. What we saw on TV barely prepared us for life outside of busy Port-Harcourt.

The morning I left my childhood home was a hectic one. The first destination on our itinerary to America was Lagos. Lagos is the Nigerian equivalent to U.S.’s New York City. It is the busiest city and finance center, so the only flight with Delta Airlines that was convenient for us was from there. We took a one and half hour flight from Port-Harcourt to Lagos. Then, we spent two nights at Federal Palace Hotel and another at Sheraton Hotel. We planned these extra three days into the trip to make time for a visit to the U.S. embassy to make sure there won’t be any problems once we landed on American soil. When we weren’t handling official customs business, we relaxed. My father took us to a beach where we rode horses, and ate beef kabobs called ‘Suya’. We had dinner in the hotel where we met many Nigerian actors, actresses, and singers. The beautiful views, and amazing weather were great stress relievers. It brought me content to know I had peaceful days in my country before leaving. The memories and morals I built there have kept me going for about 10 years in the U.S. now.

Early the next morning, we all got prepared and left the hotel room for breakfast. That was the last semblance of peace we got for the next few hours. At least 3 bellboys and lounge attendants were sent to help us move 21 pieces of baggage from the room to the lobby to taxis to the airport. Yes, even my 7 year old brain was able to process how stressful that was. However, the efficient staff and my father’s efficient wallet enabled us to get all luggage to the airport and checked in. The next step of the journey I remember was having to wait in a line to go through security checking and scanning. I had to put my passport, belt, and shoes in a crate and walk through a body scanner. I remember having to get patted down as well because my earrings set the metal detector off. Once we all went through security and check in, we arrived at our gate. This was when I realized that there was only one more border between reality and fantasy, the Atlantic Ocean.

After waiting what felt like hours, my parents finally started to gather us, directing us into a tunnel that led to the plane. I entered the plane and just looked around, astonished by everything and thought about how in 12 hours I would be in a different country. The seating arrangements whittled my excitement a bit, as I did not get a window seat. My entire family was stationed in the same row. My two sisters sat on the left aisle, while my little brother bided with my mother on the right aisle. I was allocated in the middle seat, but being sat between my overprotective father and placid older brother made up for not having a window seat. My father’s paternal instincts led him to the point of being so selfless that it had almost become overbearing. He offered me his blanket, pillow, cookies, and anything else that he felt would make my journey safer. My mother’s pious nature was of value during departure and takeoff. She unified us spiritually in saying a small prayer and the grace. She prayed for us to have a safe flight, good trip, and a prosperous life.

After twelve hours of sweet tranquility, the plane landed safely in the city of Atlanta, GA of the United States of America. After going through customs and picking up baggage, things got frenzied once again. It was so hectic trying to transport all the luggages and kids through the arrival wing of the airport. However, we managed to do it once again and were picked up by an aunt and her friend. This aunt is my dad’s younger sister and she was the only family we had in Georgia. My first car ride on American soil was in her SUV. That first night, she took us to her house first. We met all three of our cousins, and my paternal grandma. After introducing us to many people, she finally drove us to somewhere I had to call home for the next few months.

“We had more rooms in Nigeria”, was all I could think as I entered the small apartment. It did not make any sense to me how I had a 6 bedroom house in my inferior country of origin, yet I had to deal with these shabby accommodations in the land of dreams. This was my first taste of what America truly consisted of. While you were free to dream, and free to pursue these dreams, it took a lot of hard work for them to actually come to pass.

Those first few weeks were just us getting a feel of the place. We went to places for immunizations, social security cards, and got enrolled in school. Time was also taken to explore the amenities the city had to offer. An aunt took us to Burger King, and I can recall how interesting the new foods were despite their simplicity. My father couldn’t get accustomed to the name “french-fries” . Instead of just saying “fries”, he kept calling them things he heard European co-workers call them such as “chips”. Even the burgers were different for us since we did not really mix veggies and bread into the same type of meal before then, but it was still delicious.

My family was then taken to Six Flags, the biggest theme park in the city. It was nothing like Shell Club, the park I used to frequent in Nigeria. My parents could not gain their bearings long enough for more than one ride. They didn’t trust the safety of the machines controlling the rides. One comical situation was when my 4 siblings and I got on a slow moving train for kids. This was the least exhilarating ride, so imagine my surprise when 10 minutes into the ride, I heard my dad shout. He wasn’t allowed to get on since he was an adult, but as soon as the slow moving train began, he deemed it too unsafe for my 3 year old brother and demanded the ride be stopped.

The embarrassment I felt then is upstaged by the warmness that fills my heart now when I think about how untrusting my father was of American technology and goods. The concept of a GPS, how one device can track where you are and tell you where to go, he felt like there was a catch and it was all too good to be true. Even the education system was misleading. When I actually began school after a few weeks of just exploring the city, I had many pencils and notebooks, but I was so unprepared mentally. I was in 2nd grade at the time, so spelling was a major concept. There was already a language barrier since my accent didn’t allow people to hear me clearly. So, I thought writing was going to be my saving grace. This did not work out either. Nigeria was colonized by the British, so when she gained her independence, the country continued to use British English. So on spelling tests, I used to get so frustrated when my teacher would mark my answers wrong because there were dictionaries that supported my spelling. Words like favourite and colour were always marked incorrectly because this is the British- English spelling of the words not the American- English. Even now as I typed in those words, auto-correct did not underline them at all. Yet, when I type “coluor”, auto-correct suggests it be changed to colour. I accepted that there were two correct spellings to the words, yet my 2nd grade teacher never did. Her stubbornness to accept and my stubbornness to conform resulted in me making A’s in every single subject but English. This withheld me from going on the Principal’s honor roll every single grading period. This was the year that I learned in America, whoever is given authority does not have accommodate you, it is not their job to make you happy. All my trust in the system was lost from then on.

After learning the basic mores and guidelines to be successful in America, I started to make goals. As I watched my parents get disenfranchised from career opportunities because of their accents and where they attended high school, I realized the opportunity I had to get an education here. I vowed to keep my priorities in order so when I finish school, I can become a pediatric surgeon. Throughout school, I was not too interested in making the most friends or having the best clothes because I knew that in the long run all of that would not matter. If I stayed at the top of my class and got the best grades possible, I can graduate.Then, I can get a degree in medicine and a stable life for myself where I would not have to struggle about basic things. Even though I have not accomplished these major goals, I am still on the right path since it is my senior year in high school and I have a 4.5 GPA. Some people may have more privileges than others, but all raised here still have the same opportunities and freedom to pursue happiness. America is a land that was once a dream, now it is a reality. America still is the land of opportunity to me and I will always cherish the journey I took here.

[certifiablyageek-blog]

Meriadoc Brandybuck x Reader

Can also be found on my quotev account -CertifiablyAGeek

The shire was alive and well on this delightful evening. The night was filled with music, laughter, and joy all around as every hobbit in the shire was gathered together in one spot for a very special occasion.

It was Bilbo Baggins’s eleventy-first birthday. Quite the admirable age for a hobbit. The old fellow was strange indeed. He went gallivanting off with an entire company of dwarves at the ripe age of fifty and didn’t come back for thirteen months. He was thought dead so all of his possessions were auctioned off as he had no last will and testament. In the middle of the auction though, the fellow appeared, bothered and flustered and carrying several strange, foreign objects with him. Once he got settled back into his hole at Bag-End, the old hobbit spoke of faraway lands filled with elves, dwarves, and men. He told the story of a great battle against herds of orcs and of the slaying of a great fire breathing beast, the slaying of Smaug the Terrible. He told these stories to the young hobbits as they grew, you being among those that listened intently, and they had stuck with you and just about every other hobbit to this day.

So now, whether or not you liked the old odd fellow would have been irrelevant as everyone still flocked to his hobbit hole at the prospect of free food and drink. You, for one, were there in the hopes of catching a dance with a certain young gentle-hobbit.

You had helped prepare for this party all day, running last minute errands, cooking, and stitching up Bilbo Baggins’s old wine red waist coat for him, while your brother had busily set to work on the grounds, ensuring they would be the envy of all. After working all day, it was good to enjoy your work for the night. Thus, you danced along to a light hearted jig with a random hobbit fellow close to your age, laughing and smiling at the joy all around you. The tempo and melody was infectious and your dress was so alluring that you had hardly been at a loss for company all night, however you only wanted the company of one hobbit in particular. As the last chords played and the band finished with a yell, you curtseyed to your random partner, who took your hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, and dismissed yourself from dancing. You were now, once agin I might add, looking for that certain fellow I keep mentioning.

Your (e/c) orbs turned in their sockets as you surveyed the large assembly of hobbits. But alas, this search yielded no news of your quarry. You huffed annoyedly.

“Where could that silly boy be?” You tapped your foot in frustration whilst crossing your arms like a stubborn child. Seeing no point in simply standing on the dance area, you located your brother in the throng of full and drunk hobbits. A mop of curly blonde hair was your indicator for where Samwise was, seated alone with his face in a mug of ale. You rolled your eyes before crossing towards the elder Gamgee child, being mindful of the other guests.

“This is one of the biggest parties we’ve ever been invited to and he chooses to spend it with his face in a mug of ale instead of going after Ms. Rosie Cotton. I’d like to not be the only parent this genera-hey!” While you were muttering to yourself, you were unaware of another hobbit sneaking up behind you until he had yanked you backwards. You were sent stumbling into the chest of whomever decided that move was a good idea.

“Excuse me, this is NOT how you ask a lady to dance, si-Frodo!” You shrieked out in shock as you looked up at your captor who was busily laughing as he yanked you into a new uplifting, dance. Frodo Baggins was your best friend (aside from Sam) and “wingman” in most cases. And, he was the only one who would dare to startle you like this.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n), but it was too funny!” The young hobbit laughed more causing you to roll your eyes again as you danced with him. The blue eyed male twirled you around while the other hobbits clapped and yelled in joy and merriment. When you returned to him, he started up a conversation.

“Tell me, (Y/n). I watched as you danced happily with just about every other eligible man here, willingly at that, then suddenly I turn to find you scowling and looking as though someone had destroyed your brother’s gardening tools. What happened?” You sighed but danced along with the young Baggins. An idea came to you suddenly.

“I have been enjoying myself all evening, despite not being able to locate a certain someone,” out of the corner of your eye, you saw Frodo smirk mischievously with a knowing look. “But, my brother has not. Look!” You pointed as Samwise Gamgee stood, cast a longing glance at Miss Rosie Cotton dancing nearby, then took off in the direction of the ale. Frodo groaned as he watched the spectacle and you made a gesture as if to say ‘you see what I mean?’ .

“Before you pulled me into another dance, I was heading over to speak to him and get him to go after Rosie. He’s done nothing but pine after her for months and it is maddening!” You joined hands with Frodo as you began partner dancing, in order to allow for easy conversation. Frodo nodded along.

“You’ve done the same as him though.” You glared up at the taller hobbit, stating that you at least intended to do something about your attraction tonight. Frodo smirked wider with a hint of pride at that and went back to your brother. “But, his is a worse case. It’s so very evident Rosie returns his feelings, Sam is too shy to ask her to court him though. Perhaps, we could do something to help them out?” Frodo looked to you as the song ended. He bowed and you curtseyed to him out of sheer politeness. Frodo and yourself continued to talk though as the band struck up another song, concocting a plan to get Sam and Rosie in close quarters for the night. With a plan hatched, the two of you made your way to Samwise. Frodo sat down on Sam’s left, facing the party, while you took the spot on his right, clasping your hands together on the table.

While Frodo quickly chatted with Sam, you stole your brother’s mug and drained the ale as quickly as you could without being too obvious about it. You sat the mug down with a light ‘tink’, causing Sam to look down at it and Frodo to wink at you.

“Ah think I’ll jus’ have ano’her ale.” Sam said whilst lightly glaring at you. All you did was scrunch up your nose and stick your tongue out in return. As the blonde hobbit went to stand and head off, you and Frodo caught his arms and spun him into the arms of Rosie Cotton who gladly started to dance with your older brother. You giggled behind your hand as Frodo laughed with you. You laughed out a ‘thank you’ and finally asked the ravenette where he had last seen Meriadoc Brandybuck. With a smirk and a teasing comment about being sure to invite him to the wedding, Frodo Baggins pointed you to your next search area. You bobbed and weaved between carts, tents, and pavilions as Gandalf sent off more firworks. At each one, you came up short. You padded past Gandalf’s firework cart for the third time before finally deciding to just sit and wait for Merry, and most likely Pippin too, to show themselves. You took a seat at a small table somewhat off by itself, where you sipped at your own ale and laughed as you watched Sam and Rosie twirl around. Suddenly, you heard a loud bang and the sound of a firework scream as it was launched high into the air. You turned to the sound and watched as a red explosion occurred in the sky.

Many of the gathered hobbits clapped at the display, you simply smiled, until the red lights morphed and took shape. It’s shape was that of a dragon. Your eyes widened in shock when the great display of pyrotechnics turned and came barreling towards yourself and the other party goers. You yelled in fright like many others and bolted out of your chair, immediately hitting the ground to avoid the burning display. As the great firework dragon swooped past, it seemed to light the air around it on fire as it continued forward. You looked up to watch its tail wisk past you and you caught a glimpse of Bilbo and Frodo mimicking your actions by hitting the ground.

But just as quick as it passed over head, the dragon soon swooped back into the sky where it then exploded several times and rained down red sparkles. You breathed a sigh of relief while sitting up as the other hobbits clapped and cheered once again. Now that the “danger” had passed, you burst out in a smile and began to laugh as you got to your feet, dusting the dirt off of your skirt. As your guffaws subsided, your lips were drawn into a smirk. You caught sight of Gandalf making for one of the spots where a tent had been previously near his cart and it all clicked with you. You allowed Gandalf a few minutes by capering towards where you had last seen Bilbo and Frodo. The latter was helping his uncle to his feet when you arrived and you quickly went to the other side of the elder hobbit to assist in stabilizing him.

“Oh-thank you, my dear!” Bilbo patted your forearm in appreciation and it was at that same moment that Frodo and you made eye contact. The blue eyed hobbit took in your smug expression, mimicking it with one of his own before asking,

“Merry and Pippin?” He questioned in reference to the firework dragon. You nodded, your smirk morphing into a bemused smile.

“Merry and Pippin.” You stated while gesturing with your head in the direction Gandalf had disappeared. Frodo shook his head, causing his curls to swish around erratically, before waving you off with his free hand, the other was still clapped on Bilbo’s shoulder. You giggled mirthfully and made your way back to the tents and pavilions, grabbing an apple along the way. Oh, you were going to have fun with this!

You paused beside Gandalf’s cart, thinking for a moment on where he would’ve sent the two trouble makers. With a snap of your fingers and another bite from your apple, you took off towards the tent for the dishes. You peeked around the fabric to spot Merry and Pippin begrudgingly but diligently working on cleaning the plates, bowls, forks, saucers, and everything in between that had been used up till now. Gandalf sat nearby, smoking his pipe whilst monitoring the two cousins. The gray wizard shifted his gaze from them for a brief moment as he blew smoke out of the corners of his mouth. He locked eyes with you and you sent him a small wave in return. Gandalf dipped his head in greeting, a smile forming at the edges of his lips, before looking at Merry then back to you, the same knowing look in his eyes that Frodo had earlier. Eru’s sake! Did everyone know? Your own brother hadn’t even caught on! The only people you had told were Frodo and Bilbo. Actually, the only person you had told was Frodo, Bilbo had been eavesdropping. When the older hobbit heard, he came charging out of his study, placed a firm hand on your shoulder, and wished you the best of luck. It was an odd thing to say, but you supposed you would need all the luck in the world when it came to the troublemaking Brandybuck.

You took in the singed look on Meriadoc, having to hold in your giggles at the sight of his lovely golden yellow locks standing on end and the soot covering his face. The black powder was even all over his waistcoat! That was a shame, you had been rather fond of that one, it was lovely and fun. Something you felt complimented his personality well. But it still gave him a distinguished and neat look, which you thought reflected the other side of Merry. You drew your lips together in discontent at the state of the waistcoat but brushed it aside and subconsciously licked your lips as butterflies began to take flight in your stomach. You ducked back behind the cloth and whispered a little pep talk to yourself.

“Breathe, (Y/n). You can do it. Just, be natural but fun and alluring and mysterious and playful and-this isn’t helping me.” You shook your head, and took another bite from your apple as you emerged from the other side of the tent and strolled into Pippin and Merry’s line of sight.

“Hello!” You chirped in a perky voice to catch their attention. Pippin responded with a dejected ‘hi’, continuing to scrub the plate he was working on. Merry paused in rinsing the dishes of soap to take in your appearance. His eyes trailed up from the bottom of the (f/c) dress you were wearing to your face before his lovely blue eyes locked with your own and his jaw went slack. The young Brandybuck was at a loss for words, you were stunning. Of course, he thought you looked stunning whenever he saw you, but there was something new about you tonight that really made it feel like the only word to describe you.

You stood poised for a greeting from the second hobbit but received none. You began to fidget as all Merry could do was stare. Under his gaze, you began to feel nervous. Pippin looked between your increasingly anxious form and the awe-struck Merry before elbowing his cousin in the side, causing him to huff as air was forced out of his lungs. Despite the jab in the side stealing even more of his breath away, it did the trick to get Merry to talk.

“(Y-Y/n)! Hi, uh, hello! You, ahem,” he cleared his throat before trying to continue. “You look...gorgeous!” Beneath the soot and powder, the Brandybuck began to blush and was suddenly very self aware of the state he was in. He felt as though he looked like a beggar before a queen. Merry looked at your face to gauge your reaction and was pleasantly surprised (and more than a little delighted) to find that you had a bright red blush painted across your cheeks and a small bashful smile you were attempting to hide playing on your lips. Those bright red, beautiful, soft looking, kissable lips...He shook his head to clear the, less then appropriate, thoughts from it. A lovely rouge color now flooded his face. Merry glanced down at his attire once more, taking in the unruly look that now adorned him and cringing as the weight of his actions tonight hit him. He had wanted to ask you to dance, woo you and sweep you off your feet before showering you in attention. When he was sure you would have been completely enamored by him and his charms, he was going to offer you the little ring he had picked out to ask you to court him-then he would have gone and messed with the fireworks. But no, his nerves had gotten the better of him and he had followed Pippin’s prompting into getting involved in mischief to take his mind off the anxiousness he inevitably felt around you. Anxiety mixed with glee, delight, and affection though. Ah, but now, here you were.

“-rry? Meriadoc? Did you hear me?” The hobbit was shaken out of his stupor by your gentle voice attempting to get his attention and Pippin grabbing his arm rather forcefully. Meriadoc looked up at you to see your hand reached out as if to cup his cheek and that you had taken three steps closer to him, leaning on the edge of the barrel he was working from. Merry was tempted to act as though he was still lost in his thoughts if it meant he could feel your hand against his cheek. However, the Brandybuck didn’t feel that to be any form of “right” so he attempted to respond to your questioning.

“Uh...yeah, I-well no. I didn’t hear you actually...” he cleared his throat nervously, glancing down at the slightly soapy water between you, “would you mind repeating it?” The normally confident Brandybuck was completely at your mercy as you raised your free hand to cover your mouth as you giggled. A sweet, melodic tune that sent the male hobbit’s head reeling. You stood up straight as Pippin handed you the apple you had tossed into his hands.

“Miss (Y/n) was asking if we were the ones behind the ‘display’ and if that’s why we’re doing the dishes.” Pippin piped up. Merry glanced between you and his cousin, his face growing warmer as you looked at him expectantly. He swallowed comically before answering your question with one of his own.

“Well, uh-that depends,” he began hesitantly. “Did you...like it?” The hobbit before you felt utterly foolish asking something like that but it was all he could think of.

“Welllll-“ you dragged out the ‘L’ until Pippin interrupted you.

“Were you impressed by it?” Merry felt his face flush even more at his cousin’s more direct route. He glared at the younger lad, ready to leave him behind in Farmer Maggot’s field the next time they went.

“I was, actually. Until it came barreling towards all of us that is...” Merry cringed internally and only now noticed that your hair was slightly disheveled and dirt was trapped under your nails where it hadn’t been before.

“Still, I dare say the whole incident was rather spectacular.” Eru, was it possible to blush anymore? If there was, Merry was certainly close to figuring out how. Said hobbit looked up at you with a lopsided grin. Suddenly regaining his confidence, the golden haired hobbit leaned forward on the barrel, getting slightly closer to your face. He angled his head down to meet your eyes due to your small stature, taking pride in the blush that crept up your neck, face, and stretched towards your ears. For a brief second, he thought he saw the same level intensity of his affection flash through your (e/c) eyes.

“Spectacular, huh? That’s what I-“Pippin cleared his throat in an annoyed fashion, prompting Merry to correct himself (but not without an eye roll and a laugh from you). “That’s what we were going for.”

Your eyebrow arched at that and your mouth twisted up in a smug yet playful smirk. Your words to Frodo earlier suddenly rang in your head. Unlike your brother, you were planning on putting your feelings out there, weren’t you? What better time to engage in a little flirting that pushes that agenda? You moved your hand from its resting place on your hip and gently messed with the ribbons on the bodice of your dress, it was both out of nerves and to feign non-chalance. You felt your heart pick up speed as your mind was set. You were doing this! No backing out! Your throat tried to close in on itself but you refused to let it, releasing a quiet sigh instead. you averted your eyes and attempted to ignore just how close Merry was.

“Really? Is that what you were going for? I thought you just wanted to see me lying down.” You had no clue where that comment had come from, but it did its job. The confident look on Merry’s face disappeared in an instant and you could see his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed in embarrassment. However, he didn’t move further away from you and he, albeit unsteadily, met your gaze when you continued.

“You know, Merry...” you trailed off slightly, lowering your hand to rest on the edge of the barrel again. Except, what your hand landed on, was not the barrel. You had accidentally placed your hand on top of Merry’s which was gripping the barrel with a vice grip. You flinched involuntary. Merry felt you pull your hand back slightly before hesitating, fingertips brushing ever so lightly against the back of his hand. It sent shivers up his arm and he considered grabbing your hand himself until you gently lowered your hand again and left it there. You resumed your sentence, a little more confident his time.

“If you wanted to get my attention-“ you slowly moved closer to the blue eyed hobbit before you, who mimicked your actions as if in a trance. If you were honest, that’s what it felt like. The two of you were trapped under some sort of spell that clouded your mind, heightened your senses, and made you act purely through instinct. It felt wonderful, especially knowing just by looking at Merry that he was under the same spell as you.

“You could’ve just asked me to dance.” Your noses bumped together slightly as your lips almost came together. Eru, you wanted to kiss him right now. You could do it too, he would not reject you. You knew that for a fact. It was so tempting...then you got a whiff of the soot and powder coating the hobbit and a wicked idea pushed itself to the forefront of your mind. It was tempting to kiss him, yes...but this would be funnier and was sure to keep him on his toes. Just before you put it into action, Merry spoke very softly, careful not to break the moment.

“(Y/n), may I kiss you?” Had his lips not been a millimeter away from yours, you probably would have missed it. You hummed in a questioning manner.

“Right now?” You asked, matching Merry’s tone.

“Preferably.” You hummed again in slight amusement, sliding your hand up Merry’s supporting arm till it rested on his forearm. You waited for Merry to take that as a nonverbal ‘yes’, and as soon as you felt his head move even slightly closer, you went into action. You smiled wide and pulled his arm out from under him. The poor fellow nearly planted his face in the dish water within the barrel. Pippin roared with laughter at his friend’s misfortune while Gandalf sat chucking to himself. Goodness, you’d forgotten they were there. Merry caught himself, looking at you incredulously. You grabbed his chin with the same hand you had toppled him with and held him in place as you got closer to him, partially stooping down. You giggled uncontrollably as you explained your “reasoning” to him.

“I’m sorry, Meriadoc Brandybuck, but until your face is clean; your lips shall not touch mine.” With that, you released his chin, took another bite of your apple (purposefully licking the juice off your lips as Merry watched) then you turned to leave the trio alone. You had only taken a few steps when Merry came to his wits, puffing and sputtering up a storm as he tried to go around Pippin and past the plates to catch you.

“Why you- I’ll get you for that, you tease!” Merry called after you when Gandalf stopped him from running to you. You cocked your head to the left, letting a coy smile grace your lips.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, Merry!” You scampered towards the edge of the tent, turning around the corner before replying once more. You poked your head around the edge of the tent, and made eye contact with the darling blue eyed hobbit.

“In fact, I’ll be looking forward to it!” You winked at him and ran off to rejoin the gathered hobbits of the night. As you ran off, Gandalf pointed Merry in the direction of the, by now, dry dishes. Merry sighed and went to move them, though not before pausing at the edge of the tent to spot you running over to your brother and Rosie Cotton who were enjoying a nice chat. You missed the wonderful, wide grin that stretched out over his face and you were not close enough to hear him laughing under his breath while he thought to himself.

“I’ll have you yet, you tease!”

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

Virgil the (Semi-)Friendly Ghost

Second Thing’s Second: Part two is here!

Third thing’s third: Part three is here!

Fourth thing’s fourth: Part four is here!

Fifth thing’s fifth: Part five is here!

Whole Story Summary: Patton Sanders has finally moved into his new apartment, only to learn that the room upstairs isn’t as vacant as it seems. With his new neighbors and friends, Logan and Roman, Patton meets the spectral squatter, not quite prepared for the spectrum of events to come.  

Chapter Summary: Patton’s the new kid in the apartment complex, and new neighbor Roman is more than willing to help him with anything, be it moving boxes or getting acquainted with local lore. His other neighbor, Logan, is less than enthused with his hallmate’s theatrics. 

Chapter Characters: Patton (Thompson), Roman (Sanderson), Logan (Foley)

Pairnings: None explicitly stated, but I imagine ships could be read into some of their interactions.

Warnings: mentions of throwing up and drunkenness; a little bit of yelling and arguing; a tiny bit of spook (?) 

Word Count: 2052

Tags: @ssides @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @pantasticpanini

A/N: So, I saw a text post from @thoselittlesandersides (I believe; sorry if I’m wrong) about a Moxiety AU where Virgil haunts Patton. I also just blew through @pirate-patton ‘s “The Haunting of Thomas Sanders,” so I’m feelin’ real spooky and angsty right now. I really love this AU concept for some reason, so I might write my own take on Thomas being haunted in the future. Or something else. We’ll see. ANYWAY here’s this one.

After 2 years and a couple of shortfalls, Patton had finally found it: the perfect apartment for him.

It was spacious, but not too roomy, with one bedroom, one bathroom, a full-sized kitchen, a small dining room, and a cozy living area, all for an affordable price. The medium-sized Florida town was a great place for a young man like him to get a fresh start, far enough away from the stress and stench of college dorms that he finally felt like a real, new man. The only issue was, it was also far enough away from his home town that his parents and siblings couldn’t help him unpack, and he’d feel horrible if they had to take off work just to help him move some boxes and things. It wasn’t his fault that the landlord was insistent he move in on a Tuesday, but you take what you can get, sometimes. Patton, however, had it good, as far as he was concerned.

He stood beside the U-Haul he’d rented, gazing up at the eight-level apartment building for a moment before reaching back into the truck’s cab to grab a box of his most precious items. He inhaled deeply, set a smile on his face, and slammed the door shut as he approached his new home.

After he checked with the office manager and officially got his keys, Patton made his way to his apartment, fairly skipping as he went from excitement. When he finally reached his door, number 12 on the second floor, Patton carefully balanced his box on one hand and tried to jimmy his key into the lock with the other. He was so focused on his task that he started and nearly fell entirely to the floor when a booming voice broke the silence of the once-vacant hallway. 

“You must be the new neighbor!” Patton looked over his shoulder and found a grinning young man strolling up behind him. 

“Yup, that’s me!” Patton affirmed, returning a bright grin of his own before turning back to the task at hand. 

“I’m Roman,” the other youth introduced himself as he came up beside Patton. “You need some help, there? These locks can be a real pain sometimes; you gotta stick the key in at just the right angle and- may I?” He gestured toward the lock and key.

“Be my guest.” Patton breathed. “And thank you. My name is Patton.”

“No problem at all, my newly minted neighbor. I’m always willing and able to help those in need!” Roman declared, turning the key and pushing open Patton’s door with a flourish. “Speaking of which, do you have any more boxes to cart in? I’d be more than willing to help!” 

“Well, isn’t that sweet of you!” Patton gushed as he breezed past the other into his new living space; he gingerly set the box of precious momentos on the kitchen table and turned back to the door. “If you really don’t mind, I’d sure appreciate it! It’s only me, here,” he commented, the slightest twinge of sadness in his tone. “So I could use all the help I can get!”

“Brilliant! We’ll get this all done in no time at all!” Roman cried and turned quickly on his heel, Patton right behind him.

The halls echoed with the booms and trills of Roman singing “Whistle While You Work” as he made his rounds up and down the hall. By the time the pair was serenading the walls with “Almost There,” a bespectacled youth, with disheveled hair and sporting navy-hued pajamas, had stepped out of his apartment and was looking up and down the halls for the source of the merriment.  

“Ah, Logan, beloved hallmate!” Roman called, waving as he and Patton made their last trek back to Patton’s door. “What brings you from the depths of your lonely apartment cell?”

Logan pushed up his glasses and quipped, “You know perfectly well, Roman. This time of day is a crucial rest period for me, and your loud merry-making has disturbed my adjusted sleep cycle.”

“Oopsy, I forget you’re literally a night owl!” The other laughed loudly, continuing into Patton’s apartment while the other stopped in front of Logan. 

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry, uh-Logan!” Patton smiled apologetically. “If I’d known you were sleeping, we would’ve been more quiet.” 

Sighing, Logan reassured him, “It’s quite alright, um-”

“Patton.”

“Patton. I am quite used to loud noises and-” Logan glared in Roman’s direction. “Other interruptions. I allow plenty of rest time to compensate. Fortunately, I was past the end of a REM cycle anyway.”

“Good to hear!” Patton headed toward his apartment. “Well, gotta get unpacking here, but it was nice to meet you, Logan!”

“And you as well, Patton.” The other called as he returned into the dark depths of his own abode. 

“Well, that didn’t take too much time at all!” Patton surveyed the stacks of boxes around him and turned to Roman with a broad smile. “Thank you so much for your help, Roman; if there’s anything I can do in return, please let me know!”

“Speak nothing of it!” The other proclaimed. “As I said, I am always willing and able to help those in need!”

“I appreciate that! How about dinner? My treat? We can invite Logan, too, if that’s okay. I’d like to get to know my neighbors as soon as possible!” 

“Marvelous proposition!” Roman’s voice was somehow even louder than before. “That bookworm needs to have social interaction every once in a while.” Roman continued, and Patton noted a touch of fondness in the other’s voice. 

“It’s a date, then!”

-------

“So wait, you threw up ON stage?!” Patton stared at his neighbor is disbelief, his final forkful of fettucini stopped halfway to his mouth. 

“Projectile vomited, actually.” Roman declared, as if showing up drunk to play the male lead in a musical was something to be proud of. “Right off the side of the giant fake ship, onto one of the dancers below.”

“Well, they did say “anything goes,” after all!” 

Logan rolled his eyes as he sipped on a glass of water. “I’m amazed they still allow you to participate in the drama program at all after that incident. Thankfully, they were all able to convince the audience that it was an original, humorous improvisation. The show received effusive reviews from those who believed them, so Roman’s position was secured.” 

“That takes some talent! Pats off to you, sir.” Patton giggled as Roman made a show of fake bowing, nearing tipping over all of their drinks in the process.

“And at the rate you are presently consuming alcohol, you’ll make an impromptu, no-budget repeat performance.” Logan swiped his own glass from Roman’s range, scoffing as the other merely laughed in return.

“Oh hush, you know you adore my skills, Calculator Watch. I saw you laugh during my performance as Jack Worthington, or Earnest, if you prefer.”

“Perhaps, but that was a one time appearance.” 

“Oh, Lo, you’re no fun!” Roman whined, grimacing further when their checks came. 

“I’ll get it, guys!” Patton exclaimed, eagerly reaching for his wallet.

“Well, are you sure, Patton? You only just moved in today, and I imagine funds-”

“It’d be my pleasure!” The soft-hearted man grinned widely at his two companions. “In celebration and gratitude of two new neighbors and friends!”

“Indeed!” Roman raised his glass. “To comradery!”

“Or something of the sort.” Logan barely raised his glass, taking a final sip and rising with the other two to leave.

“I’m glad we walked!” Roman declared as they thanked their hosts and stepped out into the crisp evening air. “It’s perfect weather right now! The mugginess of daytime has dissipated, but it’s not cold yet!” 

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Patton mused, taking in the buildings, the people, the streetlamps all around him, wanting to become familiar with his new home as soon as possible.

“Thank you for dinner, Patton.” Logan said quietly, walking alongside the other man as they allowed Roman to trounce in front of them, earning himself full-body looks from men and women alike. “It was quite nice, and it will be a relief to have someone a little more...level-headed around.” Logan grumbled as Roman and Patton both squealed in delight at a giant, fluffy, brown Newfoundland, the latter bounding up beside Roman to cup the sweet creature’s face in his hands. 

“His name is Chocolate, Logan, look!!” Patton practically screaming, wrapping his arms around the panting pup and squeezing him tight.

“Indeed, how befitting.” Logan commented, waiting patiently as the two took a few more minutes to fawn over the large dog. “And thankfully, our apartment building is just right there.” Logan thought to himself, not sure how much longer he could tolerate his tipsy neighbors’ antics for right now. He did have to smile a bit, though, at how purely happy and tender they were. Perhaps life with these two could be enjoyable in appropriate doses...

“Ooooo hey Patton, look!” Roman gestured toward the third floor of their apartment complex, pointing to the window of the room right above Patton’s. “There’s a ghost in there, you know!”

“What?!” Patton screeched, his eyes combing over where Roman’s finger pointed. 

“Yeah, I heard about it from this couple who lives up there, Joan and Talyn, and they said that-”

“Please, do yourself a favor and do not pay him any mind, Patton.” Logan cut in, rolling his eyes. “There are a number of explanations for the noises heard coming from that room, and ghosts-”

“Are the most likely one!” Roman yelled, having come up in front of Logan, their faces so close they almost touched. “Joan and Talyn saw it; they told me so! They were walking past that door to get to theirs, and Talyn saw a dark shape leaning up against it, watching them!” 

“Why just Talyn and not Joan?” Logan retorted. 

“Because ghosts can do that, Logan, GEEZ, I told you you’re no fun!” Roman pouted, folding his arms like an petulant child.

“That’s alright with me.” Logan quipped back, looking down when his watch beeped at them. “Well, I was hoping for a few minutes of reprieve, but I must be off to the observatory. I will see you both as time permits.” Logan left them with a small wave, looking both ways before crossing to his parked car in the parking lot across the way. 

“Observatory?” Patton asked.

“Yeah, Logan’s a fancy smancy astronomer, or something.” Roman rolled his eyes. “Nerd loves space, but he’s too much of a nerd to get to go up in it, so he stays down here and studies it.”

“That’s so cool!” Patton exclaimed, looking after his neighbor with a new sense of awe. 

“Yeah, I guess, but not as cool as being an ac-tor!” Roman proclaimed with relish. 

“Both are cool to me!” Patton smiled; he turned back to their building, eyes flashing up to that third floor window again when something shifted, probably a curtain moving under an air vent. “So, about that apartment...”

“Yeah, it’s weird.” Roman turned with him, gazing up at the window with a mischievous smile. “They’ve never found any people in there, no food trash or even hairs or anything, but the furniture moves around a bit sometimes and there’s noises, too. All sorts of weird noises. If you’re interested in really hearing some good stories, I can introduce you to Joan and Talyn! They’re really nice, and I’m sure they’d love to tell you about it!”

“Maybe later.” Patton replied, a slight chill going up his spine as the curtain shifted again. It looked like a face...

“Well, the theater calls!” Roman cried dramatically, taking Patton’s hand and gracefully bending to one knee. “I must be off, my newly minted neighbor, but I am grateful for the nourishment and for this time to become better acquainted. I eagerly await our time together in the future!”

“Right back at you, buddy!” Patton laughed, pulling Roman up with the hand he’d taken. “Bye, Roman!” Patton called as Roman waved and strode the opposite way, the theater only being a block from their complex.  “What a funny guy.” Patton mumbled to himself as he turned and walked into their apartment complex, keeping an eye on that window as he went.

Second Thing’s Second: Part two is here!

Third thing’s third: Part three is here!

Fourth thing’s fourth: Part four is here!

Fifth thing’s fifth: Part five is here!

All of my Sanders Sides fanfics

[challito]

The Tavern - Triumvirate Pt. 1

In the tavern are many wines – the wine of delight in colour and form and taste, the wine of intellects agility, the fine port of stories and the cabernet of soul singing. As three companions shared their spirits and their spirits, they felt the wineskin of ego break and the pouring began.

Clio recounted her studies and trials at the Pantheon with only the slightest embellishment. Plied with the taverns finest drop she wove stories into stories until every detail was painted large and wide as a temple fresco. She blamed her dwarven heritage for the intricate and lengthy telling.

Though the truth of her claimed heritage was clear in her height and a few other endearing traits, most of her features were Elven. With gentle ribbing and encouragement, Clio bounded through her recollections, vibrating with charisma. She never vied to be the center of attention, but she did love it when she found herself there.

Daphne laughed freely and smiled constantly. She seemingly bore no baggage that so often accompanied one cursed with the marks of a Tainted. Though, she did bear the marks. Light pink skin covered everything below the curving ram horns that adorned her head to the tip of her snaking tail. Holding mulled wine to warm her hands and her heart she joked and jested until her companions were just as jovial as herself.

Kai watched mostly. His heart was full. The two people he loved most in the world were happy, healthy and by his side. His jokes came half as frequently, and his stories lasted half as long as his companion’s. He preferred to listen. To share their joys and do what he could to increase them.

As an Aquan, the novelty of Terran life never ceased. Just the same, he found himself to be a novelty to most Terrans. From the way he talked and what he wore, to his cerulean, seal-like skin and gills. As Clio began a second backstory to one of the “quick things” she had to tell them, and Daphne poked harmless fun, Kai just sat and smiled. He nursed mead, thick and sweet as he was himself. Most of all, he enjoyed it, being lost in that moment. He felt a weight slide easily off his shoulders as he listened and drank and laughed.

The rest of the tavern shared that energy. Losing themselves in the evening until everything else was naught but a faint memory. Not all evenings were like this, but they were becoming more frequent. Such a thing often happens when an incorporeal feeling of foreboding scratches at a collective’s sixth sense. They bury their heads in revelry as though it were sand and hope for the dread to blow over. For most that night, it did just that.

Not all creatures were like this, but for Matu – those mortal races that include Humans and Aquans and Elves – it was most often true. In contrast, the wild creatures – animals and beasts and birds – listened keenly when the Mother Huntress whispered her warnings. Even an imagined feeling of danger would have a herd of antelope on the move in less time than it takes to pour a mug of wine.

Matu, for the most part, are not like this. So, when Godly whispers or instinct urged Kai to leave the tavern, he did not. He nestled himself deeper into his chair, took another long draw from his mead, and laughed doubly loud at Daphne’s next joke to push instinct and Gods from his mind. If he had known what was to come, he would have listened to instinct then and there, but he did not. Instead, he played the part of the ignorant fool with a trouper’s grace and drank and drank again.

Death blew through the tavern on a cold wind and was welcomed like an old friend. The door slammed opened. Silhouetted in the entrance stood a traveller framed by fog and lamp light. He was wearing an emerald chiton with gold lining and an expensive fur cloak. His walking staff was well polished, its head adorned with amber. The pleasant din of merriment shut off quickly as all heads turned to the figure. Then, the traveller announced:

“A gift from my master. A round of drinks for all with ears to hear or eyes to see.” 

His accent was thick and foreign. His choice of syntax, old and musty, like lines chosen from a history tome. Though, no one paid that any mind as he walked with heavy steps directly to the bar and dropped a jangling purse on the counter. A cheer went erupted. Clio, Daphne, and Kai added their voices to the chorus. They toasted between themselves and drank deeply, unaware that the stranger was making his way to them.

“By chance, are you the triumvirate, Daphne, Clio, and Kai?” He said in his thick accent when he arrived at their table.

Surprised, the three companions looked at each other before Clio answered.

“We are.” She said. “How did you recognize us so quickly? I can’t say I remember meeting you before now.”

“My master has sent me a great, long way to request your aid. If you be the heroes of the stories that are told, please lend your aid in this dire time.”

As the triumvirate looked to each other, all equally confused, the traveller reached into a fold in his cloak and produced a sealed letter. He placed it down on the table between the companions and took a seat next to Daphne. As Clio took the letter, she noticed a foreign brand in the wax that held it closed. She showed the brand to Daphne and Kai but between them they could not give it any recognition.

Inside was a letter written in an elegant, cursive hand. The tone and structure were heavily antiquated, to the point of parody. Though instead of offending the emissary by remarking as such, Clio simply read the contents aloud.

“Hail to thee of might and valour.  I, humble servant of my people, desperately plead for your assistance. My wife, Helen of Bris has contracted an affliction so dire that none on our island can remedy. She languishes from her wound and I would have her healed and returned to me in the persona I have come to cherish.

I offer the whole of my state’s fortune as recompense if thou but answer our plea. Make haste, I beg of thee, her time is close at hand. The saviour of my beloved shall be paid the highest expense and greatest honour.

Sincerely, Anax Arimnestos of Bris.”

A long silenced followed. To the triumvirate, it was difficult to understand why they would have been sought out. Their few and petty deeds could not have caught the eye of the Brisian leader. Especially not one who used such archaic honorifics as Anax. Yet, here sat his emissary, at their table, flaunting his master’s wealth by plying the whole tavern with spirit. Eventually it was Kai that asked:

“Why us? There are others of higher merit that would accept this.” Kai pointed to the letter and apparently had no qualms with looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yet I have found none. It is known that pirates patrol the waters between Illios and Bris. I have found not a one who would brave crossing their path. Truly, the cowardice of heroes is a terrible thing.” Said the emissary.

“And there’s the rub.” Daphne said, sipping her mulled wine.

“I know a safe path.” Hurried the emissary. “It is how I arrived, and how I intend to return.”

  The triumvirate looked between each other, long and silent. The presence of pirates was well known to Illosians. They inhabited a collection of islands east of Illios, until now Kai had assumed Bris was one of them. The strength and naval presence of pirates were so fearsome that they wielded a similar militaristic control over their waters as most established countries’ navies.

To get caught by a pirate raiding vessel was a nightmarish thing. So much so, that the horrific tales of survivors would occasionally include supernatural embellishments to make them all the more frightful. The Ghost King’s Trireme and Banshees of Black Sails were popular songs in an Illiosian bard’s repertoire. 

“You’re sure you know how to avoid them?” Daphne asked.

“I would not be speaking to you otherwise.” The emissary nodded.

“In that case, I’m for it.” Said Daphne.

“I think it’s worth the risk.” Clio agreed.

There was a silence then. Clio and Daphne looked to Kai, who was in turn looking at the emissary. To all three companions, the emissary seemed desperate. Though, Kai couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was eluding him.

“How did you come by our names, exactly?” Kai asked.

“On arriving at Illios, I paid my respects at the Pantheon. It was Priestess Circe that recommended Priestess Clio. ‘A truly gifted healer’, she called you. I pray she did not make too great of a claim.” He said in earnest.

Kai chewed on his lip for a moment. He looked at Clio, who nodded. Circe had been a good friend and tutor during Clio’s time at the Pantheon. The story held merit and according to Clio’s body language, Kai deduced that she felt it was a likely turn of events.

The three companions had spoken earlier in the evening of potentially attempting some kind mercenary work. Each of them had developed quite a dynamic set of skills and abilities, over the last few years especially. If they picked their jobs carefully, they could enjoy a fairly carefree travelling life. For a time at least.

“And how do we know this is not some elaborate pirate ploy to lure us back to your den of thieves?” Kai asked.

“I admit our location is unfortunately close to the scourge of the sea. Our people often suffer their raiding parties as result. However, if you should witness our ship on the morrow you will know us to be good, honest men and women. 

“Moreover, what use would a band of pirates have with three adventurers such as yourselves. Surely there are more profitable persons to kidnap if that were our desire.” The emissary seemed to become more nervous by the moment. “I of course mean no offense.”

“Okay.” Kai agreed after a moment. Then he looked seriously at the emissary. “But so, you are aware; should I happen to suspect you of piracy I will not hesitate to call the most fearsome sea creatures under my control down on you and yours.”

It was a lie, of course, but it was a very good lie. Kai watched the emissary suppress a shudder and reconsider all he knew of Aquans. At times, the ignorance of Terrans could be a wonderful thing. Clio and Daphne eyed Kai surreptitiously, knowing much better than the emissary. Kai even saw a nearby eaves dropper go slack jawed in surprise. He surely would be spreading the falsity to his table eagerly at the first break in conversation.

“I assure you my intentions are nothing, other than to escort you safely to my Master.” The emissary bowed his head.

“When do we leave?” Kai asked.

“My vessel, The Twilight Mist, leaves the dock at first light tomorrow morning. Will I expect to see you all there?”

The companions nodded and bid farewell as Arimnestos’ emissary left the tavern. They sat in silence for a while after that. Clio read the letter again before Daphne read it once for herself. Kai drank and tried to discover what secret he felt about the strange foreign man. Whatever nagged at him was deeply hidden within his psyche and he did not succeed at uncovering its warning.

“I think this will be good for us.” Clio said finally. “It’s just what we were talking about.”

“Exactly.” Said Daphne, putting down the letter.

“Exactly.” Clio echoed.

“But who on Land and Sea still call themselves Anax?” Daphne laughed, Clio laughed at that too.

“Did either of you find something suspect about that emissary?” Asked Kai.

“I think his life is tied to that of the Anax’s wife. If we had refused him, who knows what this Arminestos would have done to him.” Clio said. “That and he talks as though he just stepped out of the last age.”

“You think this Arimnestos to be a particularly cruel leader?” asked Daphne.

“Love makes Matu mad.” Clio quoted.

Kai only drank. He had noticed behaviour in the emissary that suggested the Anax to be a cruel master, but that was not the thing that nagged. For now, whatever it was, was as intangible as the wind. So, Kai drank, and when a herbalist did his rounds and peddled his wares Kai bought enough smoking leaf for a very long journey.

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

Paper Faces

Since Halloween is coming up and I am a huge sucker for masquerades as evidenced by the huge amount of starters I wrote, I decided to write a little something with King and Paula because I am also a sucker for that ship. Paula doesn’t get enough love in the Django fandom and I want to fix that. Chronologically, Schultz is most likely somewhere in his thirties here and Paula is in her twenties or so. Also, this is what they’re dancing to. I know it doesn’t make sense in the time period, but goddamn is it fitting. Anyways, enjoy!

It would not be for the first time that Pauline Thomas was invited to a masked ball. She and all ladies of her station were invited and mostly encouraged to attend. Though she cared very little for the soiree as a whole, she did quite enjoy the selection of music and champagne that would definitely be served there. Most young ladies her age were in attendance to catch a gentleman’s eye as a future husband. Paula was there because, well, mostly it was because she was forced to. She did not enjoy the frills and lace of the gown she wore, nor did she care for the feathered mask on her face. It was of a great hinderance to her and one she planned on disposing of when she had the chance. She was dressed resplendently in cream and lily white which blended nicely with the cornsilk blonde of her hair and enhanced the lovely violet-blue of her eyes. She cut a perfectly Romantic, dashing figure and managed to catch the eye of a select few young men. She wanted nothing to do with them. She was here because she had to be, but no one said she had to enjoy it. She planned to spend the evening getting drunk off the champagne and perhaps sample the new wine that was on display as well until someone successfully caught her attention. Had it not been for his peculiar stance, he might very well have gone unnoticed by her, but for the moment, their eyes met and she recognized the lively intelligence there almost immediately. She recalled her debate with the little devil a few nights ago and it had been a perfectly heated, yet polite discussion about the state of the French monarchy and whether or not a revolution was at stake. Revolution seemed to be at hand, that much was certain. Tearing her gaze away, she headed once more for the refreshments, but again she was stopped.

             “Pardon me,” a particularly fine specimen of a gentleman had stopped her. “But I have not been able to take my eyes from you the entire evening.” Paula was not impressed. She’d heard this sort of empty flattery a hundred times before.

             “You are impressed too easily,” she replied. “I see many an attractive lady flitting about the dance floor. Perhaps you could bother one of them.” The gentleman, dressed rather elegantly as a peacock, frowned underneath his mask.

             “Begging the mademoiselle’s pardon, I was not meaning to be a bother. I was merely trying to engage in friendly conversation.” He said. Paula’s eyebrows raised under her mask.

             “I do not wish to be your friend. However, I would very much like to get acquainted with the champagne you seem to be holding me back from.” He laughed, as though he did not hear the beginning of her rather venomous statement. Or if he did, he found it charming.

             “Wit and beauty, truly a rare combination.” he said with a smile. “Pray tell me, do we know each other?”

             “I should hope not,” Paula replied under her breath. “I believe I would recall meeting such an opulent talking peacock.”

             “And I would recall meeting such a delightful angel,” he said through his smile. “But this night is reserved for anonymity, and so I shall refrain from guessing.”

             “How thoughtful of you,” Paula replied dryly.

             “Indeed. But if we are to get to know each other, might I ask the young lady for a dance?” Bold, this one was. And he certainly expected her to say yes, by the look of the predatory gleam in his eye.

             “I’m disinclined to acquiesce your request, sir.” She said. “And if you’re hard of hearing or are merely lacking in social graces, that means no thank you.” She was about to head for the tables once more when the gentleman took hold of her arm.

             “You will find, mademoiselle, that I am not a man women say no to.” He growled through a tightened smile. Paula attempted to yank her arm back, regarding him with a cold stare.

             “A gentleman, or anyone passing for a gentleman, does not touch without invitation. And I most certainly did not grant you mine. Unhand me or I will scream.” She informed him coolly. There was a tense moment between the two of them when the peacock’s smile faded and he released her arm.

             “Your commonness betrays your elegance,” he sneered. “Even a whore can wear jewels.” Paula glared at his retreating back, unwilling to let him have the last word when someone else spoke from behind her.

             “Just as a dog can wear a suit.” Paula turned her head to find that the gentleman she’d identified from across the room had come to her aid and was eying the retreating figure with great dislike. “I can’t abide terrible manners,” he said by means of explanation. “And his were certainly the worst I’ve seen.”

             “I’ve endured worse insults,” she informed him loftily. “I’ve met lords who were more ill-mannered than he was.” He gave her a sympathetic smile.

             “I expect that comes from being a highborn lady of quality.”

             “Precisely so, though apparently lady is debatable.” She turned her attention to him fully now. “What are you doing here?” His answering smile was mischievous.

             “What am I doing anywhere?” He replied. She shot him an unimpressed stare and he chuckled. “I managed an invitation through sheer luck. And perhaps I charmed the lady of the house into letting me in.” Paula stared at him impassively. Jacqueline was rather susceptible to the charms of certain men, but she liked to think Schultz had more tact than that.

             “Your costume is dashing,” she said by means of changing the subject and giving him a once-over. He glanced down at his black and gold-trimmed finery and then back at her through a winsome smile. “What were you hoping to be?”

             “A crow, or at least that’s what the tailor informed me.” He replied. “And thank you.” He gave her gown a similar glance, though his eyes lingered on the cut of her mask. “You look exceptionally lovely tonight as well. I can understand how our friend could mistake you for an angel.” Paula was grateful for her mask for the first time that night for hiding the color creeping up her neck.

             “Thank you,” she replied somewhat stiffly. She was used to empty compliments, but Schultz had a funny way of sounding incredibly sincere.

             “I hope our over-dressed friend didn’t put you off of dancing tonight,” he continued. “I would very much like at least one proper waltz with you.” Paula continued to eye the refreshment table and almost missed what he had said.

             “It seems that the champagne and I are never to be better acquainted,” she lamented. “I’m stopped at every turn to sample it.” His gaze followed hers to the table.

             “If you would permit me, I wouldn’t mind fetching it for you.” He offered. Paula blinked in surprise, but she nodded.

             “That would please me, thank you.” He inclined his head and trotted off to the refreshments and leaving Paula alone with her thoughts. She watched the dancers as gowns and coattails twirled and spun round, creating whirls of color. She swayed a little to the familiar strains of the orchestra, catching a glimpse of the man who had insulted her earlier. There was no accounting for taste in some people, she thought. Schultz returned from his errand with two glasses and a playful smile in tow. Though she would never outright admit it, Paula found herself growing rather fond of that smile and the merriment that danced in his dark eyes. He handed her the drink and raised his to her in a toast.

             “Prost,” he said through his grin. She nodded and took a sip, sighing at the taste. It was so much better than expected and very much worth the wait. “I wonder,” he began. “Does your high society teach the Viennese waltz?” Paula raised her eyebrows underneath her mask.

             “Of course we teach the waltz,” she said, lifting her chin. “I am expected to find a husband somehow and dancing is a surefire way to get to know someone.” Schultz’s eyes gleamed and Paula wondered what the little imp had in mind for her.

             “But do you know the proper way to waltz?” He inquired. “After all it was invented in Vienna.” Paula wasn’t sure if he’d meant to be insulting or not, but she definitely had a mind to show him just what kind of dance partner she was.

             “That being said, I do know how to dance.” She argued back. “And quite well, I may add.” That playful smile was back in all its mischievous glory.

             “I would very much like to see that,” he said as he offered her his hand. Paula eyed it like she would a poisonous snake and looked back up at him. “Dance with me?” He asked because a gentleman did not demand. Paula downed her glass for liquid courage and placed her hand in his.

             “Very well,” she said. “I shall teach you how to really dance.” He chuckled at the thought and the couple left for the floor, striking up a waltz position as the previous song came to a close. The orchestra started another slower, more mournful song that Paula found rather pleasing. She kept her eyes on her partner, not needing to look down at her feet as Schultz danced her around the room. For a smaller fellow, he certainly was light on his feet and he had a commanding presence that kept their little piece of the dance floor strictly to themselves. It was an attractive quality in a man, Paula thought and then wondered where that came from.

             “You carry yourself very well,” she told him as he gave her a spin.

             “As do you,” he replied. “You must have had a great teacher.”

             “She was a right old bat,” Paula grimaced at the memory. “And my partner kept stepping on my toes the entire time. It was a nightmare.” He had the good sense not to laugh at her misfortune, but she could see that he wanted to. “Where did you learn to waltz?” She asked him curiously, twirling under his arm and then back into him again.

             “As I said before, the waltz was invented in Vienna.” He said with a mysterious smile. Paula resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Schultz never seemed to want to discuss his past with anyone, and would always charmingly change the subject when it was brought up. It was, quite frankly, annoying and Paula was bursting with curiosity about her partner. He hardly revealed anything about himself, but seemed to be able to read other people in the room like one of his books.

             “Will you ever give me a straight answer, or do you prefer to keep me guessing?” Paula replied, chin lifted ever so slightly to let him know she meant business.

             “In all honesty, I prefer to keep you guessing.” He said with good humor. “It makes for a much more interesting conversation, wouldn’t you say so?”

             “A more infuriating one, you mean.” She corrected. He barked a short laugh in reply.

             “Maybe so, but a masquerade is meant to preserve the identity, is it not?” He gave her another twirl.

             “Indeed, though you seem to wear a mask even when it isn’t required. I must admit that I have a difficult time reading you.” She hated admitting that out loud. His eyes seemed to gleam in the light of the low lanterns.

             “Do I really? And does that frustrate you?” He asked with a cheeky smile.

             “To no end,” Paula replied flatly. The waltz ended on a rather harried, passionate note and Paula was a little sad to see it end. She quite enjoyed her conversations with Schultz, but she was not quite in the mood for another dance. “You dance very well,” she informed him. “Though I expected as much from a gentleman from Vienna.” He bowed to her.

             “And you make a very fine partner,” he replied sincerely. Paula didn’t bother trying to hide her smile.

             “Come, walk with me.” She said. “I think I need a bit of air. This corset is murder on my ribs.” Schultz nodded sympathetically and accompanied her outside on the terrace. “What a lovely evening,” she remarked once they were outside together. Something behind Schultz’s mask changed and his smile seemed to have softened when he looked at her.

             “A very lovely evening,” he agreed though he seemed more enraptured by her rather than the night sky. Paula felt her cheeks grow warm again and was once again thankful for her mask. They were silent a moment, tension filling the warm night air. “I had no intention of enjoying myself tonight,” she informed him after a pause. “The only reason I’m here is because my mother expects me to find a suitable husband.” He chuckled.

             “I doubt very much that the word suitable is in her vocabulary when it comes to me.” He said, having met the strict Madame Thomas beforehand. “Your mother terrifies me.”

             “As well she should,” Paula said. “Papa told me that I get my stubbornness from her side of the family. It’s why we argue so often.”

             “A pity I never got to meet your father,” Schultz said. “I believe he and I would get along quite well.”

             “You would have liked him,” Paula said with a fond smile. “He was quite fiercely anti-monarchy as well until Maman put such notions out of his head.”

             “A man after my own heart,” Schultz replied. Again, there was a moment of silence passing between them. He turned to look at her again only this time Paula caught the lingering stare.

             “You’ve been staring at me all night,” she said, giving him an accusatory stare. He smiled sheepishly.

             “My apologies, it’s just I doubt I’ve ever seen you look more beautiful than you do right now.” Paula was used to all kinds of pretty words and empty flattery, but coming from a man she could share her mind with, it seemed more sincere. His eyes gentled at the sight of her and they didn’t ever seem to roam places where they shouldn’t. Paula found herself breeching the distance between them.

             “That charm of yours is going to get you in trouble someday,” she said softly. He smiled, his eyes glancing down at her lips.

             “Perhaps so, but I believe I’m safe for now.” And very carefully, he leaned down to kiss her. Paula had been kissed before, some time ago when she was a child and in childhood love with her best friend. And she greatly treasured that timid kiss. This kiss, though. This kiss was different. Schultz kissed her with a reverence that she didn’t know he possessed. It was as if she were some secret, something otherworldly that should be cherished and protected. He was so careful and so gentle and Paula returned the kiss with the same amount of tenderness. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing the edge of her lacy white mask as they were led into slower, sweeter kisses where their lips barely parted before the next one started. Paula laid a hand over his, looking at him as if she just saw him for the first time. She leaned into his hands and ventured to kiss him again. She would never tell her mother about what happened on the terrace, and she would never tell her that she’d been right. She had found someone suitable, she just wasn’t looking in the right places.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Fallen Valkyrie, pt9

Word Count: 2785 Tags: @outside-the-government @distinguishedqueenofbooks, @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @anotherotter @youdonebeengarthed @auduna-druitt @samaxraph99 @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @feelmyroarrrr @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @little-study-bug @graysonmalfoy @rampant-salamander

Brynhildr and Kara had been waiting at her home, talking with her mother when Eira returned with Thor and Loki. She bid the brothers goodbye, and stole into the workshop where she could hear her friends talking with her mother.

“Eira, you are just in time. I was telling your mother about this new plant and Bryn and I found while you were occupied healing Fandral.” Kara pointed to a large plant lying across Halla’s workbench. It had a bouquet of white flowers clustered together amongst its leaves that sprayed out from a common stem like a parasol. Eira looked at it closely, and felt the leaves. She smelled the flowers, which had a faintly sweet aroma.

“What is it, Mother?” Eira asked. Her plant identification skills were still weak. Halla smiled.

“You won’t believe it. We brought it simply because of the name,” Kara laughed. “It’s called Valkyrie’s Weed!”

“What is it for then?” Eira laughed. Kara flushed and Brynhildr laughed.

“It stays the pains from your flux, and also keeps men safe from the seduction of witches,” Halla explained.

“I do not understand how the name makes sense.” Eira was confused.

“Midgardians think we often seduce men to Valhalla, helping them to choose to die of their war wounds, rather than fight their wounds and live. A man who carries the root will not be lured by our apparent magic. And of course, if we are seducing their menfolk, we must be ensuring we are in happy condition, and not pained by our fluxes,” Brynhildr laughed.

“We have much attributed to us,” Eira stated, shaking her head.

“We thought you and Halla would want it for your garden, to see if it truly helps with the pain from our cycles. I would happily lure a Midgardian man to his death to be free from pain then,” Kara laughed and Brynhildr and Eira joined in agreement. Halla finished writing some information about the plant in her journal and took it to the garden to plant.

Kara and Brynhildr were about to leave when Eira remembered she had been planning on riding out to them.

“Before you go, sisters,” she started as they turned to the door. “I am in need of assistance. I must dress for a feast at the palace tonight. I have little to wear.” Eira felt a pang of desperation. She truly was not in possession of a single court dress.

“Lead us to your rooms, that we may see your clothing,” Kara demanded. Eira led them to where she stored her clothes, and Brynhildr and Kara began to rummage. Soon they had thrown a number of items across her bed. Brynhildr rummaged in a basket of jewelry while Kara sorted the items on the bed.

“This is your nicest undertunic, Eira. Look how white it is! Like you’ve never worn it. And the embroidery is so fine and beautiful. With this red hangarok, you will look stunning. We must put your hair up though; a lady never leaves it down at court. Bryn, does she have hair pins in that basket?” Kara tilted her head and appraised Eira carefully before shoving her down in a chair. She found a comb and started working through her hair, pulling and tugging and generally making Eira wish she could just leave her hair in the messy braid she preferred. Brynhildr handed Eira a pile of hairpins to hold and disappeared from the room without a word.

Kara finished tugging on Eira’s hair and then helped her change her clothing without destroying the careful work. She took the brooches and bead festoons that Brynhildr had chosen and pinned the straps of the hangarok to itself. Brynhildr swept back into the room breathless.

“I remembered that tunic and hangarok, Eira. It was the one you wore when you were welcomed to the Valkyries,” Bryn spoke, her eyes dancing. Girls did not begin to ride with the Valkyries until their courses had been regular for over a year, at which time a ceremony was held to welcome the new rider to the dozen. Eira hadn’t been far past childhood when her flux first became regular, so her special ceremonial dress still fit. And because of the beauty and expense of it, she had never felt comfortable wearing it for treating the sick. It had only been worn the single time. Bryn pulled a long rectangle of green wool from her pouch and unfolded it. She turned it so that Kara and Eira could see it.

It was covered in embroidery and appliqué. There was a large golden tree at the centre of the panel that Eira recognized was Yggdrasil, it’s limbs and roots and twisted and knotted. Surrounding the tree eternal was a beautiful circle of embroidered knots in all the colours found in the Bifrost. There were tiny gems sewn into the knots of the rainbow bridge that glinted when the sun hit them. Eira was breathtaken, and put a hand to her chest.

“The embroidery on your clothing was so beautiful, Eira. Is so beautiful, that I knew I had to make this panel as a gift to you to complement your hangarok, and the cuffs of your tunic. I poured years into it, working on it bit by bit, hoping you would find the honour to join us in your calling. Every time you rode out and escorted the dead, I added to it, hoping one day you would join us completely and there would be a time for me to gift this to you. And now you have. So this is my gift to you, sister, on your commitment to the sisters of Valhalla,” Brynhildr explained, and then stepped forward to pin it under the brooches of Eira’s hangarok.

“You mean for me to keep this?” Eira breathed.

“She has made a panel for each of us, Eira. This one is yours,” Kara smiled. Eira felt tears flood her eyes, and her lip began to tremble.

“I know not what I have done to deserve such love from you, my sisters. But I am honoured and glad for it.” She dashed the tears away and ran her hand across the beautiful handwork of the panel.

“All you have done is accepted your calling, finally. With grace and courage.” Brynhildr leaned forward and kissed her cheeks.

“You now look fitting of your role, Valkyrie. You are among the most beautiful in all the realms for the hardship of your labours adds to the flame of your allure,” Kara laughed. It was a line repeated when a woman was welcomed as a Valkyrie, and one Eira had forgotten. Eira laughed with her friends.

“You must be off, Eira, or you will be late to the merriment!” Brynhildr started, looking at the sun low on the horizon. Eira rushed to finish readying herself before riding to the palace.

The gates of the palace swung open as soon as Eira came near them, and a palace guard stepped out to greet her.

“Lady Eira. His Highness bids me escort you to the feast hall.” He offered her an arm. Eira took it wordlessly and let the guard lead her through the maze of the palace. When he led her into the hall, he nodded to Loki and turned to Eira. Eira saw him right away, but could not see Thor amongst the people gathered.

“Thank you,” she offered.

“I will leave you now, Lady Eira. Good night.” The guard bowed lightly and left. Loki stepped up to her side.

“You are a vision, Eira,” he complimented her. She blushed and looked around the room. She felt underdressed. Many of the women had more formal attire on, flowing gowns with trailing skirts. Eira’s dress, while beautiful, was a more functional garment. She said as much to Loki and he scoffed.

“You wear the traditional dress of our people, and you bring honour to it. You will not be the only one dressed thusly. Watch. You will see,” Loki foretold. Eira glanced around the room again, pretending to be admiring the other women’s dress, but actually looking for Thor. Fandral approached her, a light limp only visible to her barely slowing him. He threw his arms around her familiarly and kissed her loudly on both cheeks.

“Lady Eira, my salvation. I know Thor intended this as a celebration of my recovery, but I truly feel the honours tonight belong to you. And to Loki, of course,” Fandral nodded at Loki. Loki smirked his infuriating half grin at his friend.

“But more to Eira because she is a pretty girl, correct?” Loki teased. Fandral laughed and clapped him on the shoulder in agreement before walking to the mead casks to refill his drink.

“Loki, I hate to ask, but –“

“Thor has not arrived yet, Eira. He frequently plans these gatherings, but rarely makes it before the food is served,” Loki interrupted.

“Oh, I was confused, the guard said he had been ordered to escort me here,” Eira puzzled aloud.

“By my orders, Eira. I knew you were unfamiliar with the palace,” Loki sounded highly irritated.

“I am sorry to be a burden,” she stiffened.

“You mistake my ire, Eira. I’ve no quarrel with you. Just with the oaf I call brother for leaving you to flounder on your own.” Loki softened, and slipped his arm into hers, patting her with his free hand. “Come, there are many here for you to meet, and if Thor is so foolish as to be late, I will gladly do the honours.”

Loki took Eira around to the small groups of people socializing and introduced her. It was funny, and at the same time awkward for her, as he took great delight in informing people that the Midgardians were calling her a goddess. Some of the people were overly impressed with the introduction and immediately became obsequious, which delighted Loki even further, but mortified Eira. It was during one of those awkward introductions that she felt an arm slip through her free arm and looked over to see Thor smiling down at her.

“I must apologize. I got torn away to assist the Allfather with a task.” Thor kissed her cheek in greeting. Eira flushed and looked at her feet and then up to Loki, who suddenly dropped her arm. His easy-going smile vanished and the self-satisfied smirk he so often wore when he was annoyed appeared.

“I hope you have a lovely time, Eira. It was nice to mind you while my brother was busy.” He dipped his head in a mocking bow and backed away from the people they had been standing with.

“Loki, please wait.” Eira reached out to stop him, but he was too quick, and in a flash was away from them. She stared after him, wanting to stay with him but not really knowing why. He was moody and this was another time when his temperament hurt her. She bit her lip in frustration and watched as he made his way across the room. Thor squeezed her arm.

“Eira, don’t borrow trouble by worrying about Loki when he is in one of his moods. Come, you must try the mead.” He excused them from the couple that Eira and Loki had been talking to, and steered them toward the mead casks. He served her first, and then led her to the head table and seated her beside him for the feast. The meal was every bit as decadent as the feasts she served in Valhalla. Between courses, Eira tried to get Loki’s attention from where he sat on the other side of Thor, but had no luck. He was determinedly ignoring her.

The feast had been cleared away, and the room was filled with boisterous, socializing people. Loki had been right. When Odin and Frigga had entered for the meal, Frigga was wearing a similar outfit to her own. During the meal, Eira had been reassured by seeing many women dressed more traditionally. The elaborate dresses seemed to be more favoured by younger women seeking flirtation.

Fandral was positively draped in long, flowy dresses every time she saw him. Thor was deep in conversation with someone whose name she’d forgotten immediately upon introduction, and she cast her gaze around the room, seeking familiar faces again. She smiled as Fandral caught her eye. He waved, winked and patted his knee in invitation. She laughed, unlinked her arm from Thor’s and made her way to where Fandral sat. She gave a low mocking curtsey as she approached, a broad grin on her face.

“I believe you beckoned my presence, dear Fandral?” She teased. He laughed and pulled her into his lap.

“I am in my cups, my Eira. Should I apologize now for how I plan to love you?” Fandral flirted in response.

“I somehow think I have little to fear from you, fallegurstrákur,” she laughed. Fandral laughed and kissed her cheek.

“You admit you find me handsome, Eira!” He crowed. “I hold out hope that you might fall to my charms!”

“Everyone thinks you are handsome, Fandral,” she sighed, shaking her head. Fandral laughed again and waved a serving girl over.

“We need mead, for tonight we celebrate my resurrection at the hands of a goddess!” Fandral’s voice boomed across the room. Thor looked over, finally noticing Eira had excused herself and raised an eyebrow in question at her. She shook her head. She assumed he was wondering if she was content. When he nodded in return and turned back to his conversation, she knew she was correct. The serving girl handed a mead cup to Eira, and refilled Fandral’s large tankard from a pitcher she also carried. One of the girls who was hanging on Fandral’s every attention took careful assessment of Eira and spoke.

“You dress so traditionally, Lady Eira. You must be from the country.” The girl quirked an eyebrow at Eira’s dress and smirked. Eira immediately felt awkward, and stiffened. Fandral caught the slight and rubbed a hand on Eira’s back.

“Yes, Herleif. Eira’s manner of dress reminds men what they fight for, and makes them long for home when they are on campaign.” Fandral’s voice never lost its genial tone, but the words must have stung like a slap. The girl rolled her eyes and stormed away, her gaggle of friends following, leaving Eira and Fandral alone.

“Thank you, Fandral,” Eira murmured.

“Tis the truth. Whoever crafted your story panel is a remarkable talent. The gems make it shimmer just like the Bifrost at sunrise.” Fandral traced his fingers along the circular knotwork, stopping before he accidentally touched her breasts. Eira laughed again.

“For all you like people to think you are a rake, I suspect you are quite noble, Fandral.”

“Don’t let the ladies find out, my friend,” Fandral grinned, emphasizing the last word. “I would make a terrible husband, and they would suddenly seek to be wed.”

“I can’t see you banking a home fire for long, Fandral.” Loki appeared beside Fandral and Eira. Eira smiled broadly at his reappearance. She rose from her place on Fandral’s lap.

“Loki, I’ve been trying to track you down! Well, until Fandral distracted me with his huge ego and pretty words.” She reached for her friend’s arm. Loki offered it and excused them from Fandral, who was left quite sadly, alone. Eira knew it wouldn’t be for long. Loki led her to the cool air of the balcony. It was remarkably quiet.

“I owe you an apology, Eira,” Loki began. “I was unfair to you when my brother arrived. My words were unkind to you.”

“Loki, please, it-“

“Let me finish, Eira. Had those words been used against me, I would have felt like a burden. You are anything but. I am just frustrated that Thor feels it necessary to interrupt us so often. There is much I would learn about your magic, and I think much I could teach you. And it seems every time we are beginning to get somewhere, he interrupts,” Loki explained. Eira smiled.

“You don’t need to apologize, Loki. I would like very much to learn from you. As fond as I am of Thor, I was also frustrated when we were interrupted today.” Eira squeezed his arm compassionately. Loki smiled at her.

“You are better than either of us deserve. I hope he understands that.”

“It would seem that all the men of Asgard are determined to dizzy me with their flattery. What have I done to deserve such praise?” She pondered. Loki turned to face her, and placed a hand on her cheek.

“You are a goddess.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.