#someone will try to pull off a pilgrim look and it won’t work

[celticsorcerer1]

“Aisling McKeen vs Her Outdated Ideals”

—-

(Spoilers for “Scott Pilgrim Takes Off”)

Roxanne “Roxie” Richter happily hummed the Hamster Dance as she skipped through Toronto. She was on her way home from helping her friend and former member of the League of Evil Exes, Todd Ingram work out and get back on track with his vegan lifestyle. He had been making good progress.

As Roxie slid on an ice patch just outside St. Mary’s Parish, the doors opened and Roxie spotted her adorable crush, Aisling McKeen. The Cape Breton native wore a blue parka, black jeans, and Ugg boots. Her eyes were cast upward as her mouth moved.

Roxie smiled warmly. She’d had a crush on Aisling since they bumped into each other completely by chance a few weeks back.

The problem was that Aisling still hadn’t accepted that she liked girls. Something was holding her back.

And it was Roxie’s self-appointed mission to help her over that hurdle. Then go out with Aisling.

Roxie used a smoke bomb to vanish, then reappeared in front of her crush. “Hey, Ash.”

Aisling smiled. “Good morning, Roxie. How are you today?”

“A little hungry, actually. I know this amazing cafe that has really good French Toast. Care to join me?” Roxie requested.

Aisling considered the offer. “You mean… as friends, right?”

“With benefits?” Roxie asked eagerly.

“No benefits,” Aisling gestured toward the Church. “Sacreligious.”

Roxie deflated. “Worth a shot. But, yes, just a friendly brunch. I… recently went through a hell of a battle and could use some normalcy to ground myself.”

Aisling giggled. “How normal can our lives be when you have ninja powers and I’m a Cleric?”

Roxie shrugged. “Nothing tries to kill us today?”

“Fair.” Aisling replied.

—

At the small cafe, the two young women sat across from each other. “So, why did you leave Cape Breton?” Roxie asked.

Aisling sighed. “Partially because I wanted to travel and see where my talents would be most needed, but mostly because… I wanted to distract myself from my past. See, Cape Breton is small. Everyone knows everyone. They know you. All your business. And when someone caught me staring at a fellow female Cleric with… more than just curiosity, it got back to my father… the Chief Cleric…”

Roxie frowned. “And… how did he take it?”

“I don’t know. I left before he could summon me.” Aisling admitted.

Roxie winced. “Oof… sorry, Ash,” she reached across the table and took Aisling’s hand. “Is that why you’re… trying to deny that part of yourself?”

Aisling pulled her hand away. “It’s not me. It was… Satan’s influence. It had to be. It’s not… natural to be attracted to the same sex.”

Roxie sighed. It was worse than she thought. She looked at Aisling with pity. “Honey… don’t Catholics believe that God makes each of us the way we’re meant to be?”

“Well, yes, but…” Aisling trailed off.

“Look, God made you gay. And He didn’t do it to punish you. He did it for a reason. A good reason,” Roxie reached for Aisling’s hand again. “If people tell you that’s wrong, they’re the problem, not you. It’s okay to like girls, Ash.”

“But… if I’m in a relationship with a girl, I can’t… get married according to Catholic rite… or have children.” Aisling countered.

Roxie laughed. “Whoa, slow down, girl. You’re not dating anyone yet. Don’t worry about that stuff. Live in the now.”

Aisling glared at her. “You’re not even Catholic. How can you know God’s will? His plan for me?”

“Because, religious or not, having trouble with coming out is fairly common. Sure, some have it easier than others, but sometimes, coming out can be a real nightmare. And the possibility of that nightmare becoming reality is what can stop us in our tracks,” Roxie smiled and squeezed Aisling’s hand. “That’s why you need to surround yourself with people who will love you for you.”

Aisling looked away. “But if you’re wrong… and God doesn't want me to like girls… I’ll lose my powers.”

“No, you won’t.” Roxie declared.

“How do you know?” Aisling demanded.

“Because you still have them despite the way you looked at that Cleric. Despite the way you blushed when we first met,” Roxie leaned in close. “You’re gay and I like that about you.” She kissed Aisling. It was a quick kiss, no passion.

But from the moment Roxie’s lips touched hers, an electric spark raced from Aisling’s lips down to her heart. She suddenly felt a surge of power race through her.

Thou hast discovered thy true self, Daughter. Your magics are now +5 Healing, +4 Accuracy, +5 Mana. Use them well for my Glory.

When the kiss parted, Roxie smiled. “So? Did you see sparks too?”

Aisling blinked. “Uh-huh… and I think… I’m a stronger Cleric for it too.”

“Cool,” Roxie sat back, resting a hand on her cheek. “So, what now?”

“Well, we eat French Toast… ooh, with blueberries… then… I dunno, maybe I call my folks and tell them I’m okay,” Aisling smiled warmly. “That I’m loved.”

“Solid plan.” Roxie smiled back.

[thefactsofthematter]

the met gala is like 4 months away but im ready to start making predictions.... might have to start a spreadsheet of what i think ppl will wear

[axther]

in short and in long

In which Diluc helps an overworked doctor rest.  for @lirinstaalem​

tw: mentions of amputation and medical procedure 

When Diluc thought about it, most Vision users were prodigies. 

He used to be a captain in the Knights of Favonius. Jean was the Acting Grand Master. Little Klee could flatten the city if she wanted. But Vision users usually were battlemongers, ready to fight for a greater good that they never got rewarded for. They were selfless heroes.

 But YN wasn’t a selfless hero. Not in the traditional sense.

 Diluc met her when the city was being terrorised by Dvalin. They knew him as the great and terrible Stormterror, then, but then the strange traveller came and defeated him. Mondstat was less than ruined, but still in a condition that it need to be fixed. People were hurt, and so there was a committee made to help those that were injured. There were few that helped: some of the nuns, Barbara. But someone new came, from a distant land. She was gentle, with soft touches that helped some that were most wounded. 

She had a strange technique; searing old wounds with her Pyro Vision, making sure that they could not be infected. It was gnarly business, bloody and twisted. But she swallowed whatever disgust she had and got right to work. They called her the Pilgrim. She was a traveller, like the one that defeated Stormterror, and it made many wonder if it was Barbatos smiling down on them to give two angels. 

Diluc, in short, respected her. In long, however, was an entirely different matter. 

He first spoke to her when she had just helped amputate a man’s leg that had been destroyed by rubble. She was wiping her hands, staring down at the empty table he had been on with an empty look. 

“There’s another patient waiting for you,” He murmured. She snapped her head up, almost jumping before nodding. 

“Right, right. I’ll get to it.” She started wiping down her tools, but there was a distracted air about her. She wiped down the same scalpel twice, before Diluc crossed his arms. “Are you ready to do it?” “Hm? What? Oh.” She nodded, jumping again. “Yeah. Of course. Just give me a second.” “We can ask some of the other medics to take care of them.” Diluc walked up to her. “But you need to be able to focus.” “I know.” She set down the tool, slowly, before turning to face him. “Oh. You’re the one that killed the Lawlachurl.” “Yes. Diluc, of Mondstadt.” “YN, of…” She tried mimicing him, but trailed off. “That doesn’t matter. Did you have your injuries looked at?” “I had none.” 

“Alright.” YN looks like she would normally press, but because of the time crunch, didn’t. “Let in the next patient.” “No.” “What?” YN looked back at Diluc, a frown on her face and brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” “I mean, if you mess up and someone dies, it’s on your hands. I’ll send her to someone else.” “No, I can do it. We don’t have enough hands.” “This wasn’t up for debate.”“Neither is me not doing it. I can do it.” “Sit down. You’re swaying.” “No, I’m not.” Just as YN said it, Diluc saw her tilt a little bit to the right. He sighed, poking his head out of the tent. “The pilgrim needs rest. Take the patient to the physician two tents over.” Diluc didn’t wait for whoever had the patient to say anything before going back into the tent, seeing YN stare at him with dead eyes. Her mouth was set firm. “You didn’t need to do that.” “It’s careless to take someone’s life in your hands when you aren’t capable of taking care of them.” “No one else will do it right.” “The physician can do it. You’re a walking corpse.” “Not as much a corpse as the knights outside.” “You’re being reckless.” “And you’re being irrational.” Diluc huffed, not wanting to waste time on a petty argument. “Go get some rest.” YN scowled, but set the tool down and relented. “Fine. But it won’t be for long. Maybe ten minutes, at most.” Diluc waved his hand at her, as if to say ‘yeah, yeah’, and turned to leave the tent. Before he cleared the makeshift door though, he heard a thump and clatter, and spun around to see YN had absolutely collapsed. She had hit the tools on her way down, and they tumbled onto the cobbled street. Diluc didn’t waste a second, simply choosing to scoop her up and carry her out. 

When he walked back into the daylight with her in tow, he saw the Traveller and Venti the bard discussing something. Both turned to look at Diluc and the Pilgrim, and the Traveller’s eyes widened. The little floating child that always hung around him appeared, and almost swarmed YN. “Oh my gosh! Is she okay? Did something happen?” 

“She’s just tired.” Diluc said with a short tone. “She needs rest. Are there any spare beds?” 

“There might be some in the tavern,” Venti mused. “Aether and I were just talking about it.” 

The Traveller nods. “On the upper floor.” “Right.” Diluc nods as well, heading to the tavern and going as gently as he can, as to not wake YN. She stirred in her sleep, but barely, huffing for a second before going back to silence. He opened the tavern door and slinked past beds full of wounded, going up the stairs and finding several spare beds. He picked whatever was the cleanest before setting YN down, bringing the comforter over her body and watching her settle for a moment before sighing. 

Diluc pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. YN was out cold, thankfully, but he didn’t know how long she would be asleep. As much as he pressed for her rest, he agreed with her initial sentiment-they didn’t have time to waste. She could rest, but he wasn’t sure for how long they could manage in before they needed YN and her Vision again. He was sure that he wasn’t needed, at least; he provided financial support, and arms if the Abyss Order came to attack in what waves they worked in. But with Stormterror gone, the Abyss Order was now the prime focus, and they would have to withstand the full force of the Knights.  So, Diluc had become useless. He sat on the edge of YN’s bed, watching her closely. She laid straight, like a soldier might, with a furrowed brow and heavy breath. She seemed laboured, even in her sleep, and Diluc felt himself seem to...tilt, for lack of a better word. No, he wasn’t physically tilting. He was as straight as a line, stiff and scared as a strange feeling pooled into his blood. YN shifted. Diluc nearly jumped. He watched her settle back in her sleep and he glanced away. He didn’t mean to act strange or to come off as a creep. But the lonely Pilgrim seemed so peaceful that Diluc didn’t want anyone to disturb her. He slowly reached out a hand, tentative and calm, before gracing her cheek with his knuckles. It was barely more than a flicker of movement, and he felt her for only a second before pulling away as if burned. There was a tug in his throat, and he looked away and to the door again. He rose from the bed but settled in a nearby chair, sighing and crossing his arms. He figured that if he had nothing better to do, then he might as well try to make sure no one would wake her up. He would glance at her sparsely to see if she was awake, before slowly settling into a nap himself. He dreamed for the first time in years, of two flaming flowers that grew intertwined. 

In short, Diluc respected YN. In long, he loved her. 

[nothingbutimagines]

Elizabeths (Chapter I)

Pairing: Bad boy!Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Cursing, death, mentions of suicide

Summary: Y/n is part of her high school’s most powerful and most popular clique, but she disapproves of the other girls’ behavior. When Y/n meets the new boy in school, Peter Parker, and begins dating him, what she has known to be her clique begins to unravel. Starting with the death of the clique leader, Liz Allan, one by one, people Y/n doesn’t like begin to die by her and Peter’s hands. Soon, she realizes that Peter is killing students he hates and begins to try to foil his plans, all while clashing with the new clique leader, Elizabeth “Betty” Brant.

Author: Dizzy

A/N: This is a Peter Parker AU I thought of doing. It’s a Heathers AU!!! This is going to follow a similar plot to Heathers, but of course, I won’t keep everything the exact same. Here, we meet our protaganist, Y/n, and our love interest, JD Peter.

Masterlist Request Any Of These Peter Parker/Tom Holland Masterlist

__________________

Dear Diary, 

Today, Liz told me she teaches people about “real life”. 

She said, “Real life sucks losers dry. If you wanna fuck with the eagles, you gotta learn to fly.” 

I asked, “So you teach people how to fly?” 

She said, yes. 

I said, “You’re beautiful.”

“Y/n,” a voice pulled you away from your writing as they kicked your side. 

You pulled your glasses off and looked up at the owner of the yellow skirt and white tights that kicked you. 

“What the fuck, Lizzie?” You snapped, pushing Lizzie Jones’ foot away from you. 

“Sorry, Y/n. Liz needs you in the commons. She said it’s urgent. Back me up, Betty.” 

“Yeah, Y/n, Liz said you have to hit the commons pronto.” Betty stammered, her arms tight around her books.

“Fine. I’m coming.” You rose from your spot on the stairs and followed the other girls. “Do you know what it’s about?”

Lizzie looked back at you. “How the hell am I supposed to know? She just said to get you.”

As you turned the corner and into the madhouse that was the common area, you caught sight of the brown hair that was tied back with a red scrunchie.

“Hello, Liz.” You spoke softly, almost submissive to the girl. 

“Y/n, there you are.” Liz smiled, her voice sickly sweet which made you think she’d want something from you.

If you knew anything about Liz Allan, it was that she always, always was nice when she wanted something from you. 

“What is it you need, Liz?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I need you to help me get into Brad’s email to send Ass-trid Dumptruck. I want you to help me write a hot and heavy but realistically low-key essay that Astrid can’t help but read right now.”

“Liz, I don’t have anything against Astrid Dunstock.” 

“You don’t have anything for her, either.” Liz replied, shoving the laptop into your hands. “Just get into the email so I can write her a sexy letter to fuel her shower nozzle masturbation for weeks.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Don’t think.” Liz scoffed. “Just do it.”

You groaned as the other girls giggled, holding the laptop in one arm and attempting to type with the other. You furrowed your brow as you took in a deep breath, annoyed at your own inability to fight against peer pressure. 

“Betty, Y/n can’t possibly type with one hand. Bend over so she can work.” Liz smirk.

Betty gave you a look as you mouthed that you were sorry before the girl bent over in front of you and you began to type on the laptop, finding your way to Brad’s email. 

This wasn’t the first time Liz was having you send emails from Brad’s account, so you already knew the password, mumbling to yourself about how ignorant Liz could be as you pulled up the draft email page. 

“Alright, Liz. You’re in.” 

“Why don’t you type it up, Y/n? My nails just got done and it’s hard to type with them.” Liz said, wiggling her fingers in front of you, her nails long and sharp like claws and done in her signature red color. 

You knew she was lying, as she could never tell the truth. She just didn’t want to have the evidence trailed back to her. 

“Come on, Liz. I don’t want to do this.” You said, throwing your arms down and turning to the other girl.

“Do you think I give a shit?” Liz snapped back. “Just write the fucking email and then we can move on with our lives. Besides, you’re the only one who could possibly get down Brad’s diction.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You mumbled as you turned around, feeling Betty giggle from beneath you. 

“Would you like to speak up, Y/n?” Liz asked, moving to look at you from the side.

You gave her a smirk. “No, Liz. Now, why don’t you tell me what to write?”

Liz cleared her throat before speaking softly, her lips brushing against the hair by your ear, her breath hot and her voice soft, sending shivers down your spine. 

“Okay, Y/n, why don’t we keep it short and simple? Get in and get out, just like Brad would.” Liz said. 

“And you know that all too well.” 

You could feel Liz press her sharp nail into your cheek, the pressure so sharp you thought she was about to draw blood. Your proud attitude quickly diminished as she huffed, taking her nail off your face as you sighed and quickly typed up the email. 

“Alright. I’m done writing.” You announced, straightened up as you picked the laptop off of Betty’s back, and handed the laptop to Liz. “Just hit send and Astrid will get it right away.” 

“Come on people, let’s give that leftover lunch money to people without lunches! Those tater tots you threw away are a delicacy in Africa! Their Thanksgiving dinner!” You could hear Ned scream into the crowd of students in the common area as you took a seat beside LIz at your regular lunch table. 

“God, aren’t they fed yet?” Lizzie asked, taking a bite out of a french fry she took off your plate before flinging it back down on the plate, the ketchup splattering on the rest of your food. “Do they even have Thanksgiving in Africa?”

“Oh, yeah. Pilgrims, Indians, tater tots.” You replied as you ate the other half of the french fry, “I heard it’s a real party continent.”

Liz rustled in her bag beside you, gaining your attention as you watched her pull out a clipboard and slam it down on the table. She gave you a smile as she proudly flipped her hair over her shoulder while she watched your face fall and you internally groaned. 

“Y/n, guess what time it is?” 

“Ouch, lunchtime poll.” You guessed, setting down the milk carton in your hand as you turned to her. “So, what’s the question?”

“Yeah, what’s the question?” Betty asked, earning a swift kick from Liz.

“Goddamn, Betty, you were on FaceTime with me when I thought of it.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

“Such a pillowcase.” Liz scoffed, pulling you up with her as she stood up and began leading you through the crowded tables and into the large aisle of the common room. 

“This wouldn’t be about that bizarre dream you had the other night that were blabbing about on the phone would-”

“Oh, shut up. It is.” Liz cut you off. “I told Ned if he gave me another political topic, I would spit on him and he said if I didn’t want to do that, I’d have to think of my own poll.” 

You shook your head, looking away from her as you scanned the large room. Your eyes landed on a boy you’ve never seen before, and being in a small town, a guy that looked like him, you would’ve recognized. 

He caught your gaze, the boy who reminded you of James Dean as he slouched in his blue plastic chair, his leather jacket puffing out to the side to reveal the simple t-shirt he was wearing underneath. You couldn’t tell if it was the swooped dark brown hair or the Rebel Without a Cause lunchbox sat in front of him that made you think of the long dead actor, but the boy certainly knew how to get anyone’s attention. 

Transfixed on the boy across the room, you felt a sharp pain in your knee as you crashed into the blue chair of one Cindy Moon. You grunted softly, your hand reaching towards your knee as you bent down to rub it soothingly. 

Cindy turned, pulling her cardigan sweater tightly around her as the rest of her less stylish friends also turned as well, causing you to blush as you straighten up slightly, still a bit bent over as Cindy studied you for a moment. 

“Oh gosh, sorry, Y/n.”

“Oh, Cindy…” You replied softly, the embarrassment hinting in your tone. “I’m, uh, sorry I didn’t make it to your birthday party last month.”

“That’s okay,” Cindy shook her head, “Your mom said you had a big date. Hell, I’d miss my own birthday party for a date.” 

You laughed lightly with her for a moment, glancing over at Liz who was growing impatient as she watched the interaction.

“Don’t say that.” You playfully hit Cindy’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Y/n/n, while you’re here, I found this the other day.” Cindy beamed, picking up her purse and rummaging through it until she pulled out a photo and handed it to you. “I think it's Halloween in second grade.”

“Oh, where we got so sick from the candy that a single spin on that carousel at the Halloween fair-”

“-had us throwing up uncontrollably.” Cindy laughed as she finished your sentence, the warm interaction between you two cut prematurely by Liz’s swift swing pulling you away and causing you to drop the photo.

“Hey, I was talking to someone!” You snapped, tearing away from her. 

“Color me impressed. I thought you were finished playing Barbies with Cindy Moon.” Liz snapped. 

If you didn’t know her any better, you’d have thought Liz was somehow jealous of your interaction with Cindy. 

You followed her like a duckling, almost prancing to keep up with her as you approached the Country Club. You hated them just as much as the next, the daddy’s money boys and girls who were so pretentious they dressed as if they were always at the country club, hence their name. 

“Oh, great, here comes Liz.” You could hear Brittany say as you and Liz approached.

You could feel Liz’s unabashed false pleasantness radiating off of her. You hated the Country Club as much as the next guy, but never as much as Liz Allan did. 

“Hi, Brittany, love the blouse. Oh, let me steal a tater.” Liz greeted, her tone the same sickly sweet as the one she had had with you earlier in the lunch period. 

Brittany watched with a similar fake smile plastered on her face as Liz turned her back to her, now facing you as she pushed the tater tot into her mouth with a single finger, doing a vomiting gesture before chewing and swallowing the tater tot and turning to Brittany and her group. 

“Thanks. I got it at H&M.” Brittany smiled, turning to her group and back at Liz. “I totally blew my allowance.”

“That’s pretty very. Now check this out, David Dobrik gives you a Tesla and $2 million dollars and the same day you get to be on his channel, aliens come to earth and say they’ll blow up the planet in two days. What are you going to do?”

The table looked stunned for a moment and you watched as Flash chuckled, leaned back in his chair and put his sunglasses on. You rolled your eyes at the dramatic action as he started to speak. 

“That’s easy. I’d just hand the wad over to my father. He has the best stock broker in the state. And then I would take that Tesla out for a joyride. Just me, babes, and a car to drive while I fuck a chick in the passanger’s seat.”

“How charming.” You rolled your eyes. “The world will be Pompeii in two days and you’re going to invest your money?”

“Man, my father’s broker could triple it, double it in two days.”

“If I had that money,” Brittany cut in, “I’d give it all to the poor.”

“Wow. You’re beautiful.” You smiled with a nod as Liz jerked you by the arm, pulling you away from the flabbergasted Brittany.

“If you’re openly going to be a bitch…”

“I’m sorry, it’s just why can’t we talk to other kinds of people?” Your voice coming out whinier than you anticipated. 

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Teresa to you?” Liz asked, her tongue sharp as you walked alongside her. “If I did, I wouldn't mind talking to the Geek Squad.”

Your gaze followed along the extended arm and pointer finger of Liz’s body as you both made eye contact with one of the boys at the table, causing him to spill his milk all over himself in shock. 

“Oh my god, Elizabeth Number One just made eye contact with me.” He blurted out, stumbling over his words as another boy chuckled.

“It must be love.” The other one replied before you tore your gaze away from them and looked up at Liz, who always seemed to tower over you with her bright red high heeled boots. 

“Doesn’t it bother you that everyone at school thinks you’re a piranha?” You confront her, her eye roll in response making you feel like back peddling what you said.

“Like I give a shit.” She snapped so matter-of-factly. “They all want me as a friend or a fuck. I’m worshipped at Midtown and I’m only a junior.” 

You groaned. “Just pretend you’re doing charity work. Like saving a couple of oiled up penguins in the Dawn commercials. Like this shit will look good on college essays.” 

Liz looked at you in surprise, returning your statement with an eye roll as you had her convinced and she knew it. “Whatever. I don’t believe this shit. We’re going to a Columbia University party and I’m brushing up my conversational skills with the scum of the school.”

Dear Diary,

Sometimes I want to kill Liz Allan. She’s such a bitch saying, “I’m tall, dark, and beautiful. I’m such an individual because I look like a girl in a toothpaste commercial. I’m so hot Post Malone wanted to see my tits for backstage passes.” Damn, you Liz. You’re not special or a princess. All teenagers are the same. Didn’t you see Breakfast Club? 

You pull the clipboard from Liz’s arms as you guide her to the Geek Squad with your hand on her lower back, in a similar way to how your father would push you along in lines at the grocery store. You two stood there awkwardly for a moment before elbowing Liz, causing her to jump. 

“Alright. This is called a lunchtime poll. We ask you a question, you answer honestly. Now, David, whatever his name is, gives you a Tesla and 2 million dollars. When you go to do the big youtube thing, aliens come to the earth and say they’re going to blow it up in two days. What do you do?” Liz muttered, her attitude more sour than it was only moments before. 

“I’d go to the Pyramids.” Brian replied, the bony head of the Geek Squad. “With a girl.”

“Where are you going to get the girl?” the boy beside him asked. “Amazon?”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as you looked at another boy. “What about you, Lucas?”

“I told you she knew my name.” He muttered to Brian, who in turn, elbowed him in the side. “I’d change my life. Get a new haircut, new clothes, revamp like in She’s All That.” 

“How sad!” Liz exclaimed. “Blowing all your cash to make up for a lack of popularity. And the reference to a chick flick! Did you see it with your mom? Or your new boyfriend?” 

You grabbed Liz by the arm and yanked her from the table and into the large aisle again, right where she had scolded you only minutes before. 

“If you’re openly going to be a bitch…” You trailed off, your tone harsh as Lizzie approached. 

“Ass-trid’s reading the email, you’re going to want to see this.” Lizzie laughed, grabbing you both by the wrists and dragging you behind her as she beelined to where Betty stood, back up against a pillar. 

“Oh god, here we go!” Betty giggled as you four began to watch. 

You suddenly felt sick. You wanted nothing to do with what was about to happen as Astrid rose from her seat at her empty lunch table and made her way towards the Jocks, where Brad sat, munching on his tater tots. You couldn’t understand what Astrid was saying as she pointed to her phone screen, allowing Brad to read it. You flinched as the boy erupted in laughter, food and spit flying from their mouths as they howled, leaving Astrid to run away in horror, leaving you with a pit in your stomach as you jumped away from your friends and into Ned’s table. 

“A penny for your thoughts! But, a dollar could save a life! Hi, Y/n. A five keeps the neighborhood alive! But, a ten will bring back the dead!” Ned shouted, the little chant ringing in your ears as you made eye contact with the James Dean boy again, his look as horrified as your own. 

Liz shoves a twenty dollar bill into Ned’s hand as she approaches you. 

“Shut up.” She orders as the boy grows quiet. “You wanted to be part of the most powerful clique in school and if I wasn’t already the head of it, I’d want the same thing.” 

“I’m sorry, what are you going on about?” You snapped, turning to her. 

“You heard me. That episode with the email back there was for us all to enjoy, but for some reason you are determined to ruin my day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me fix that.” You replied before laughing mockingly. “We made a girl consider suicide! What a laugh! What a scream! I’ve never seen something so funny!”

“Come on, you jerk. You used to have a sense of humor.”

You let Liz guide you back to where Lizzie and Betty stood, talking about whatever book Betty had begun reading as your eyes landed back on the boy you’d found yourself so infatuated with. 

“God, Y/n, drool much?” Lizzie asked, as Liz groaned. “His name’s Peter Parker. He’s in my American History class.”

“Give me back the clipboard.” You ordered, pulling the clipboard from Liz’s hands. 

You sauntered away from the girls, scoffing as Lizzie began making oinking and sexual sounds in your direction and by how fast they were cut off, you knew Liz had probably slapped the other girl to get her to stop. 

“Well, hello, Peter Parker.” You greeted, stopping at a halt on the other side of his table. 

Now standing in front of the boy, you realized he looked less like James Dean and more like a young Jaime Bell.

“Greetings and Salutation. Call me Peter. Are you an Elizabeth?” He asked, the smile on his face a bit cocky. 

You chuckled, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “No, I’m a Y/n. L/n. This may sound like a stupid question…”

“There are no stupid questions.”

“Okay. Get this, David Dobrik gives you 2 million dollars and a Tesla and on the same day he’s supposed to give it to you in a youtube video, aliens invade earth and say they’re going to blow up the planet in two days. What do you do?”

Peter chuckles, his laugh light and airy as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.” He replies, his brow rising as he answers the question curiously. “Probably would just row a boat out into the middle of the lake. Bring along my sax, a bottle of tequila, and some Bach.” 

“How very.” 

“Come on, Y/n!” Lizzie calls from behind you. 

“I’ll be right there! God!” You roll your eyes as you yell, turning your attention back to Peter. “Duty calls. Bye.”

“Later.” 

Dear Diary, 

I take back what I said about killing Liz Allan. I don’t think I’m ready for jail just yet, not with a boy like Peter Parker around. Maybe we’re not all the same after all. 

_____________________

Tagged: @thewinchesterchronicles @spookyanairwin @audreylovespidey706

message me to be added to the tag list!

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Only Lovers

Leon and Ada, from the Resident Evil series, sometime in the future. This is explicit and NSFW. Smut ahead Also on A03

She wakes before him. Despite their deeds last night, it seems too intimate to chance a peek at his sleeping form. She’s always taken chances. Why should this one be different? So she takes the chance.

When she gazes at him, she’s both astonished and left breathless. He’s a different person asleep. Younger looking. She’s more nervous looking at him sleeping than she is standing in front of him naked. He’s stunning. If he weren’t working the government, he’d be living in the Renaissance as an artist’s model. He’d be Michelangelo’s choice for David.

She’s made it this far, so she decides that a delicate finger to trace his cheek won’t do any harm. He doesn’t stir. She grows bolder, traces his lips. Last night, they were reverent against her fevered body, even as she was the one that directed their furtive scene. Her personal style is to be in control, and in his mad desire to please, in his mad want of her, he didn’t try to push her down on the bed when her thighs were on both sides of him and take control, like perhaps another man would. Instead he succumbed to her, and watched with reverence as she moved above. When he did rise, it was only to wrap his arms around her and hold her. Then began the rain of kisses, everywhere he could touch. She even let him kiss the corner of her mouth, as if they were lovers forever and not at this one moment, not enemies on opposite sides who had burned for each other for years and were just now letting themselves blow off some steam. Fucking was so much like fighting. There was sweat, passion, no sense of beginning or end. Just the now. She revealed in the urgent now last night.

Then he kissed her on the mouth, and she could have cried. For a few moments, when his lips grazed her cupid’s bow and tongue gently sought entrance inside, there was no question they were making love, and not extending their outside-of-the-bedroom and outside-the-moment line between antagonism and allies. For those moments there was no more blurred lines. They were only lovers.

As he  sleeps, she allows herself to indulge in that tenderness that was only brief during their night together. She reminds herself she intended to leave before he wakes, but she’s caught between sensibilities and wanting to partake in her personal version of the female gaze. It reminds her when they first met, and he took that bullet for her after only knowing her for a few hours. After patching him up, she wasted precious moments looking at him. Even then she knew him to be about a couple of years younger than she was, and so much more idealistic. Even that’s not changed now, even after everything, even after all he’s seen. She doesn’t know if she should pity him or wish she could take some of that idealism for herself. She only knows she’s always been compelled to draw out the moment, where he’s asleep and she’s awake, and he’s her own Adonis.

When Adonis stirs, she draws her hand away. He stretches and she prepares herself for the inevitable: I should go, this should never have happened in the first place. Yet when she closes her eyes, as if that’ll prepare her for the hurt that she shouldn’t be bothered by anyway, she feels only the warmth of his hand, cupping her cheek.

 “I know you’re awake,” he mutters.

She opens her eyes, stirring with want. Naked underneath the bed sheets, the slight sun that pours through the small crack between the curtains outlines his form, the strength of his arms and broad shoulders, and brings out the golden tinges in his hair that rests somewhere between brown and blonde. She chuckles to herself, ruffling the already mussed hair. She’s never met a man so attached to one haircut.

He asks how long she’s been awake and she answers truthfully: about ten minutes.

 “You didn’t leave.”

 “I thought about it,” she admits

 “What made you stay?”

She grips the hand that still cups her cheek. Her answer is true, the truest thing she’s ever said.

“You.”

She doesn’t protest when he breaks the distance between them. He’s needy in his kisses and she hungrily gives back, chastising herself for thinking that the brief kisses she allowed last night were enough. They didn’t even kiss before they tore their clothes off each other. It was all business, all until they were on top of each other on the mattress, their neutral ground, and bare for the first time in all senses of the word. It was madness, it was bliss to make their own rules. It became instinct to accept his kiss when his arms wrapped around her, instinct to kiss him when his fingers against her clit brought her over the edge. The third was also instinct. It was after he came, spilling on his taut stomach. She couldn’t deny him a kiss then, not when he muttered I love you.

It was just instinct, she told herself. They were making love, it was natural to say. So she kissed him back, neither a denial or I love you too, but an affirmative of some sorts that she’s still not sure was a good idea. Though, the whole thing wasn’t a good idea. They ran anyway, straight to their hotel room, straight to their bad idea. It was the best bad idea she ever had, only beat by her second, to stay with him the morning.

In the morning light, she kisses him back and lets him blanket his body over hers. It’s foreign for her to have the strength of a man against her body, but it’s only a small surprise it’s Leon. From the moment they met, and her thoughts turned salacious, he struck her as a man who’d let himself surrender. She knew the type: someone always in control, someone who cherished the few moments of surrender where he could just be wanted and needed. Last night, he gladly followed her lead and her wants.

Yet more surprising than his taking initiative now is her own surrender. She not only lets him sink and meld onto her body, but she encourages—with one hand gripping his back, and he other fisting into his hair. She moans when his arousal brushes against her thighs.

“Come on,” she goads as he gently kisses both her shoulders and collar, and the space between her breasts.  “Leon…”

His head dips down low, sinks between her thighs. It astounds her that he can push aside his own want to do this—something she’s never asked for or thought about really—but she’s quick to silence herself when his lips brush against her inner thighs. Don’t tease, she wants to order, just touch me, taste me, but she steals a glance. His blue eyes peek at her, and words aren’t needed any longer. Just him, and whatever he wants to do, whatever he wants.

He wants to make her feel good. A gentle finger circles around her clit and she throws her head against the pillow. Thighs twist around him, as if to lock him there, fingers knot the bed sheets and knot his tangled hair as his tongue laps around her clit. She needs more pressure, more of him, and he answers that silent plea. He slides a finger in, out, in, out, almost as good as cock. Her orgasm is sudden and all-consuming, and as he sighs against her skin, she thinks as though his name escaping from her lips is all he needs to sustain himself. A pilgrim for so long, he finally found his place of worship.

Her arms beckon him. They kiss wildly, madly, deeply. They entangle limbs, exchange sighs, share the same strangled breath as he slides inside her. It’s not just the feel of him that wraps her in ecstasy, but the warmth of him everywhere, and each new kiss that makes up for the too few last night. This is how it’s supposed to be, the two of them, bereft of the confines of their duties…Leon and Ada, and the two of them, finding a moment of still in the madness, to look into each other’s eyes, her hands cupping his stubbled cheeks, thumbs tracing the prominent cheekbones.

He says it again, I love you. She can’t deny now it wasn’t instinct, driven by the nature of their act. It was his instinct to declare what had become intrinsic to his being. Unintentionally when they first met, she caught him, and she hadn’t let go. He’s loyal to her, and she had been quietly loyal to him. Waiting for a moment like last night.

She really is so cruel.

Last night she had been possessed. They had been possessed. It explained his I love you and her kiss after. This though, this I love you is no phantom declaration in the night. It’s realer in the morning. Nights are for secrets. Morning is where they must come to face what they’ve done. This has been their morning, not running and hiding, but falling into each other’s arms as Ada and Leon. They are what they are in the dim light that spills from the curtains, and they make their own calls and a new set of rules that are neither secretive nor hidden.

He just wants her to say it back. I love you.

Her response isn’t the words, but a kiss she hopes conveys not I love you too, but how much of a figurehead he’s been in her life, how much she’s truly thought about him over the years. He shudders. He’s close. She keeps him against her body, digs her nails into his back before he can pull away, mumbles against fevered kisses she wants all of him, everything he has.  

He gives. She shudders as he comes, and instead of being wracked with guilt or shame, she implores her body to sink into his, implores the world to blur until only their room—their bed, until they’re only lovers. He can’t hear her thoughts—she’s about to tell him to stay as he is, but he rises, sits at the edge of the bed, his back toward her. She still sees stars and yet he’s not there with her. She’s left behind.

She turns toward him. Her nails left small red marks on his skin. She rises, kisses where she pressed too hard.

His sudden indifference takes her aback. It stings. It’s her own act she’s done many a time, she shouldn’t feel as she does when he takes part in her game, but he acts as though they only fucked and not made love.

“I should go,” he mutters, piercing the arrow deeper. It’s infuriating.

He stands, and it strikes her to say that he has no problem offering a show as he looks for his clothes. Naked, the sunlight contouring the defined strength of his arms, he has a certain sense of ease that he wouldn’t have had things went as they agreed, and they were just a side distraction, a rendezvous meant to blow off whatever it was that they had been carrying for years. He would have been nervous, quick. He’s anything but.

She rids herself of the sheets to rise. She grabs his hand before he can pick up his discarded shirt. “Don’t leave like this,” she orders.

He rises to his full height. “I didn’t expect…I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

But he doesn’t look into her eyes. She suspects he’s not entirely sorry.

She challenges. Her hand slides against his abdomen, his slim hip, pressing their bodies closer. “Why?” she asks. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Are her words the spell that possesses him again? Or is it her? It doesn’t matter. Once again, they’re kissing like made, grasping flesh, falling onto the bed. If it’s a spell she’s enchanted herself as well as he. Naked, sprawled against the sheets, in love with his want for her, she’s aware that when the trance breaks, she’s going to have to tell him it’s not Ada he loves, but this version of Ada that’s been living in a famine without him, pining for him, needing him, that she does untoward things like stay when she should have left. All for his arms, for his kiss. For her arms to hold him. She makes the rules, that they’re only lovers. They act like lovers do.

An eternity and a moment later, he lays with his head on her lap, her fingers idly twisting the ringlets. He says something about a shower, and she thinks when he finally does rise, she’ll join him—scrub his back for him and have the favor returned. And then, after…

They’ll find each other again. They always do. They’ll be enemies, surely, but not when they take their quarrels back to the bedroom. Then, like now, they’ll find that gap of time to be only lovers.

She laughs to herself. One moment, they told each other last night. And this is it. They were fools. They’re still fools. Happy, sated, blissful fools. And lovers.

And yet, it’d be cruel not to tell him, to let him live in an illusion.

“You don’t love me,” she whispers. “you love the me you think about when you’re lonely.”

“Not lonely now.”

He glances at her with a mischievous, knowing look. “Neither am I,” she tells him, and she even plays the part, tells him she loves him too. They’re only lovers now, after all.

“You didn’t have to say that,” he says. “I know what’s true.”

“Then what’s true?”

He rises, faces her. He cups her cheek, caresses her face. He follows with a gentle kiss.  

“Now,” he whispers. “Us.”

Backstory: I played RE4 years ago when I was super young, and Leon and Ada were one of my first ships. playing Re2 Remake recently reignited the old feels so I wanted to write something. Thanks for reading!

[colbybrocksmolder]

Nightmares - Colby Brock x Reader

Sometimes being an adult was the shit. You grabbed your phone and opened twitter, starting a new tweet. “It’s 2am, I’m sitting on my beanbag chair, in my undies and a t-shirt, bunny slippers on my feet, a bowl of Doritos in hand, watching Harry Potter. AND I finished editing my video. It’s been a good day.” You re-read it for spelling errors and hit send.

You had abandoned your boring life back in Kansas and followed in the footsteps of some of your best friends. Making tutorial videos and vlogs had finally afforded you the ability to have your own apartment and you were enjoying it to its fullest extent.

Incoming call - *Colby Jack*

Y/n – “Hey baby Brock.”

Colby – “I can’t believe you still call me that”, he said, laughing.

Y/n – “I was your brother’s friend before I was your friend”, you chuckled. “He’s Brock and you’re baby Brock.”

Colby – “Y/n, you’re barely 2 years older than me!” he argued.

Y/n – “I mean, for someone that doesn’t want to be called baby, you’re kind of acting like one.”

Colby – “You can call me baby all you want, just don’t call me A baby.”

Y/n – “Oh Jesus, Colby”, you laughed.

Colby – “That was smooth, you have to admit.”

Y/n – “I’m going to assume you didn’t call me to discuss lifelong nicknames?”

Colby – He laughed before sighing into the phone. “Dude, the AC in my apartment is broken and I’m fucking miserable. Mind if I come crash at your place?”

Y/n – “You’re always welcome over here, dude. You have a key for a reason.”

Colby – “Thaaaaaaank youuuuu”, he dramatically called out. He hopped out of bed, looking for his shoes.

Y/n – “Why did you wait until 2am to call?”

Colby – “I didn’t want to bother you. I just saw your tweet and knew you were up and awake”, he explained. You could hear his keys and the creak of his front door.

Y/n – “Just let yourself in when you get here” You said, hand on the remote ready to start the next Harry Potter movie. “Oh, and Colby?”

Colby – “Yeah?”

Y/n – “Bother me next time. Anytime.”

Colby – “I’ll see you soon” he said after a pause, hanging up.

Walking into your apartment, Colby laughed seeing that you had accurately described your night in your tweet. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of you. Messy bun, Nirvana t-shirt, bunny slippers…You were leaning forward, completely focused on the tv. He posted the picture to twitter with the caption “So @y/n wasn’t lying. She’s really out here watching Harry Potter with no pants on. Also, how mean of her not to leave some Doritos for me!”

“Have you gotten your Hogwarts letter yet?” Colby laughed, joining you in your living room.

“I have faith it’ll show up soon”, you replied. Pausing the movie, you looked over at Colby and noticed he had bags under his eyes. His hair was messy, and he looked exhausted. “You okay?”

“Better now” he replied, diving to lay on one of your couches.

“Don’t wait so long next time, dork. Just come over” you said, turning back to the tv and resuming your movie. It wasn’t 15 minutes before you started to hear quiet snores behind you. It was almost 3am so you decided to just go to bed. You slipped his shoes off for him, covered him in a blanket, and lifted his head to slide a pillow underneath it. “Sleep tight, baby Brock” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his temple.

When you woke up the next morning, Colby had already left. Granted, it was almost noon. You didn’t hear from him until 2 days later when you replied to one of his tweets.

Colby had tweeted, “Trying to fill my mind with good things, but the bad things won’t let me sleep.” It was again, like 2 in the morning. You replied, “With poetry like that we could start an emo band. I play a mean tambourine.”

Incoming call - *Colby Jack*

Y/n – You had started to say, “What’s up baby Brock?” but you barely made it to “What’s up bab…” when he interrupted you.

Colby – “Nope. Don’t say it.” You could hear him laughing.

Y/n – “I’m sure I could come up with more annoying nicknames if you reeeeeeeally wanted me to”, you teased.

Colby – “I have no doubt that that’s a fact, y/n.”

Y/n – “Well what’s up?” you asked.

Colby – “Is that invitation to crash at your place still on the table?” Colby asked. He sounded a little hesitant.

Y/n – “I told you, you don’t need to ask.”

Colby – “I don’t want to be that annoying friend you don’t want around” he replied, slipping his shoes on and heading to your place. “I don’t want you to get sick of me.”

Y/n – “You could come over every night, dude” you reassured him. “You may want to send a courtesy text to let me know you’re coming. You know, so you aren’t scarred for life seeing me wander around my apartment naked or something” you laughed.

Colby – “Oh, what a scary thought.”

Y/n – “Hey!”

Colby – “Whatever would I do seeing a beautiful naked woman with my own eyes. My innocence!” He said in a dramatic voice.

Y/n – “Innocence my ass.” You snorted. “Just let yourself in when you get here.”

You were actually enjoying Colby coming around more often. You got along really well. You two had always flirted, but nothing ever went anywhere. That didn’t mean your little crush went away. You never really pursued it thinking that he just saw you as like an older sister. I mean, if he had ever actually thought about you as more than that he would have said so, right?

Colby walked into your apartment and called out for you when he didn’t immediately see you. “Y/n!”

“In the kitchen” you replied, searching your pantry for a bag of popcorn.

Colby found you and pulled you into a hug. “What’s got you up so late?” he asked.

“Working on another video.” You sleepily answered, leaning on Colby. “I’ve had to refilm this part of the tutorial 4 fucking times. I can’t seem to demonstrate WHAT I’m actually doing to get my results. The whole point of a tutorial is so someone can follow along.”

“Hey” Colby said, backing you out of the pantry, not letting go of you. “It’s too late and you’re too tired for that to go anywhere you’re going to be happy with. Just start over tomorrow.”

“Fuuuuuuuck. You’re probably right.” You said, pulling out of the hug and throwing the unpopped bag of popcorn on the counter. “Why are YOU up, oh mysterious late-night tweeter?” you asked him.

Colby shrugged, leaving the kitchen and going to the living room. “Was just up.”

“Oh, that’s believable” you sarcastically replied. “You sure you’re okay, kid?” you plopped down on the couch next to him.

“I’ll be fine when you stop treating me like I’m 5” Colby replied a little harshly. He looked over at you and saw the concern on your face. “I’m sorry” he said, pulling you into a hug.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” you said, starting to worry a little bit.

“I really am fine, y/n. I promise.” He tried reassuring you. “Watch a movie with me?”

“Scott Pilgrim?” you asked, reaching for the remote.

“Is that even a question?” Colby smiled over at you, pulling you back to snuggle into his side after you grabbed the remote.

When you woke up, it was to Colby laying on top of you. His arms were wrapped around you and his face was snuggled into your chest. You laid there, letting him sleep. Your fingers gently brushing his hair out of his face. It felt like ages since you had seen him look so stress free.

After a bit you heard him start to mumble in his sleep. His eyes were squeezed shut and his eyebrows were tensed together. You could hear his breathing pick up a little bit. “Oh shit” you whispered, realizing he was having a bad dream. You rubbed one of your hands up and down his back while the other gently worked your fingers through his hair. “Ssshhhhh” you tried to calm him down. “Colby, you’re okay.” Slowly he quieted. His face relaxed and his breathing slowed back down. Eventually you fell back asleep. When you woke up, Colby had already left your apartment.

Over the next week, Colby had found excuses to crash at your place 3 more times. He looked just as exhausted every time he showed up at your door. You never asked him about the bad dream he had. You’d stopped asking him if he was okay, too. Every time you’d try to bring it up, he’d find a way to shut it down.

“I’m starting to think you hate your apartment” you teased, grabbing a bag of chips and joining Colby on your couch. This was yet another failed attempt at finding out why Colby had started to come around so often.

“I told you. They’re doing construction at 6 am tomorrow morning. There’s no way I’d be able to sleep through that.” Colby replied, sounding completely full of shit and looking utterly exhausted. He grabbed the remote and scrolled through your Amazon library.

“If you say so” you teased. “I’m just surprised a 22 year old kid would rather hang out here every other night than go party and…”

“I really am always just going to be a kid to you, huh?” Colby interrupted you, a sad but frustrated look on his face.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Nothing. You know what, there WAS a party tonight. I bet all the boys are still over at Brennen’s. I’ll see you later.” Colby stood up, slamming your door before you could even think of something to say.

You sat silently in your living room for the next hour trying to figure out what to do. Grabbing your phone, you text Brennen.

Y/n – “Hey, Bren. Did Colby make it to your place safe?”

Brennen – “I’m not even in the country, sister. Why is Colby going to my place? Everything okay?”

You thought about it for a second. “I bet he just went home” you said to yourself.

Y/n – You know what, I think I misheard him. I’ll just call him. Enjoy the rest of your trip!

Brennen – Thx, girl.

Sliding on your bunny slippers, you grabbed your bag and keys and headed down to your car. Using the key he gave you months ago, you opened Colby’s door as quietly as you could. You dropped your stuff on his couch and looked for him. You knew he was home because his keys were on his counter and his shoes were by the door. He wasn’t in his room, up in his loft, or in his bathroom. “What the fuck?” you said, leaning on his counter. That’s when you remembered he had a balcony. You walked to the sliding glass door and peeked outside.

“Some party you’ve got going on out here.” You snarked, scaring the shit out of Colby.

“Jesus fuck, Y/n” Colby jumped almost tumbling out of his basket chair.

“You ready to tell me what the hell is going on?” you asked, closing the door and pulling your long sleeves down over your hands. It was breezy being up so high on the balcony. Especially in the middle of the night.

“Not really” Colby said, seeing you shiver. “Come here.” Colby opened his arms, pulling his blanket back and making grabby hands towards you.

You crawled in his lap, sitting sideways, and he covered you both with the blanket. You laid your head against his chest, feeling his arms surround you. “What’s going on, Cole?”

“What, no kid? No baby Brock?” Colby said sarcastically.

“If it bothered you that much why have you never said anything about it?” you asked, sad that you had unknowingly been hurting someone you loved.  

“It never really got to me until recently.” He answered.

“Why? What changed?” you asked.

“Y/n, I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m a grown ass man. I should be able to handle it on my own.” Colby said, laying his head against the top of yours.

“You know, being a ‘grown ass man’ doesn’t mean you have to fight all your own battles. Just let me help you.” You said, searching for one of his hands to hold.

“And now I feel like a child again, needing someone to hold his hand.” Colby said, but didn’t pull his hand away.

“Who told you you needed to grow up so fucking fast?” You asked.

“It’s not that.” Colby sighed, laying his head back against the back of the chair. “I just…I really fucking hate this.”

You sat in his lap quietly, playing with the rings that never left his fingers. “What was your nightmare about?” you asked, just needing him to keep talking.

You could feel Colby’s body tense. “What?” he quietly asked.

“The other day” you explained. “I woke up and we were cuddling on the couch. I promise I wasn’t being creepy, but I was just laying there watching you sleep. You finally looked like you weren’t stressed out, but then you started having a nightmare.”

“I didn’t know I had one at your place. It never woke me up.” Colby answered.

“I tried to make it stop” you said. “Wait, you said you didn’t know you had one at my place? Is that why you’ve been coming over? You’ve been having nightmares?”

“Kind of” Colby said.

“Colby.” You lifted your head to look at him.

“I have always slept better when I’m around you.” He continued, refusing to look at you. “Ever since I was a kid, actually. Remember when everyone would fall asleep in my parent’s living room after being out all night doing dumb shit?” Colby smiled, “That’s when I figured it out. Gage used to tease me about it, but anytime I’m anxious or stressed out or can’t sleep…I just feel better when you’re there.”

“I didn’t know that.” You said, letting go of his hand to reach up and force him to look at you. “Why didn’t you just say something? You could have stayed over every night. You didn’t need to sit here alone.”

“I should be able to sleep by myself, y/n” He answered, sighing. “It’s not exactly a confidence booster for a dude to tell a beautiful girl he’s afraid to go to sleep alone.”

“I’m not A girl, though. I’m me.” You said, your hand still laying against the side of Colby’s face.

“Exactly.” He stared down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Wait.” You said, processing what he just said.

He continued talking before you could really respond. “I keep having this dream. It’s so fucking stupid, but it gets under my skin so bad. In my dream everywhere I go, everyone just laughs at me. Mocks me. It doesn’t matter if I’m paying for a meal or holding the door for someone. And it’s people I know. My family, my friends, other youtubers…And if I wake up and go back to sleep, I fall right back into the fucking dream.”

“Am I in them?” you ask, your other hand sliding up to rest on the other side of Colby’s face.

“Never.” Colby answered, staring back at you.

You adjusted your legs to straddle Colby’s lap. “What did you mean earlier? When you said ‘exactly’?”

“Don’t make me say it, y/n.” Colby said, leaning his forehead against yours and closing his eyes.

“Please?” you asked before feeling Colby shake his head no. “Is it why you hate when I call you kid? Or call you baby Brock?”

You heard Colby sigh before answering “yes.”

“Sometimes boys can be so stupid.” You said, pulling back to look at him.

“What?” Colby asked, opening his eyes.

You interrupted him, leaning in to capture his lips in a kiss. You felt his hands find their way to your waist and his tongue slide along your bottom lip, asking to deepen the kiss. After a minute, you broke apart and pulled away, breathless.

“Why didn’t you ever say something?” you asked, leaning in to tease the sensitive skin of his neck with your lips.

“Honestly?” Colby asked, tilting his head to give your better access.

“Of course.” You answered.

“When you rejected Gage, I thought there was no way I had a chance.” He answered, gasping when you found a particularly sensitive spot. “It didn’t help that I assumed you always thought of me as his annoying younger brother.”

You sucked a blossoming mark into Colby’s skin, his hands gripping your waist firmly. You heard him quietly moan your name. “Colby, I said no to Gage because I liked you.”

“Well now you tell me.” He laughed, pulling you into another kiss.

“As much as I’d love to live out this romantic moment where we make love on your balcony as the sun comes up…can we please just go to bed?” You asked, laughing and laying against Colby’s chest.

“Oh, my God. Sweeter words have never been spoken to me in my entire life.” He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. “Let’s go to bed. I haven’t slept since I crashed at your place 2 nights ago.”

Crawling off of his lap, you pulled him out of the basket chair and into the apartment. “Yeah, I’m still a little mad you didn’t tell me you couldn’t sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it. You aren’t going to be able to get rid of me now.” Colby followed you into his bedroom. Stripping down to his boxers, he crawled into bed first. “Come here, baby girl.”

“Oh, now I’m the baby?” you sleepily laughed, ditching your slippers and your bra. You crawled under the covers, sliding your body against Colby’s.

“Hey, don’t take this from me. I’ve been waiting a long time to call you baby.” He wrapped his arms around you, the two of you falling asleep a few minutes later.  

[doctorslippery]

Something bad is happening in Kansas. A strange meteor fell from the sky and the government has sent you to sort it out. A yellow brick highway leads between cornfields towards a distant green glow on the horizon.

This is a depth mechanic. Take a step into the zone by rolling d6 on each table and adding 2 for each step you've already taken. Keep going until you destroy the Super-Wizard. Or you could put it on a grid and treat it as a squarecrawl, it's up to you.

LANDMARK

Big white cross on the top of a hill. Crows circling overhead. Grants a blessing to anyone who's willing to kneel before it and commit their soul to Jesus Christ.

Gas station. Wizened old man with shotgun behind the counter. He'll sell you snacks and potions if you can convince him you're not a thief or a jayhawker.

Old-fashioned wooden grain elevator. The inside smells of sweet corn. Mutilated, rat-chewed bodies hang by necks from rafters. SLAVER written on walls in blood.

Row of oil derricks. Guarded by a creaky, rust-riddled mechanical man. The slightest disturbance to the pumps will cause an explosive gusher that spews crude oil everywhere.

Abandoned farmhouse. Haunted by spooky ghosts. In barn, covered by tarpaulin, strange machine of coiled glass that can project people into the Phantom Zone.

Corn maze. Grows new walls to trap sinners. Scarecrow men lurk in the corn. Farm princess trapped in the longhorn minotaur's central lair - only her kiss can slay the beast.

Wagon train. Pilgrims terrified of "Injuns", have circled their wagons to protect against surprise attack. On their way to ask the Super-Wizard to help them get to Oregon.

Cheap motel. Clan of desperate bank robbers hiding out in room one through four. Innocent travelling salesman in room five. Pimpled teen on counter reading comic books.

Revival meeting. Big white tent. Preacher baptising converts in a tin tub and inducting them into the Army of Gilead. Wants you to join and won't take no for an answer.

Baseball field. Overgrown. Mechanical men play ball, their rusty joints squeaking, in front of the empty stands. Score a home run off the batter and he'll spit out a prize.

Railway station. Glum hobos dwell in forgotton freight train, its wheels rusted to the track. Manic mechanical station-master insists on taking your ticket.

Sculpture garden. Grotesque scrap-metal caricatures of celebrities and politicians. Owner has declared himself the Kansas antipope and wears a tinfoil mitre.

Applebee's. In every way a fully-functioning, completely regular Applebee's. No trick whatsoever. Try the shrimp 'n' parmesan sirloin or the double-glazed baby-back ribs.

Bible museum. Sleepy tame dinosaurs inhabit a life-size model of the Temple of Solomon. Friendly pastor explains how God created them to show that evolution is a lie.

Saloon bar. Piano stops as you walk in. Whiskey-sodden desperadoes slump against the bar. Football plays on TV in the corner. High-stakes poker game going on upstairs.

Wal-Mart. Libertarian management policies have led to a civil war raging between the aisles, with every department ruthlessly competing for your business.

Meatpacking plant. Blood-smeared mechanical men herd screaming cows across the factory floor, slaughter them and extract their organs for use in Super-Wizardry.

Clockwork factory. Mechanical men labouring tirelessly to produce more of their own. Interlopers have their brains chopped out and used in grotesque experiments.

The Perfect City of the Super-Wizard. Lobotomised suburbanites with gleaming, drool-slick smiles shuffle between rows of identical green houses, watched by mechanical police.

The Atomic Fortress of the Super-Wizard. Citadel of green crystal, home to a legion of mechanical men. Grew from a seed in a crashed alien spaceship.

ENCOUNTER

Looming grey tornado, slowly rolling towards you. Cows and houses orbiting around it. Psychic baby with giant brain levitating serenely in the eye.

Jayhawkers from the Army of Gilead. Men in red trousers and floppy hats, armed with rifles and broadswords, hunting down pagans and industralists in the name of Free Kansas.

Satanist serial killer with mask made of human skin and swastikas carved down his arms, armed with an iron sickle, preparing to chop you up. Surprisingly stealthy for such a big guy.

Phalanx of mechanical men, armed with axes, out looking for human brains to extract and return to the Atomic Fortress so the Super-Wizard can make more of them.

Cynical teen genius with a laser gun. Perfectly bald. Cannot be restrained from denying the existence of God. Obsessively tinkers with every machine they can find.

Longhorn minotaur. Hideously overmuscled from bovine growth hormone. Twelve-foot hornspan makes doors difficult. Wants to bring you back to the corn maze and eat you.

Pack of masked harlequins with blood-stained teeth and wheels for hands and feet. Act like rabid wolves. Scarily quick on flat ground, but have difficulty turning.

Red-haired boy reporter looking for the story of a lifetime. Excitable. Prone to ludicrous bad luck but is never actually seriously hurt. Constantly needs rescuing though.

Stone-faced war preacher and band of jayhawkers looking for recruits for a military raid on the Atomic Fortress, intending to abolish the Wizard and all his sinful works.

Woman in aviator goggles and diaphanous white robes. Claims to be the rainbow's daughter, fallen out of the sky. Can only eat the purest dewdrops and is therefore slowly starving.

Shaggy-haired sasquatch in a battered top hat, wielding an enchanted magnet that compels people to love him. Depressed. Seeking someone more deserving to give the magnet to.

Robotic flesh-eating worm with the head of Hillary Clinton. Wants to take your guns, raise your taxes, drink the blood of aborted children and convert Kansas to Islamic communism.

Flock of yellow-fanged baboons with vulture wings, in comical blue jackets. Vicious, but crave discipline. Looking for a witch to govern them and keep their mischievous impulses in check.

Giant hungry tiger. Wants to kill and eat some big fat babies, but can't, because she's born again in Jesus Christ and very active in the pro-life movement. Won't stop talking about it.

Barber-surgeon with tuberculosis and a huge bushy moustache, looking for tooth-pulling work. Expert gunfighter but won't admit it, since he keeps getting challenged to duels.

Obese purple leech-mouthed parasite man that drains energy by touch, getting fatter and stronger as it goes. Leaves behind a trail of smouldering skeletons. Scared of eggs.

Four-faced brass helicopter heads kept in air by impractical Da Vinci corkscrews. Loudly announce their intention to devour you. Easily distracted by philosophical riddles.

Reverse-talking bizarro clones of the PCs with chalky white skin and inverted systems of morality. Want to do exactly the opposite of whatever the PCs want to do.

The Green Guardian. Secret weapon of the Super-Wizard. Muscled adonis in acrobat's tights with magnificent emerald beard and moustache. Impossibly strong, naive, refuses to kill.

The Super-Wizard. Toymaker in a checked waistcoat with pockets full of marvels. Pretends to grant wishes with holograms. Planning to conquer the world with mechanical men.

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 14

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | Crossposted to AO3

The report didn’t get finished that night, but his automated trace on Darok did. It would help monitor most public and low-security information. Any high-clearance snooping was a manual process systems had been put in place to prevent automated data mining. Several of which were of his own design after he’d found the flaws several years back.

Of course, having such an intimate knowledge of the SIS systems helped him keep off the radar, as long as he kept a clear head about him. It also helped that his official assignment was to assist with the investigation on finding out how the Imps had managed to get to Tython. Which he was, just… splitting his attention some.

Officially, none of it led to Darok, which was frustrating, but not to be unexpected. Thus far, Theron had been able to identify two leaks associated with the attack on Tython, but had several more flagged for follow-up. The first was the Sith capture of a Jedi Archivist that worked in the Tython library, and the other was an ignored report from a cargo pilot that frequented the temple regarding the theft of a manifest that included information on her route and the hyperlanes.

These leaks mirrored his own datamining into the Korriban op too closely for his own comfort. If he were a suspicious man, which he was, he would suspect that the information he had found had been planted. By someone leaving just enough bread crumbs for a clever enough intelligence operative to put the pieces together. If that was the case, someone had used the SIS, and more specifically him, in whatever this was.

His implants pinged him with an alert from his automated trace, cutting through his sour mood. Seeing that it was a passenger manifest of a flight departing Tython, he pulled away form the terminal he’d been manning most of the day and surreptitiously pulled out his datapad to review the passenger list. It appeared that Darok was leaving the Temple, and his current destination looked like it was Carrick Station.

Theron was about to do some minor slicing into the colonel’s schedule to see exactly what he had planned, when he got an inbox notification.

To: Theron Shan From: Greyias Highwind Subject: HI!

Heya Spyboy—we haven’t met officially, but the boss asked me to write to you from this address. (I’m Kira, I’m sure you’ve read about me. I hear you have a file on all of us! What does mine say?) She got pulled away with a meeting with the Pilgrim Matriarch. Or a hugfest, not really sure what’s going on over there. Anyway, she wanted me to let you know right away that some ‘mutual friend’ of you two had to leave the planet on a meeting?

Good riddance I say. He was cramping our style. Scourge almost started a lightsaber fight with one of his men when they kept blocking the door to the Archives. But this is Scourge, so it could just be Taungsday.

Okay, I’m getting a look now, so maybe this letter was supposed to be shorter. I promise I’ve only looked at like all of your messages to her. What’s this about a mythological bracelet? Are you two going treasure hunting? Can I come? I promise to bring snacks.

Theron couldn’t suppress a groan, massaging his forehead as he read the contents of the message. He had only just gotten to the end of it, when another notification pinged.

To: Theron Shan From: Greyias Highwind Subject: Apologies

Apparently my former Padawan can’t be trusted with the simple task of writing a sentence and pressing the send button. I got pulled away in the middle of my message and asked her to finish it since I thought it was important to keep you updated on… our “friend’s” whereabouts. Clearly my inbox was too great a temptation for her to pass up.

To: Greyias Highwind From: Theron Shan Subject: Really?

I’m making the bold assumption this message is being read by its intended recipient now, and that you’ve changed all of your security protocols and passcodes? And that in the future you won’t be handing off future dictation requests to your nosy secretary?

I’m aware of our our friend’s movements, and if there’s anything noteworthy I will let you know. I trust you’ll also inform me if I need to be aware of any incidents between your crew and SpecOps? Things that, say, might hamper my efforts on this end?

You should probably also let Kira know that we’re not going on a treasure hunt. I think she was far too excited about that.

He stared at the screen for a few moments, debating whether he should ask about Dentiri. Seeing as she hadn’t brought it up, he decided against it, and just pressed send before he thought on it too long. Besides, he didn’t intend to start a letter writing campaign here. His time was better spent on the investigation—both the official one he was conducting and the private one.

Of course, if he didn’t want a reply, he shouldn’t have asked any questions.

To: Theron Shan From: Greyias Highwind Subject: Yes Really

There was nothing noteworthy to report on this end regarding my crew’s interactions with SpecOps. We’re simply trying to do what we can right now, and most of the Republic forces arriving are of great help. We will likely be called away soon, but I’m hoping that some members of the Council will arrive before then. No offense to the military, but I would feel more comfortable leaving with one of the Order’s leaders in charge. I hope we do not have to miss the memorial service, but a Jedi must go where they are needed most.

Until then, I will await your reply of these “noteworthy” revelations. 

I have also informed Kira that there will be no hunt for the Lost Bracelet of Darth Lahvvish. I have never heard of this Sith nor know why she was so careless with her jewelry, but I don’t want to ask. Kira seems crushed enough as it is.

However, maybe you should look into the mystery, since you’ve got access to all of those special databases to know where everyone is at all times. Maybe they can give you the clue to the location of the missing Bracelet of Fellowship, last seen in the Sea of Hypothesis? Just a thought.

“Hey, Shan, you okay there? You look like you’re having a stroke.”

“What?” Theron was torn away from the datapad to see Jonas Balkar’s stupid smirking face leaning into his cubicle.

“Well, that or you might be starting to form a smile, and I know that’s not physically possible.”

“Shut it, Balkar.” He quickly stowed the datapad away before it attracted the other agent’s attention. “What are you doing here? Thought you were living it up on Nar Shaddaa.”

“Trant pulled me back, said he needed more eyes on this Tython thing and wanted the best.”

“I think you got the memo meant for me. You can run back along to playing nice with the Hutts.”

“Pass.” Jonas sauntered over, throwing an arm around Theron’s shoulders. “Now, since it’s quitting time and your old buddy’s back in town—“

“We’re not buddies.”

“—I say it’s high time we go get a drink.”

“I’m not—“

Jonas apparently wasn’t listening and already in the mood for a good hangover. Using his grip on the other man’s shoulders, he propelled his fellow agent towards the door. Sure, Theron could have popped the other man’s arm out of its socket and reclaimed his personal space and evening plans of spying on Darok… but he really didn’t want to have that conversation with Marcus again.

“Fine,” Theron muttered darkly, “one drink. But if this winds up being another one of your stupid schemes, I’m going to rearrange that pretty face so all the girls run away at their first look at you.”

“No need to get possessive, Shan. You’ll always be my number one.”

“Bite me, Balkar.”

[fenrislorsrai]

Their first solo outing was to go scout the old pilgrim road that went through the Girl Guide camp. They’d leave the portion in the camp proper to the Guides to do themselves as a project. They went up midweek so as to avoid running into anyone other than the resident caretaker and her wife who greeted them in morning before heading off to work in town. The camp gave them a convenient place to park the Bentley and a good starting point. There was a pretty clear holloway through the camp lined with trees. Once they reached the edge of camp property though, much of the trees had been felled and bracken crowded down into the path. There was also private property sign and a fence across the track where it left camp, which Crowley made short work of. They took initial readings and then consulted maps.

“It should go off that way in general” Crowley pointed “and eventually end up at little pilgrim’s hut, or what’s left of it, a few miles on. I think between the two of us, we’ve got good odds of being able to feel that clearly even if the map’s a bit vague on location. Though I also had an idea if you’re up for it.”

“You’ve got me up for all sorts of new things recently, so let’s hear it.”

“Wellllllll, when’s the last time you went for a flight?”

“Oh, oh, not in a long time.” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered nervously and an anxious tone crept into voice. “What if someone saw us?”

“Our sides don’t care anymore.” Crowley’s voice was soft, reassuring, and Aziraphale calmed a little, the anxiety having been more habit than anything. “As to humans, I don’t think there’s much of anyone out in the middle of private fields on a Tuesday morning. Not even any sheep out here.”

“It would be nice…. But won’t that make taking your measurements a bit hard?”

“Most of it we’ll do on foot. I figure we can try when we get to the area where we’re searching for hut, which isn’t directly on path. There was allegedly a stone post near it that is now probably buried under the bracken, but probably it can still be seen from above.”

“Well then, let's get a wiggle on.” Crowley rolled his eyes at that, but took Aziraphale’s hand anyway.

The path was initially easy to follow and the main problem was finding something to use as a reference point for taking a measurement. They ended up just using distances and GPS markings for much of it since there wasn’t much to go on. After about a mile it became more confusing as the holloway joined several other sunken lanes, possibly due to erosion from when the trees were cut or possibly just undulations in terrain that were now becoming difficult to tell apart from the main lane. It was badly overgrown so that wasn’t even a good indication of actual path. Crowley was stopping more and doing slow little turns to pick out route. Sometimes he had to to get a little ways away from Aziraphale to not have the angel interfering with ability to feel faint sense of holiness associated with the old pilgrim road. He eventually reached the point where he couldn’t tell which of several slight rolls in ground was the actual path as they all seemed to have been at some point.

“I think we’re at a point where flight may be a good idea. You fly, I’ll tell you what to look for in what direction and how far. You’ve got much better distance vision than I do.”

“Doublecheck no one is looking.” Crowley briefly focused. “Do cows count? Cause there’s one that way.” He waved in direction of a cow that was hidden somewhere off in the rolling bracken.

“No”

“Then nobody’s looking.”

Aziraphale extended wings and rolled neck slightly as he resettled shoulders. “Where am I going?”

“If we’re oriented correctly and the map’s semi-accurate, about one mile that way should be the pilgrim’s hut. There should be a stone pillar by it. It should be a little bit off the pilgrim road. I THINK the marking here indicates the hut was in a hollow with a water seep out of the slight hill by it. So vegetation might be a different color there.”

Aziraphale looked at map on tablet for a moment and had Crowley indicate distance again, trying to use much more distant landmark on horizon to orient him on a straight path.

“If you get too far off course, look back and I’ll wave you back on course. Now do you want a hand off ground?”

“A hand?”

“We’re in a bit of a hollow and in bracken, it's a bit of a jump to make from ground. I can give you a boost up to keep wings clear of ground, make take off easier. It’s been awhile.”

“It has.” Aziraphale wrinkled nose. “I don’t think I’m that out of practice… but I’ve also never had anyone offer that kind of help either. Just you.”

Crowley colored a bit at that. “I’ve given you hand up onto a horse plenty of times. Its same basic move, just lifting a bit higher.”

“I believe I elbowed you in the head last time you helped me onto a horse.”

“Aren’t you glad I have a car?”

“Very.”

“Try not to elbow me or hit me with a wing.” Crowley twined his fingers together and bent over just a little so Aziraphale could get foot in cupped hands. “Hand on shoulder. I’ll lift on three. ON three.”

Aziraphale flared wings out a bit to get balance and pull them high enough to hopefully not hit Crowley on downbeat. “Ready ON three.”

“One. Two. Three!” Crowley heaved and Aziraphale pushed off and brought wings down. He didn’t hit Crowley, but the demon still fell on his butt on the ground, driven down by the power of that push off and battered by the downdraft of those wings. His breath was knocked out of him. He didn’t get that many reminders of Aziraphale having originally being built as a warrior, but the sheer power of that…

Aziraphale wheeled back around and looked like he was going to land to check on him. “I’m fine!” Crowley waved from ground. “Forgot about the downdraft. Go look!”

He took a minute to sit, just enjoying seeing Aziraphale fly. It HAD been a long time. He’d certainly seen the angel’s wings more recently and they’d even groomed each other a few times in the last year, but it had to have been millennia since he’d seen him fly. From the slight wobble here and there, it had clearly been awhile for Aziraphale too, though he seemed to get back in the practice quite quickly and get to the task of methodically looking for the reference points Crowley wanted. He could tell when Aziraphale spotted it as he did spiral downward before pulling up quickly.

Crowley got up then to make it easier to see him. Aziraphale wheeled back and did a little spiral over him “Found it! The actual path too! Easy to see from up here!”

“Alright! Guide me along route, I’ll drop some markers and we’ll take measurements on way back!” Aziraphale had to do a bunch of different passes to indicate right route to mark out. Neither of their wings were suited for hovering unless they used a miracle to do so. So Aziraphale did a low pass relatively close to ground to indicate actual path through bracken and then would sharply climb and loop back to pass over same ground again. He gradually got more confident in passes and Crowley could then feel buffet of wind as Aziraphale passed low over him and passed along route, seeming to get lower every time. He was starting to feel like he should duck.

“Show off!”

“You suggested it!”

Crowley grumbled a little at that, but he had. Aziraphale gave one more pass over him and then landed slightly ahead of him. It was not the most graceful landing since ground was uneven. Aziraphale turned around looking delighted.

“That was a capital idea. Thank you, dear. I’ve gotten so used to not, I’d almost forgot I could.”

“How long has it been?”

“Oh dear. I think it was France.”

“The crepes?”

“Yes.”

“Hadn't you gotten in trouble just before that for frivolous miracles and then you’re off flying?”

“Well yes, but that doesn’t take a miracle. Unless you’re seen.” He went to resettle wings slightly. “Oh, I do think I will feel that later. It has been awhile. I think I need to sit down.”

“Here, show me where this hut was is so I can put down a reference marker and then we’ll sit and have some tea and I can get bracken out of your wing tips.”

“Oh you’re going to laugh.” Aziraphale pointed to side and Crowley scrambled through bracken to spot that was overrun with different creeping plant with variegated leaves and tall flower stalks just starting to get yellow buds on them. He could see stone block just barely protruding above surrounding plants, with a rusted off piece of metal protruding from it that had once probably had a ring to tie a horse or ox to.

“Oh come on. Really? Yellow archangel?”

“At least it makes it easy to find again later.”

Crowley scrambled back over to Aziraphale, who’d since sat down. “I’ll finish marking that out later. Let me get any bracken bits off your wings and we’ll do proper cleaning when we get home.”

Crowley handed Aziraphale the bag he’d been carrying so he could find the thermos of tea and some biscuits while Crowley gave him a quick once over.

“How’d you find the path so quick?”

“Stone chips thrown in the path. Can see them glittering in the sun pretty easily. The spot you got lost at didn’t have much, so something must have happened at some point where the path got moved. Possibly washed out. It did resume a bit behind you, so we were close. It continues on past here too, but I’m not how far you intended to go today”

“Just to here, it's what I brought maps for. But that should make the rest of this route easy. Hmmm, if a lot of the other ones are like that, may have to make you fly a lot more often than once every few centuries. Though you can put them away for now.” Aziraphale sighed slightly and stretched wings out one more time before tucking them away.

Crowley had some of the tea as well but skipped the biscuits while he kicked around in the bracken to see if he could find the remains of hut. He could find top edge of what was probably pole framing at some point sticking up slightly out of ground. A little casual digging revealed some decayed wattle and daub at the very bottom. He didn’t want to dig anymore, so took reference photos to indicate they had found what probably was the old hut, making sure to get the standing stone pillar in the photos as well. He recorded even more distance measurements and the GPS coordinates.

“I think we can head back and get the rest of the measurements on way. You ready?”

“Maybe another few minutes just sitting. That was a lot. It has been a long time.” Aziraphale looked a little sheepish. Crowley settle down next to him, ready to sit as long as Aziraphale needed. “How long has it been for you?”

Crowley made a face as he thought. “Ngk...second World War?” He scoured brain. Surely it had been more recent than that? “How has it been that long?”

“We let our world get small.”

Crowley bumped his shoulder against Aziraphale's. “Guess this is good for us then. You still have way better eyesight than I do, so I think you get to do the real work in that regard.”

Aziraphale bumped him back “You’re going to have to just fly for pleasure then.”

“Not today I think. But soon. With you.”

“Together”

“Yeah.”

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

Part of a much longer fic “Find Your Way” over on AO3.  Which, yes, does have Crowley going flying WITH Aziraphale. 

[hydrospanners]

every doubt we had

"the force flows through all things. it surrounds us and penetrates us; it binds the galaxy together."

it's been years since he last saw his wife, but when doc starts experiencing strange sensations and having odd dreams, he knows it's the force bringing them together somehow. but trapped on ossus with no communications and no way out, seeing her again may bring as much pain as it does joy. SWTOR. Established F!Jedi Knight x Doc. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. 2400 words. AO3.

written as a gift for @hoiist featuring her knight, viios.

At first, he thinks it’s a cramp. Doc wakes from sleep with a clenched jaw, an echo of pain shooting up his thigh, and thinks maybe he needs to lay off the energy pudding for a while.

When it happens again, he figures it’s time to accept he’s not as young as he used to be. He figures he might need to work more muscles than the ones he’s building for the extremely athletic sex he hopes to have with his wife again some day soon.

Time waits for no man, he figures, so he makes changes. He eats whole foods, straight from the pilgrims’ fields, and he stretches with the Junior Jedi at dawn. He cuts back on the caf, drinks more water. He spends some quality time with his bunk. And after a few weeks, he thinks the problem is solved. He might not be immune to the effects of age, but he won’t be crippled by them either.

Then it happens again.

It happens again and it’s worse than before, liquid fire pouring through his veins that leaves him gasping for breath when he jerks awake. Awake, but blinking up at a ceiling that isn’t his, hearing the low murmur of voices he doesn’t recognize, with the feel of sheets softer than anything the Jedi have against his skin. Awake, but somewhere else. Somewhere different.

Someone different?

Doc drops back into his quiet, scratchy reality with no warning, and he barely has time to grab the bin before the wretching starts.

It goes on for a long time. Over and over and over until his muscles ache and his vision blurs and his throat’s scraped raw from the acid. Until he’s collapsed on the floor of his bunk, sweating and exhausted with nothing left to heave and echoes of a burning pain still pulsing through his leg.

He pings Nadia from the floor, too tired to get up. He might not know much about the Force, but he recognizes these symptoms, knows them like the back of his own hand, and he knows they don’t belong to him.

He must really look like shit because Nadia doesn’t tease him at all when she shows up at his door, clutching her robe against the cold and blinking sleep from her eyes.

Stars, but he hopes Force visions don’t go both ways. He hopes she didn’t see him like that, hopes the first glimpse she’s had of him in five years wasn’t sweaty and pallid with hair stuck to his forehead and bile crusting on his lips.

He tries not to think about how she has bigger problems right now than the relative sex appeal of her errant husband.

“I saw her,” he croaks, his throat raw and burning. “Vii. I saw her.”

Nadia does him the kindness of not looking at him with pity. It’s why he called her. She’s not going to give him that look the other Jedi sometimes do, the one that says he’s an object lesson in the dangers of attachments. She’s not going to doubt his sanity because of his heart. She just gets him a wet rag and a glass of water and asks for every detail of what he saw.

He tells her. All of it, every color and every sound, every agonizing sensation. He tells her everything he experienced and every worry it awoke in him. He tells her about Vii’s cybernetics, about the poison and the failures, about what he thinks it all means.

Nadia doesn’t have any answers; Jedi rarely do.

Doc figures he won’t need their answers if he can get them from Vii herself. If he can get to wherever she is. But no amount of pleading or threatening will move the Jedi to open communications. They won’t let him leave, either. They can’t risk the safety of the whole colony because he had a bad dream.

He’s trapped. Helpless. Vii needs him and all he can do is wait for her to reach out. Wait for her to sneak into his dreams and share her pain with him again.

He sleeps as often as he can. He gives up caf and energy pudding and every other stimulant that’s ever helped him get through the day. He meditates with the Jedi and when that isn’t enough, he medicates too. He sleeps more than he’s awake, always thinking of Vii, always waiting.

Days pass, then weeks.

Nadia starts looking at him with the same knowing pity as the rest of them, her eyes flicking from his too-long hair to the beard covering his jaw. To the streaks of grey at his temples and the bags under his eyes. No one who sleeps so much should look so tired, but here he is.

And none of it matters.

There are no more cramps. No phantom pains, no voices he doesn’t recognize. No dreams. Nothing.

It’s just him and the weight of all his knowledge, all his skill that feels so fucking meaningless when he can’t use it to help her.

“If she isn’t reaching out to you,” Nadia tries to tell him, “it could just mean she isn’t suffering anymore. It could mean she’s fine.”

There’s another way her suffering could have ended, but Nadia doesn’t mention that.

“She wouldn’t want you to tear yourself apart like this,” she says. “Take care of yourself, Doc. Think of the good times.”

He does.

It hurts, like the way too-sweet food stings your teeth. It hurts, but it feels good too. It feels like relief, like warmth and sunshine and happiness he hasn’t felt in years.

They used to be so happy.

On the beach that day, one of the few perfect days in his life, no one had ever been happier than they were. Sand on their shoulders and salt in their hair--Doc closes his eyes and he can almost feel the heat of the sun warming his skin, can almost hear the crashing waves.

He opens his eyes and he can see it, can see everything just like he’s back there, like he’s living the moment all over again. Vii’s legs draped over his, ice cream cones in both their hands, the galaxy’s problems a million lightyears away. She looks just like he remembers, hair loose and tangling in the breeze, that ridiculous pineapple shirt falling off her shoulders. They bought a matching pair, but even the smallest size swallowed her. He made that hideous thing look good, but Vii--

Vii makes it almost unbearably sexy. Almost unbearably cute, too. It’s so unfair how she can be both at the same time. It’s more than a man can take.

He watches as her tongue slides along the curve of her ice cream, as the top scoop starts to slip from its perch. He watches her face, savoring every moment as she realizes what’s happening, as her expression pinches in utter betrayal, as the ice cream plummets right into the--

Into--

--her hand?

Doc blinks.

Vii smiles at the half-eaten scoop of ice cream melting in her sandy palm. “Not getting away from me this time.”

“Vii?”

She looks up at him and her smile melts into shock. “Doc?”

She reaches for him without thinking, her hand still full of ice cream when she rests it against his cheek. He can feel the cold of it just like it was real, like all of this is real and not just some distant dream. Like this isn’t just a memory warped by longing and sedatives.

He leans into her cold, sticky fingers. “Vii,” he sighs.

She’s looking up at him with her eye wide and her mouth gaping open, her perfect, plush lips rounded in a way that’s just begging to be kissed.

So he kisses them. Gently. Tenderly. His lips on hers, all sweet pressure and soft caress. All delicacy and longing.

Vii sighs his name into his mouth and he can taste the sweetness on her breath, feel the heat of it on his tongue. He shivers, his mouth opening for her as she pulls him closer. Closer and closer, their noses crushed between them, breathing as one, moving together, touching, tasting…

He’s never tasted anything better than Vii, salt on her lips and sugar on her tongue.

Her kiss isn’t as delicate. It’s hungry and urgent, all nipping teeth and gasping breaths and long strokes of tongue. She’s devouring him, desperate in a way he rarely sees her, her hands all over him, sticky and gritty where they drag across his jaw and through his hair, where they slide down his throat and his chest, where they dig into his shoulders and his arms.

She kisses him until he’s dizzy, until he’s breathless and burning, hard for her though she’s barely even touched him.

Vii’s fingers cup his jaw, drawing his forehead down to rest against hers as she brushes her nose alongside his, shallow breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.

Doc doesn’t realize he’s crying until she kisses the tears from his cheeks.

“I’m here,” she whispers. “I love you. I’m here.”

His thoughts are so hazy, swallowed up with lust and longing and love, but there was something he needed to ask. Something important. Something--

“Your leg.”

He looks down, his throat closing up as her leg changes before his eyes, as warm, supple flesh melts into unyielding durasteel. “Gorgeous,” he chokes. “Gorgeous, your--”

Her thumb brushes the tears from his cheeks as she shushes him. It’s absurd that she’s trying to comfort him when it’s her leg, when it’s her pain, but--

“I wasn’t there.”

“It’s okay,” she whispers back. “I’m okay.”

But Vii’s never been good at lying, and she didn’t marry a fool. “If you were okay, you wouldn’t be here,” he says. “Gorgeous--” He gasps as phantom pain pulses in his hip, and Vii gasps with him, sagging against his chest, her hands clutching at his shoulders. It burns and it aches, stronger with every beat of her heart.

“Vii. Look at me, Beautiful.” She does. Her eye is glistening with tears, the color draining from her skin as she trembles, gasping shallow little breaths of air. He doesn’t need her to describe what she’s feeling because he can feel the echo of it, but he needs her to know what it is. He needs her to hear him, to tell whatever dipshit slapped this thing on her--”Your body is rejecting the implant, Vii. Something’s wrong and they need to--”

“I know,” she gasps, not quite looking him in the eye. “We waited too long and it’s not taking. I know.”

His heart clenches.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, but the tremor in her voice does not reassure him.

“Tell me where you are, Gorgeous,” he pleads. “Let me fix this.”

“I can’t--” She winces, her lips pinching together. “I can’t think. I can’t remember.” Then another lance of pain strikes, and all she can do is bury her head in his chest, her fingers clutching at his shoulders tight enough to bruise.

He holds her. One hand on her back, gently stroking the places where hard metal meets soft skin, the other in her hair, fingers on her scalp, kneading and rubbing. He feels hot tears against his skin and presses kisses to the top of her head. It’s all he can do. All he can give her with so many lightyears between them.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

She trembles and she gasps and he keeps holding her, keeps whispering soothing nothings as the pain comes in waves like the water that laps at his feet. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, doesn’t know if the rules of time work the same here as they do in the waking world. But he holds her and she clings to him and eventually, the pain passes.

Eventually, Vii slumps boneless against him, drawing in a long, shuddering breath, and there is nothing but the two of them and the memory they share, nothing but melted ice cream and the ocean and the sand and the sun.

“I just wanted to see you,” she whispers, once she has caught her breath. “Everything hurt and I just wanted to feel--”

“Happy?” Doc finishes for her. He smiles despite himself, despite everything, and he can feel her smiling too.

She presses a sweet kiss to his chest and looks up at him, her face so full of longing he almost can’t stand to look at it. “Did you think of this too?” She asks.

He nods. “It was a good day.”

“The best.”

He wants to kiss her again, to run his hands and his tongue all over her body, to give her as much pleasure as she’s had pain, but there’s clouds starting to cover the sun and he knows, somehow, that their time is running out.

“We’ll have good days again,” Vii says. And this time she isn’t lying. This time she isn’t just trying to take away his pain.

This is a promise.

“We’ll have good days again,” he says.

And Vii kisses him. Sudden and hard, her lips pressing hard enough to bruise, her eyes screwed shut. His eyes are still open, surprised, when the clouds move in front of the sun and--

Darkness.

Darkness and quiet, a sliver of moonlight coming through the window of his bunk, his sheets scratchy and hot against his skin.

Doc sits up in bed, throws back his quilt and swings his feet to the floor. He rubs the sleep and crusted tears from his eyes, the wisp of a dream dancing at the edges of his mind. Something about the ocean…

He limps to the fresher, his leg aching again, and curses the Jedi for trapping him here, for not having answers and not letting him find his own. He flicks on the light and stares at himself in the mirror, not recognizing the man who stares back. Not recognizing the swollen lips or the bloodshot eyes or the purple bruises blooming on his shoulders. He touches his fingers to his cheek, to the tacky, blue something that’s stuck to his beard, that he can’t remember being there when he fell asleep. It smells sweet, and against his better judgment, he licks it from his fingers.

It tastes like ice cream.

[slothgiirl]

Y/N and Harry Styles soulmate au

“I don't know why you're dragging your feet so much,” Lydia mutters, “you like the band.” She's still fixing her hair and makeup, appraising her reflection in the mirror as you pour out a couple of clean shot glasses full of vodka. You're all out of juice so you'll have to bear the sting as it goes down. “And you're not even paying.”

The concert tickets had been a gift to Lydia from her ex boyfriend Graham. They had broken up a week ago when his soulmate mark had started itching, blurry name solidifying into a name as he spent more and more time with his soulmate, and now she was forcing you to come with. 

You sigh, twirling a strand of hair in your fingers, before shrugging. “I'm not into concerts much I guess.”

In all honestly you hadn't even put up much of a fight other than initially saying you weren't that interested. But she was your friend and that triumphed all. 

While people commonly and tentatively dated while waiting for that itch, for that casual bumping into the one, it still sucked to get dumped. To be left waiting for your person amongst billions.

“Who isn't into concerts,” she replies in disbelief, shaking her head, kinky hair slicked back into two cute and tiny buns. “And you like the band!”

You shrug again, helplessly. “They're just not my thing,” you tell her as she knocks back two shots. It was all about the pregame.

It's not even that you’d rather stay in and watch tv or youtube or sleep or anything. It just really wasn't your thing. You'd been to a few shows in your fresher year at uni, and it hadn't been as great as you'd imagined.

She rolls her perpetually narrowed eyes, giving her the infamous resting bitch face. It was her superpower you'd both joked, keeping people away from her on the bus. “Well I promise you'll have lots of fun! How could you not with me?”

At that, you can't help but laugh, smiling over at her, “I'll hold you to that.”

“Okay then let's go.”

*

The loud heavy bass and vodka do their job, sinking down into your brain, hammering all else away as you dance along to the music with one of your closest friends right there besides you. Lydia for her part, looks a lot better. She hadn't truly looked happy since she'd learned that her ex had found his soulmate.

Now she was dancing, shimmery highlighter visible even in the dim lighting.

Looking out our as she finishes off her pina colada like it'll single handedly transport her back to the beaches of spain.

“I'll get you another,” you whisper loudly in her ear, trying to make yourself understood over the noise. It's the least you could do and she deserves it.

“Hurry back,” is her reply, barely audible over the music being played. They were just as good as you thought they would be, given the music they made. The vibe was completely different then listening via your headphones.

It was cool. Not that you'd be admitting that anytime so, you thought as you approached the bar, tucked into an alcove. The bartender looking cooler than the girl from Scott Pilgrim. The effortless and disinterested cool that you'd strived for and failed to ever achieve during your teen angst.

You still wouldn't go out of your way to see a band live.

“Pina colada and a beer,” you ask the bartender, already forking over an arm and a leg for both drinks. You both should slow down. But Lydia deserved to get it all out, so that left you to play the role of responsible adult. Which was laughable. Your laundry only ever got done because you ran out of clean underwear.

“Is it cool to see free shows all the time,” you ask the bartender while she finishes making the drinks.

She shrugs non committedly, “it’s less cool after a while. Tips are pretty good though.”’

You take both drinks, making your way back over, accidentally bumping into someone despite your best efforts to avoid it.  “Sorry,” you’re already saying before they can finish turning around.

The man’s tall, attractive, and vaguely familiar, but it’s too dark to see his features clearly. Smiling kindly as he responds, “ ‘s alright.”

You smile back in acknowledgement before making your way over to your friend. “Holy shit was that Harry Styles,” she yells to you over the music.

Shrugging, you tell her, “a thank you would be nice.”

She rolls her eyes, before continuing, “my little brother’s going to freak! He loves Harry styles. Think I can get a picture after?”

“Maybe,” you tell her, “though I doubt he wants to be approached when he’s just hanging out. I mean,” you trail off. Celebrity or not, being approached by strangers must be tiring.

“If it happens it happens,” she waves off, swaying to the music with her eyes closed, drink in hand.

You shake your head fondly, laughing. Scratching absentmindedly at your wrist in your drunken haze. 

*

It does happen.

Lydia’s smiling, wiping the sweat from her brow as you make your way outside after the music’s over and the band’s played their last note. You’re tired and already feeling how tired you’ll be in the morning during work.

She spots him, first, smoking a blunt with his friends on the curb, streets emptying out as everyone heads home after the concert. With the street lights you can better make out his world recognized features, large kind eyes and plush lips pulled into an easy smile with a strong jaw. He really was that attractive.

Shamelessly Lydia heads over, “hey can I get a pic to gloat to my brother,” she says, alcohol clearly running through her veins.

You snort, bringing you hand up to cover your mouth as you follow her over.

“Sure,” he says easily, passing the blunt over to one of his friends who rolls his eyes. They must all be used to it by now. “What’s you name love?”

“Lydia.” She says before she turns on you, “take the photo.” More a command then a question.

“Selfies are a thing,” Harry adds, looking over at you casually. You smile at him, suppressing the giggles at how ridiculous this whole situation was. Despite living in London for uni, you’d never actually seen any famous people.

It probably had to do with all the time spent in class.

“I don’t do selfies,” Lydia explains self importantly.

He snorts, laughing loudly.

“She’s always like this,” you tell him, swiping your phone into camera mode as she goes to stand right by him. He throws an arm around her and they smile as you take a couple of pictures. “Got it.”

“And your name,” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You tell him, though you doubt he’ll remember by tomorrow. Harry Styles probably meets many people, too many to remember.

“Want a picture too,” he says half teasing half seriously, a thread of politeness running through the whole interaction.

“What for,” you utter bluntly, flushing beet red as you realize what you just said.

He laughs though, smiling brightly at you. It’s a nice smile. And it’s focused at you. “Ouch, you just went right for my fragile ego.”

Your cheeks are burning for sure now. It’s only good luck that it’s dark and he probably can’t tell. You still won’t say sorry though. It was a whole project you’d come up with for school and you refused to have to write down the time you said sorry to Harry Styles in your report. “Your words not mine,” you respond evenly.

“Well it was nice to meet you both,” he states warmly. “Take care.”

“Thanks,” you say, waving goodbye before you turn and walk off with Lydia who’s giggling madly the way only drunk people can.

“Wow I can’t take you anywhere,” she tells you, her hand tucked into your arm, leaning against you as you head to the nearest tube station.

“Shut up.”

“And you didn’t want to come,” she sing songs. “Would’ve missed meeting out on every preteens crush!”

You shake your head, laughing, “every?”

“You know what I meant!”

“It’s also not 2013 anymore,” you add. “Do preteens even know who one direction is anymore?”

“My brother does,” she retorts, smirking wickedly, “and he’s going to be so jealous.”

“Bet.”

[warpfactornonsense]

I would LOVE to hear your tipsy rant about facial expressions 💖💖💖🤩🤩🤩

A’ight. I’m having a Diet Caffeine Free Coke and coconut Bacardi at about a 1 to 1 ratio, which is the single nastiest drink known to artistkind. (Edit - halfway through this, my roommate has thoughtfully provided me with a mimosa, so I have a less nasty beverage.) I’ve had about half of it so far, and will continue to drink it throughout this treatise on facial expressions in comics. The editing of this post is going to suffer.

Inspired by (in a rage-y sort of way) this post. Everything is under the cut. This is gonna be long, folks. Buckle up.

I’ma start off by saying that I Do Not Care For most Western comics (webcomics and indie comics are excluded). Obviously, there are exceptions, like Habibi, Hawkeye, Tintin, Asterix, Scott Pilgrim, Persepolis, etc., which don’t follow the trends I’m about to harp on. I’m talking about mainstream titles by DC and Marvel… the big ones which OUGHT to be GOOD. But AREN’T. They’re either made as male power fantasies (see why I ADORE Captain America in the MCU, but can’t effing stand reading a single Captain America comic), or they’re made so damn quickly that no one has a chance to make them WELL, OR. OR MY LEAST FAVORITE. Ugh. Or they make comics where the pencilist doesn’t talk to the ink person who doesn’t talk to the colorist. And the results are HORRIBLE. See this post for one small facet of what I’m talking about. Styles don’t match and the results are D-R-E-A-D-F-U-L. Tone falls flat because the color doesn’t match the style of line art.

Now. The Star Trek comic I linked above has lovely coloring, and the technical quality of the lines is pretty good. You can look at those characters and go, “Ah, yes, Chris, Pine-Fresh Scent, as our Good Captain Sunshine, and his very good friend, Karl Urban, Son of Rohan, as the irascible Dr. McCoy.” But the FACES DO NOT SAY ANYTHING. LOOK AT THEM. THEY’RE DEAD, JIM. 

A NAKED MALE AVATAR OF THE USS ENTERPRISE, THE LOVE OF JIM KIRK’S LIFE, HAS APPEARED OUT OF THE AETHER IN SICKBAY, AND ALL THE EMOTION HE CAN CONJURE UP IS THAT FACE?!?!?!?!??!?!?!!!?!

I DO NOT ACCEPT THIS. 

So the main things one needs to know about comics (and this is coming from a mostly self-educated-about-comics person, but I do make them on occasion, and my day job is like, storyboarding, among other things, for a vidya game company, so I think I can say I know a couple things about it?) are as follows:

You need movement in your page. This means that you gotta have some… flowyness of line, even if no action is being displayed. The Enterprise’s muscles coming over the skeleton in the link is a good example. Movement! Fluidity!! Hooray! But when you later look at Jim Kirk’s face, there’s no movement there. :( It’s as if they traced a picture of Chris of the Pines. The end. 

Because there’s no literal movement, you sometimes have to exaggerate your expressions a little. It’s like in stage acting or voice acting - sometimes, you gotta play that up so the underlying emotion can come across better, because the medium can be limiting in some ways. Like, if you try to use ALL your skills as an actor in a voice acting thing, it won’t work, because your audience can’t see you. You have to put all that OOMPH you would’ve put in your expression and body language - AND BODY LANGUAGE, DO NOT FORGET THAT IN COMICS - into your VOICE. You gotta overdo it to do it right, sometimes. Chris Pine mighta pulled that face off on screen, but that won’t fly in a comic, but in a film, there would’ve been like, dramatic pauses and tonal inflection to indicate surprise and disbelief. But on paper, you gotta at least have like, an eyebrow raise or something. Sheesh.

DIFFERENTIATION BETWEEN EXPRESSIONS I CANNOT EMPHASIZE THIS ENOUGH. Not like every single panel has to be different, right? But this is not the way subtlety is conveyed in comics. One thing I’ve learned in storyboarding and comicsing is like. If the expressions aren’t different, you won’t know there’s been a change. You can’t really have microexpressions. They aren’t different enough for people to see the change. 

SO. HERE’S WHAT YA DO. 

You alter the head’s position on the neck. You draw in the eyebrows a smidge. You make the eyes widen a touch, and for fictionally dramatic effect, maybe make the irises/pupils smaller. I DID NOT CHANGE THAT MUCH, YOU GUYS. I know the AOS comic was technically a lot more involved than what I just whipped out, but the theory would NOT have been that hard to apply to the inking person, and the colorist would not have noticed the difference in effort. 

Like. Bones’ posture is so reserved, as is Jim’s. Jim’s expression is downright ROBOTIC. Has he been looking up youtube videos on How To Emote Like A Vulcan Who’s Achieved Kohlinahr?? Seriously!! It would NOT take much to alter these to have greater impact. See my red lines to the right. They’re not that good cuz I made them with my laptop’s track pad and not my tablet, but STILL. It wasn’t hard to alter the energy with very little effort!! As these were almost certainly colored digitally, it wouldn’t have been hard for either the inker or the colorist to change the line art before coloring. Or after, tbh. 

Check out this link on micro-expressions. Seriously. I can well believe that we’d see these expressions (okay, no, I can’t… I’m trying to throw the artists a bone but I simply can’t… this is just bad comicsing) from Pinesol Chris in a movie, but AFTER he’d given us a brief micro-expression. Again, I lie. Pine is a much better actor than this.

AND ANOTHER THING ABOUT WESTERN COMICS THESE DAYS. They’re so hung up on getting characters to look like the movie actors that they hire artists who are “””””technically good”””””” and they either don’t have enough time to adequately create the comic, or they aren’t allowed to let the Strong Male Character Who Don’t Need No Emotions to emote!!!! LIKE WHAT YOU SEE HERE!!! JAMES TIBERIUS “THE ENTERPRISE IS A BEAUTIFUL LADY AND WE LOVE HER” KIRK WOULD ABSOLUTELY EMOTE OVER SEEING HIS SHIP TAKE A FLESH-AND-BLOOD FORM. If OOONLY because he was surprised to see someone materialize in front of his face. 

See also: Steve Rogers has more emotions than “I’m in the mood to murder,” but you wouldn’t know it from the comics!!!!! (see why I don’t read them.) It’s like. The artists they hire are good at drawing bodies and good at drawing one (1) expression, and they just. Do that all over the page. Give me Mark Bagley, who at least knows how characters should emote, even if Mary Jane in Ultimate Spider-man DOES look like she’s a 21-year-old Victoria’s Secret Angel when she’s 16! Give me Hergé, whose first Tintin book was a little rough, but who really got there in the end! Give me Walt Disney, who wasn’t afraid to give characters fluidity and movement, imagination! 

This is what Eastern comics often do so well at. There’s no subtlety, but you know exactly what’s going on in a manga. Those expressions aren’t messing around. 

You want subtlety? Check out Craig Thompson, Marjane Satrapi, Art Spiegelman, David Aja, and even Bryan Lee O’Malley, on occasion! You can do subtlety in comics. Art Spiegelman is a prime example of NOT ALWAYS DOING FACIAL EXPRESSIONS BUT STILL CONVEYING MOOD!!!!!!!!!! Absolute MASTER of the craft. But there’s also a stylistic choice involved there. Here, we just have James Tiberius Kirk the Macy’s Storefront Mannequin. Go away and come back when you have a believable Jim Kirk.

My laptop’s battery is running down, so I must cut this short. REMEMBER, kids, don’t let your characters’ expressions be flat!!!! LET THEM EMOTE 2k19.

[actuallykiwi]

Once a Thief... Chapter 17: Return

You can imagine the millers’ surprise when there was a sudden frantic knock on their door in the middle of the night. Aeri, the owner of Anga’s Mill, was half-asleep when she opened the door to find a woman standing there, dressed in mysterious black armor. Behind her was a man similarly dressed on a horse, holding the limp figure of a woman covered in blood. The woman began pleading for her help and even offered to pay. Aeri glimpsed at the unconscious woman and guessed they probably wouldn’t make it to Windhelm. The other millers awoke in confusion and offered their help as well. She let them in and they immediately got to work on her wounds. 

It was dark this time. A void of sorts. Cimber looked around and felt a slight chill. Now there was a faint violet mist in front of her, and she could barely make out the opaque figure of a woman. 

Persistent, aren’t you? 

“I knew your voice was familiar... You’re Nocturnal.” 

Well, aren’t you astute? She chuckled softly. You can refer to me as Lady Nocturnal. And I believe you have something of mine. 

“The Skeleton Key...”

Yes. Restore it to my Sepulcher. little Nightingale, where it should have been all this time.

“Of course. But, my Lady... What are these dreams? How am I talking to you?” 

Cimber could feel the figure smile. You’re in the Shadows that protect you, my dear. Have you ever noticed how natural you are at this business, and how others have noticed as well? 

“I suppose?” 

Hm.. Let’s just say there’s a reason. Ask your mother.

“My mother? Was she a Nightingale?” 

The figure grinned once more before slowly fading into the void. 

“Lady Nocturnal, wait...!”

The mist faded, and the void darkened more as the little Nightingale awoke. 

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

Cimber’s eye felt heavy as she opened it to the world of Tamriel once more. She felt stiff from all of the bandages wrapped around her, like a draugr in the ancient crypts. When she painfully reached up to rub her eyes, she was surprised to feel nothing but bandages on the left side of her face. The shock quickly faded when she remembered what had happened in Irkngthand. The flashback played as they stopped Mercer and recovered the Eyes of the Falmer, but it cost her an eye as well. She laughed to herself. Eye for an eye...

She heard a small grunt beneath her, and looked down to see Brynjolf asleep by her legs. She studied him for a moment. He was still in his Nightingale armor with the hood thrown back, his long red hair pooling at his shoulders. His face was resting on his arms, and from the slight puffiness of his eyes, she knew he had been crying. Her heart broke a little. She gently nudged him with her leg to wake him, which at first he begrudgingly obeyed.  

But when his eyes met hers, he was wide awake with his arms wrapped around her instantly. He didn’t say a word, just burrowed his face into the crook of her neck as he held her tighter, almost lifting her off of the bed. She could tell by his labored breathing he was fighting back tears. However, she let hers fall freely as she wordlessly squeezed him back, despite the aching in her sides from her wounds. 

Minutes passed before he finally pulled back. “You gave us quite a scare, lass...” He whispered, voice ragged from tears. She grinned, her voice twice as hoarse. “Come on, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” They both chuckled and he planted a gentle kiss on her forehead as Karliah’s voice entered the room. “Cimber, you’re awake!” Brynjolf made room as Karliah wrapped Cimber in another hug, shorter than Brynjolf’s but still sweet. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m aching everywhere, but surprisingly not in as much pain as I thought. Especially on...” She lifted her hand to her bandaged faced. “Is it really... gone..?” Her companions looked at each other, then nodded grimly. 

She took a shuddering sigh, and Karliah placed her hand on her shoulder. Brynjolf pulled up a chair and sat by her while Karliah explained the situation. “Once I recovered our horses, we rode down the mountain as fast as we could. We knew you wouldn’t make it to Windhelm. Unlike last time, there wasn’t paralytic poison in your bloodstream, so we couldn’t stop the bleeding. Aeri and the others here at Anga’s Mill were kind enough to let us stay here until you awoke. You’ve been out for a few days now. The lack of pain is probably from the concoction she made for you.” She went and retrieved a small mortar and pestle with a pink jelly-like substance in it. “It’s a mixture of health potion and moon sugar. Apparently it has a numbing effect.” 

“No wonder my face feels heavy.” Cimber thought out loud and chuckled. “Thank you. Both of you. I’m sorry you had to wait on me...” Brynjolf reached for her hand. “Don’t be. We’re just glad you’re alright.” They smiled warmly at each other. Karliah smiled behind her mask and sat at Cimber’s feet. 

“I hate to go straight to business but, we need to discuss what to do next.” Cimber tried to sit up with Brynjolf’s help, grunting against her aching muscles. “I know. We need to return the Key to the Twilight Sepulcher.” Karliah nodded. “Precisely. However, when the Key was stolen, our access to the inner sanctum was removed. The only way to bring it back will be through the Pilgrim’s Path.” 

“I take it you haven’t traversed this Path?” Cimber asked. 

“It wasn’t created for Nightingales. It was created to test those who wanted to serve Nocturnal in other ways. As a consequence, I have no idea what will be faced in there...” 

“...Then I’ll go.” Cimber suggested. “Absolutely not. You’re hurt, badly. The last thing you need to be doing is diving into some mysterious, dangerous temple where gods-only-know what could happen to you. I’ve sent you on too many dangerous missions already, lass.” Brynjolf argued. 

She sighed, and thought carefully before speaking. “There’s something I need to tell you. I don’t know how, or why, but Nocturnal has been speaking to me... in my dreams. In visions. I didn’t know it was Her until recently, but when She talks about what’s going to happen next, She seems pretty keen on it being me that does it. She also knows something I don’t... about my mother. But that’s another story. What’s important is, She spoke to me just before I woke up. She told me to return the Key to the sepulcher. I just... I feel like it should be me. And yes, I might need to recover first, but this Key can’t wait.” She looked at Karliah. “You said it yourself, Karliah. The longer we have it in our possession, the worse off the guild is.” 

Karliah looked at her for a moment before sighing. “And you’re sure it was Her?” Cimber nodded. “...Very well. I’m in no position to argue with Nocturnal, so if you feel like you should be the one to return it, I won’t stop you. I don’t think I could bear to face Her after my failure, anyways.” 

“I still don’t agree with this.” Brynjolf squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, but I’m not asking your permission.” Cimber told him. He blinked, and then shook his head, grinning. “And I wouldn’t give it to you regardless. But I suppose I can’t stop you either.” She grinned back. “Nope.” 

“Then it’s decided.” Karliah stood. “Recover for a little longer, Cimber, and then return the Key to the Twilight Sepulcher. Brynjolf, someone needs to return to the guild to keep things in order and let them know what’s happening.” He sighed. “Aye. And I suppose you’re referring to me.” “Yes. We can stay a little longer with her, but once she’s able, I’ll lead her to the Sepulcher, and we’ll return to the guild.” He nodded. “So be it.” Karliah patted Brynjolf’s shoulder before leaving the room. 

Brynjolf moved to sit on the bed beside Cimber, his back facing her and his hands knitted in front of him. “You’re mad, aren’t y-” He interrupted her. “Tell me about the scar. The one that was on your eye.” She blinked, and thought back to her home in Valenwood. 

“I can’t remember how old I was... 12? 13? I was still learning how to be a thief. But one day, for the very first time, I was caught. I was trying to pickpocket a jeweled dagger from a woman in the market, but little did I know it was the Captain of the Guard’s wife, and he just happened to be looking at her when I did. I guess I was lucky. He could have cut my hand off, but instead, he dragged me out to the middle of the square, calling me every name in the book and just, humiliating me. A crowd gathered to watch, and more guards joined. My mother watched helplessly, trying to get through to me, but the guards were keeping her back. Finally, he took the very knife I was trying to steal, and decided to teach me a permanent lesson, on my face. So I vowed to never get caught again. And I never have.” She held her bandaged face thoughtfully. 

Brynjolf was quiet for a while. “You are mad, aren’t you?” She asked quietly. He shook his head, then looked at her sadly. “No, lass. I’m just worried. Pain seems to follow you wherever you go, and I feel like I can’t protect you, no matter how hard I try.” She smiled sadly and cupped his face gently. “You don’t have to protect me. Things happen. Pain happens. But that’s how we learn and grow. If you don’t break a little, you’ll never grow stronger. So believe me when I say, I’ll be fine, Brynjolf. I wouldn’t go if it didn’t feel right. You have to trust me.”  

He sighed. “I do, lass. But if I can’t stop you from going, you can’t stop me from worrying.” She smiled. “Fair enough.” He smiled back and leaned his forehead against hers. “You’d better come back to me...”He whispered. She brushed her thumb across his jaw and whispered back. “Count on it.”

While the world outside continued on with its petty war and falling factions, while Karliah reflected and prepared for whatever was going to happen next, while the Skeleton Key remained safe in Cimber’s belongings, waiting to be returned, the small gap between Cimber and Brynjolf was closed as his lips finally met hers. Everything else faded, just for an instant that seemed to last forever to the two of them. There was no guild on the brink of extinction. There was no impatient Daedra to please. There was no life-changing injuries. There was just each other, for as long as they could make it last. They were the escape they had been looking for, and finally found. 

But sooner or later, a return has to be made. 

Previous 

Next

[sidhewrites]

Excerpt. I wanted to share a deleted part of Coriander’s story where Jasper was visiting her home while her mother was around. It’s fun, but ultimately slowed down the pace to the point where I took it out. Approx 2100 words.

“Tea?”

Coriander started. “Yes, sorry! Yes, Ma, I’ll, um…” She bowed her head, and hurried to the kitchen, Jasper in tow.

It was a fair sized room, but most of the floorspace had been taken up by the worktable which always had something upon it. Herbs that needed preparing, bread rising, mead or wine fermenting. There were herbs tied to the walls as well, drying and serving as decorations, and Coriander moved around them deftly to the smaller of the two hearths in the corner opposite them. Bestina needed bitter teas most hours of the day, and they’d long since added a smaller one that took less fuel and needed less attention than the larger, which was reserved for cooking instead. Jasper stopped to inspect a few of the bundled herbs, mulling over his words as Coriander pulled a kettle from the shelves to fill it.

She hesitated before speaking, unsure if he regretted coming here in the first place. Surely there were more interesting hosts in Knittelnau. She could name five off the top of her head. Still...he was here, wasn’t he? “Do you have a favorite tea?”

“A what?”

“A favorite tea.”

Jasper stroked a beard that wasn’t there, considering the question. “Not a one. How about you, Miss Tippit? I might borrow that one as my favorite, too.”

She frowned and looked away. If she had a favorite one, she didn’t know it. Bestina’s mixtures were often bitter and unpleasant, but necessary to help with her headaches, and the ones she served while entertaining were far too sweet. But she knew better than to complain.

After enough silence, Jasper sighed just quietly enough that he thought he couldn’t be heard. “Builder’s tea, perhaps? Something simple is just perfect for me.” She heard the smile in his voice, but doubted it was genuine.

Builders tea it was, then, though that hardly specified what went into it. Only that it was strong and had milk added in. Easy enough. If they were particularly well off, she’d put sugar in as well, but Knittelnau had little in the ways of such luxuries. “Do you like honey?” Most people did.

“More than I like my own name.” That did sound genuine, and his smile was bright and warm when she glanced over.

Something of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but she looked away before he could see it and start getting ideas. With the kettle filled, Coriander moved to set the kettle on its hook over the hearth, but hesitated at the prospect of kneeling down to light the fire.

“Would you like any help?”

“I, um…” Well. Really, she should accept, shouldn’t she? Her mother was always telling her just how clumsy she was, and how likely it was she’d set something on fire. But he was a guest in their home, and he ought to be in the sitting room comfortably, chatting with her mother about whatever people chatted about. “

“Miss Tippit, you’re doing plenty of work. Why don’t I at least help with the fire? You don’t have to use the flint at all with me around.”

She looked up again, smile fading in an instant, and shook her head. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I, um...That is you’re the guest. You, um. Shouldn’t be doing any work.”

“But I did come without invitation,” Jasper announced with a hint of martyrdom, and more than a hint of humor. He knelt beside her grinning. “Besides. I’m a pilgrim. What pilgrim doesn’t know how to light his own fire?”

A bad one, she supposed. Coriander didn’t know how to react with him so close, and let herself be bustled out of the way while Jasper lit the kindling.

“Sometimes, Miss Tippit, I wish I had control over illusions, rather than air, you know. I’d love to be able to turn the flames green. Wouldn’t you?”

She avoided his gaze, and offered no answer.

“Your mother is lovely, you know. I can see the resemblance, clear as day, but right down to the way you hold your hands when you’re not sure what to say.”

She shot her hands down stiffly at her side, then glanced down at them. Coriander looked down, trying to see something he didn’t. Her hands were there, pale and a bit dirty, but they didn’t look special to her.

“You hold them up slightly, like you want to do something with them, but you don’t know what. It’s cute.”

She flushed again, hands curling into weak fists, and turned fully away, trying to look busy with something on the countertop.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Jasper insisted, stepping closer behind her, though he kept a safe distance just in case. “You know what I do when I don’t know what to say? I talk about everything and nothing, and I babble on until half the world looks past my ruggedly handsome features and sees the royal fool I deserve to be.”

Like now? She thought, but did not say.

“There is nothing better in this world than making someone smile. A real smile, maybe with a bit of laughter added in. I’d trade all the honey in the world if I knew the best way to make everyone happy.”

She wasn’t sure if she imagined that hint of wistfulness in his voice, but it only tugged at her guilt further.

He had said she was a serious girl, didn’t he? Well -- she was. Coriander knew it. She was too shy to reach out and make friends herself, and too serious for anyone to want to approach her. What had she done to warrant his attention so? Did he just make a habit of saving helpless damsels from trees, or was there something about her?

Of course not, she reminded herself. He was just being kind. Still is, and nothing more.

“I think that’s what I really want, you know. Not air or illusions or even healing, though with my luck I dare say it might come in handy. I tripped over my own foot just this morning on my way out of bed. No, I would want to know the best way to make someone happy, even if it wasn’t something I could give them myself. What about you, Miss Tippit? Say you were a Wright. What sort of magic would you want?”

She would want to disappear. Or she would have courage. Either way, she wanted something to overcome her crippling shyness and shame, one way or another. But now that she thought of it, she felt so selfish, wanting something for herself when Jasper was going on and on about helping other people out. She looked up, starting to speak. “Maybe --” Words failed her again.

Jasper was only inches away once more, leaning against the countertop. She flushed, and turned away, suddenly remembering -- “The flowers! I forgot to put them in a water, um…”

She ran from the kitchen into the front room again, where her mother sat scowling. Bestina looked up with a start, and schooled her features into a serene smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and held her hands out. Coriander took them without thinking, forgetting the flowers once more. “My dear, is the tea anywhere near ready yet?”

“I’m sorry, Ma. It’s hardly been a minute.”

Bestina’s smile faltered at the corners. “You know, if that young man hadn’t said so explicitly that he cares little for women, I’d be wondering what use he had for you in the kitchen.”

Coriander flushed but shook her head adamantly. “No! No, no, he, ah … He’s very … he’s only friendly, that’s all.”

Bestina regarded her for a moment and nodded, bringing Coriander’s hands up to kiss one. “I know, dear, but I worry about you. He seems like a dashing young man, the sort a young, foolish girl might lose her head over. And he smiles too much.”

Coriander hesitated. Bestina had only known Jasper for a few minutes. Surely she was just put off by such an unexpected visitor. It couldn’t be good for her health.

“Coriander?”

“Sorry, Ma, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Of course you were,” she said in that one sweet voice she used so often, the one that somehow made Coriander feel ashamed all the same. “You’re so clever, always thinking, and so kind and selfless. He could be so distracting and lure you away from home. Promise me you won’t lose your head around him.”

“I promise.”

Bestina smiled, and squeezed Coriander’s hands again. “That’s my good girl. Now, why did you come out here? Isn’t there tea to be seen to in the kitchen?”

She faltered and looked away in shame -- and saw the basket still sitting in the middle of the table. “Oh -- the flowers. I was going to put them in water.”

“That’s my good girl. Here, let me help.” Bestina stood and reached for the basket. “I don’t do nearly enough to help out around here.”

“You do plenty, Ma. You’re sick. You shouldn’t be working too hard anyway.”

Bestina chuckled, but waved her off. “Always taking such good care of me. I don’t know how I would ever survive without you.” A sour shadow passed over her features, seeing that Jasper was inevitably still in her kitchen, but recovered her smile quickly enough.

She started. Coriander had forgotten entirely, and she looked away in shame. “Oh --” The basket on the table remained mostly untouched. “I was going to put the flowers in a vase…”

“What a lovely idea. Here -- help me up so I can help.” She took Coriander’s arm and pushed herself from the chair.

 They went together to the kitchen, Bestina walking far more easily than she had been that morning, to find Jasper still tending to the tea. He looked serious, Coriander thought. Almost tense, with shoulders drawn in and brow furrowed, until he saw Coriander had returned, and his stance relaxed instantly. She was sure there was still a shadow in his eyes, but told herself it was nothing. She hardly knew Jasper enough to say.

“Are you keeping an eye on the tea for my girl? She shouldn’t have made you work like that.” Bestina released Coriander’s arm and began searching the cupboards for a vase. Coriander set the flowers on the table and went back to the hearth. The water was just starting to steam, and she pulled the pot from the hook.

“It’s not tea yet, I’m afraid, Missus Tippit. But I thought it might be best to keep it safe, just in case an errant dragon made its way in.”

“A dragon?” Bestina echoed, kneeling down to reach another shelf. “What fanciful ideas you have. If you’re coming from Berall, I can’t imagine you’ve seen a dragon. Don’t they all live in the northwest?”

Coriander saw it this time -- the muscles in his neck tensed, and he flexed his hands. But Jasper’s smile remained easy and his eyes remained glittering with mirth as he laughed. “I’m proud to say I have, Missus Tippit, but nothing up close. There was this beautiful pearly blue waterdrake by a beach in Ninoom when last I visited, splashing about on the horizon. He glittered so beautifully, and I --”

“Coriander, dear,” Bestina interrupted, a hand on the counter as she seemed to struggle to stand. Coriander rushed over to offer an arm for support, but was waved off quickly. “Where’s that yellow vase we had put the daisies in last month? You remember the yellow vase?”

Her face colored.

“Coriander?”

“I remember it, Ma.” Her gaze fell.

“Well? Where is it?”

She was silent for a moment. The sound of its shattering played through her memory. Bestina had dropped it in a fit of anger and fallen faint with the stress of it all. Coriander had helped her into a chair afterwards, right before fetching her some bitter tea. The guilt had never quite gone away.

Jasper stepped forward, “What about that pitcher in the window, ma’am?” His hands flexed and clenched at his sides despite the smile he wore, bright as day. “It looks perfectly suited for the beautiful flowers your daughter picked for you.”

He didn’t miss the anger flash in her eyes, but her voice was sweet as ever. “It’s perfect, Jasper, thank you.” Bestina pulled the pitcher from the windowsill, before passing it over to Coriander. “Go fill this up would you, dear sweet?”

“Oh -- yes, I’ll be back in a moment.” She nodded, and left, making her way out the back door into the spice garden. A small pump stood besides the small stone pathway, leading through the garden and out the back wall. The goats grazed in their pen without a thought, and the chickens bickered over what looked to be a fallen leaf.

Tag List: @madammuffins @aurisadventure @purpleshadows1989 @fearlings-lament

[connorhq]

INVOLVED: Connor Hudson & Penelope McCarthy ( @penny-hq )

DATE & TIME: June 13th, during the (b)Icon Party. 

LOCATION: IHQ Ballroom. 

SUMMARY: A little teasing turns into Penelope teaching Connor how to slow dance and them being cute.

WARNINGS: None. 

CONNOR HUDSON 

Connor had always loved dressing up - and he'd always loved Wham! and George Michael, so it was no surprise that he'd dressed up as him for the party. He'd gone all out for it and had even used temporary hair dye to make his hair lighter so he could resemble George Michael even more. When he noticed Penelope, he made his way over to her and fixed his leather jacket and his dark aviator sunglasses. "I'm two seconds away from singing Careless Whisper to you" he chuckled, "too bad I didn't bring a sax with me."

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World happened to be Penelope's favorite movie. And it came as no surprise, Ramona Flowers was her favorite character - it seemed only fitting to dress up as her. While Penelope wasn't going to cut off her long hair or dye it, she was able to make it work with the green short wig she was currently sporting. She considered dying her hair a different color in the future, but for now she was having fun with it. Spotting Connor in his George Michael get up, Penelope couldn't help but whistle low. “That's too bad, I would love to see you sax it up." she said, laughing. “I'm loving this leather jacket on you, George Michael. You look hot.”

CONNOR HUDSON 

Connor wasn't sure if he was right or not when it came to her get up - and in case he was wrong, he decided not to comment on it just yet. "You look great, by the way" was the simple comment he made because how embarrassing would it be if he got the Scott Pilgrim girl wrong? He bit his lip, trying not to laugh before he started swaying and snapping his fingers. "I'm never gonna dance again. Guilty feet have got no rhythm." Connor sang then shook his head, "it ain't the same without the sax, is it?" He took a step closer to her so he could whisper against her ear, "You can take the jacket off of me later."

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

Penny tried her best not to laugh out loud as soon as he started singing and swaying, covering her mouth with a hand. Any opportunity to tease him, she took and this was the case now. “I'm sorry, I need the sax.” She teased, laughing with a shake of her head. “I'm just kidding, you're good with or without it.” Raising an eyebrow at his words, Penny suddenly realized just how close they were, her gaze dropping to his lips briefly. The brunette licked her lips while pondering her next words, “Oh? So you're gonna be the one to take me home tonight?”

CONNOR HUDSON 

Connor knew Penelope wanted to laugh, mostly because he wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he was being. He nodded at her comment about the saxophone and sighed a little dramatically. "I should've carried a sax with me for impromptu Careless Whisper covers." There was always tension between them given their sexual chemistry but he refrained from doing more than just flirting since they were in such a crowded place with all of their friends. Not that it was a secret that they often slept together, but still. "I know you want me to" he replied, "and you can't deny that."

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

“It's okay, you can just boombox Careless Whisper outside people's windows.” Penny joked, brushing a bit of hair away from her face. There was no way Penny could deny her wanting him to take her home, but she didn't need to tell him that. At least not yet, not with a bit of harmless teasing first. “Maybe I do...” she whispered gingerly, her hand gliding over his hand, inching its way up his forearm. Feeling his muscles tense up under her touch. Leaning her face forward, her dark eyes fell on his supple lips as she leaned her head sideways slowly as if to catch them in a kiss. She stopped just as their lips brushed and pulled back to look into his eyes, a playful glint in her own. “Or maybe I don't..” she whispered the words softly.

CONNOR HUDSON 

"That's how I'll get you to fall in love with me. It's a fool proof plan. Boombox Careless Whisper outside your window and boom that's how you end up falling in love with me. Right?" Connor laughed at his own words and fixed a strand of hair that she'd missed and tucked it behind her ear. His jaw clenched when she began teasing him and only because they were in front of so many people, he didn't lead her to the nearest bathroom. What a tease. Her lips were right there and he could easily capture them in a heated kiss if he leaned in slightly. He didn't, though. For now, he wasn't going to let her win. "You do" he said as he placed a hand on her waist, "I know it. You know it. You want me to tear this off of you later."

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

“Oh, that's how you're going to get me to fall for you?” Penny questioned with a soft laugh, letting her hand brush up against his cheek; tracing her thumb against his skin. “Alright, if that happens - you get to say 'I told you so.'” Although Penny really wanted to take things further, she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and there was no way she would give in without a good fight. Looking deeply into his eyes, their faces only inches from one another, Penny grazed her nose against his before moving it downward along an invisible path; brushing against his lips, his chin, the tender skin of his neck before she pulled away teasingly. “That so? I think you might be lying, Hudson.”

CONNOR HUDSON 

"You actually think I'm not gonna do it." Connor laughed then added, "I will. I'll say I told you so because that's exactly how it's gonna go down." There was always a back and forth between them, some sort of power play that always made things exciting for him. They tried their hardest not to give in, even though they both wanted it. She was winning this time, and he was sure she knew it. His jaw clenched in anticipation, feeling her brush against his skin. What a fucking tease. Connor let out a deep breath, shaking his head at her. She would definitely get teased later. "Dance with me" he said instead, even though he knew she'd be teasing him out on the dance floor too.

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

“Okay fine,” she said with a laugh, “It has to be Careless Whisper though, remember that. If it's any other song - I'm not coming toward my window and you'll have to think of another way for me to fall in love with you.” Hazel eyes glancing up into blue ones, her signature smile lighting up her features. “Let's go, George Michael.” Penny commented, pressing her lips to his for a quick kiss before unhooking her arms from him. “Show me your moves,” she added. Penny reached out for his hand, intertwining their fingers before leading him toward the dance floor.

CONNOR HUDSON 

Connor wondered if she really thought that was something he wouldn't do. Maybe for other people he wouldn't, but this was Penelope and he felt comfortable doing stupid things because he knew he wouldn't really be judged by it. Laughed at? Yeah, because he was being ridiculous, but judged? Not really. "Just you wait." He left it at that, winking at her and knowing that he would actually surprise her. Connor wasn't someone who danced... well. He could move to the beat, but could he actually dance? Not exactly. Yes, he was the type of guy who was a big fan of grinding on the dance floor. "You know you're gonna have to teach me."

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

“Well, it's a slow song so this will be easy. You've got me as your anchor. Just hold me tight and I'll lead. Slow dance first, then maybe I’ll shake my ass on you.” she joked playfully. They walked hand in hand to the dance floor and Penny turned into him. “One hand around my waist,” she instructed, her hand ran up his chest slowly, taking its time to reach his shoulder and drape around it, “the closer the better.”

CONNOR HUDSON 

At least he wasn't dumb enough to not know how to at least start slow dancing with someone. He'd done it before, but he'd always felt awkward. No one had really taught him, he'd learned from movies and television - but that clearly didn't help him much. "Hold you. Let you lead. Get your ass on me later. Got it." He followed her lead, allowing her to take charge and did as he was told. He held her close and tilted his head, "like this? Or closer?"

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

“Something like that,” she laughed. His steps were…clumsy, but it added to his charm, and she was  occupied trying ‘not’ to concentrate on his body and his touch that felt like it went beyond her thin dress, to the smooth plains of her skin. Maybe it was why she continued to get closer to him; the pull? or maybe was that all her? Both of her hands dragged up his chest and circled around his neck, leading them in a sway.

CONNOR HUDSON 

Even though they were slow dancing, that didn't ease the tension - though he figured it was a different kind of tension now than it had been five minutes earlier. "I'm sorry if I step on your feet" he chuckled a little nervously, biting his lip as he looked down at his feet then at her. Their height difference made him crouch down a little but not enough for it to be uncomfortable. "This is nice, though" he finally focused on her, pressing their bodies even closer. It seemed as if there was no distance between them now.

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

“It's alright if you step on them accidentally, you won't hurt me.” she chuckled, her fingers played with his hair on the naps of his neck as she gazed up at him. Taking note of how much taller he was than her. Her mind was drumming to the slow beat of the music and the sway they fell into. At his words, Penny's lips curled into a warm smile and she nodded. “It does feel nice,” she echoed, letting her head rest against his chest for a moment.

CONNOR HUDSON 

Connor gave her a look, brow quirked as he silently questioned her words - he would hurt her if he stepped on her and that was why he was trying his damnedest not to. It was a nice moment, he didn't want to ruin it with his clumsiness and two left feet. He vaguely knew the song that was playing, but that didn't matter all that much when they were dancing like this. "You're good at this" he commented quietly, "especially if you can teach a guy like me to do anything."

PENELOPE McCARTHY

“Don't look at me like I have two heads,” she chuckled, lifting her head off his chest to look up at him. “I just have a high tolerance for pain, that's all.” Penny made sure enough to make it easy for him when following her lead. Making it so he didn't seem so clumsy. Sure, he almost stepped on her feet a couple times, but it really could have been worse. “I took dance lessons as a kid,” she confessed, “I'm no professional, but I try my best.” Another chuckle escaped from her lips as her eyes glanced around before settling back on him. “Maybe you could teach me something.”

CONNOR HUDSON

"I mean, I know you do... but still." Connor smirked, remembering the many times he'd decided to give her a little bite here and there that had left her unbothered - and had probably turned her on more. She was good at this, though and it showed because although he'd been close to stepping on her feet, he hadn't. "Did you?" he asked, curiously. He liked knowing new things about her. "Like what?" he fixed a strand of hair behind her ear, but didn't move his hand. That hand was now cupping her face as he looked at her. "Do you want me to teach you guitar? How to cook?"

PENELOPE McCARTHY

“Of course, you would know.” she laughed with a playful roll of her eyes, thinking back to the many times she got banged up from hitting her head on his headboard or bitten during one of their hookups. Keeping their rhythm in check, Penny smiled warmly at his question and nodded. “I was seven. I somehow managed to convince my mom to enroll me in dance lessons because I loved The Sound of Music. And it was the dance that Liesl does with Rolf during 'Sixteen Going on Seventeen' that I wanted to learn. I wanted to dance, pretend like I was in a musical. ” she admitted, having watched that movie a thousand times as a child. Penny was sure she drove her mother crazy by watching it over and over again.  “That's another thing about me - I secretly love musicals.” Her heart fluttered a little when his hand caressed her cheek, letting out a small smile at the gesture. “Teach me both. I like learning new things. Besides, I actually want to learn how to cook and who better to teach me than you.”

CONNOR HUDSON

Even though it was proving to be difficult to pay attention to both the dancing and Penelope's story, he soon managed to find a way to. At least the rhythm was slow and he didn't have to think much. Connor smiled at her story and his smile only grew when she admitted to loving musicals. Who would've thought that he would be learning so much about her here, while slow dancing with her? "I never would've guessed," he admitted, then asked, "Did you learn the dance, though? I've only watched The Sound of Music once because my mom forced me to. If you want... we can watch it together later." He nodded at her words as his thumb brushed against her cheek. "Let's start tonight." Motioning toward the exit with his head, he made a point that they should leave soon - it wasn't even because of what they'd talked about earlier, either. "We can cook something together and watch The Sound of Music while we eat." He paused, smiling at her. "But only if you sing along."

PENELOPE McCARTHY 

“There's a lot you don't know about me, Hudson.” she grinned, answering his next question shortly after. “After a lot of practice and almost twisting my ankle, I learned it.” When he suggested watching it with her, Penny's lips curled into a smile and she nodded. “I'd like that.” Her delicate fingers coming up to rest on his own that was still caressing the soft skin on her face; her thumb brushing the skin on top of his hand gently. She hummed in response, placing a light kiss on his lips before she pulled away from their embrace. Intertwined their hands together, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I'll sing along.” she smiled, leading them to the nearest exit.

[knittastically]

A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 14

As always thank you for reading, I love to read your comments and if you could reblog that would be fantastic. 

Warning:  Mention of miscarriage and  death of a newborn

Jehanne is grumpy, I can tell it just from the look on her face and she frowns at me as I walk past her to escort Blanche from the Chateau. As Blanche turns to say goodbye she leans in and drops a kiss to my cheek, I stiffen slightly for I am not completely reconciled with her and she knows it.

“Shall I see you on Sunday Isabé?”

“I expect so, I will be at Mass with the Baron”

“When does Raymond return?”

I am losing patience, I can’t stand this forced, polite conversation, I don’t like myself for it but the wound of her not telling me who she really is has cut me deep.

“I have no idea”, I shrug “it will doubtless be when the King gives him leave to come home” My voice is flat and clipped.

Blanche’s smile never drops, her voice never wavers and she fixes a smile on her face. “I am sure he will be home as soon as he can Isabé.” She takes hold of my hands but I pull them away after only a brief moment.

“I must go, there is much to do and we have spent a long time talking with each other, Jehanne is waiting.”

She is being dismissed by her own daughter but she holds herself in check and gives little away, though her eyes are a little glassy.

“I understand my dear, I won’t keep you any longer”

She nods “Until Sunday then” and makes her way down to the steps, to where Julot waits for her to help her up into the saddle. Does she look up at me and wave, I have no idea for I am already back in the hall.

“You, look like shit Isabé” Jehanne stands hands on hips and stares at me with a sour look on her face.

“Hmmph, and you have a face like an Alaunt chewing a wasp.” I spit back at her.

Laughing she links her arm through mine and pulls me against her side “It will all come right about you know she is the same woman that raised you, what difference does it make what name she goes by she has always loved you.”

“You have clearly been talking to the Baron, he said almost the same”

“He is right, you should reconcile yourself, for fear it eats away at you; so are you going to tell me about it or not”

“This is what I like about you Jehanne” I waggle a finger at her. “Straight to the point, as always you just jump in with your big feet and ask”

“I see no virtue in waiting to hear a third hand tale” she winks “which would doubtless be wrong”

“Well if you really want to know I will tell you as we clean, it’s nothing very interesting really” 

We make for the chamber next to mine, it looks like it has been used as a storage room for years and before we can begin every stick of furniture, every pot, chest and tapestry needs to be hauled into the corridor. It is so damned hot that we are sweating and lathered like draught horses in minutes.

“So who is your father Isabé” Jehanne’s voice is bright with excitement and curiosity.

“Oh that is the one thing Blanche was careful not to tell me, no matter how often I asked she evaded or even flatly refused to tell me”

“But for God’s sake why would she not tell you?

“All she said was that he had made her promise not to and he would tell me himself when he felt the time was right” I sling a chipped jug out onto an old mattress, my aim is good but there is too much force, it bounces onto the floor and shatters. I cannot even be bothered to swear, just roll my eyes and hiss breath out in a long sigh.

“So I may never know” I could feel the tears ready to fall and I dash them away with the back of my hand. 

Without another word I start to push at one of three remaining chests, trying to move it towards the door, Jehanne shakes her head at me and comes to help.  Grunting and groaning we shove and heave them into the corridor.

“Isabé, sit down for a moment, sit and talk with me” I lean back against the cool wall and let myself slide down to the floor. Jehanne follows suit and sits close, our arms touch. For a moment I just hug my knees to my chest and then it all spills out.

Their meeting in ’87, a pretty farmer’s daughter and the youngest son of a wealthy official. A love affair cut short when, as was the way, he was packed off to a life of celibacy, obedience and prayer at Jumièges Abbey. His swift move from postulant to Junior and then his appointment as Cellarer was remarkable, no doubt his family’s generous gifts to the Abbey of both land and money eased his path and gave the Abbot reason to keep him. Though by all accounts he was a handful and often kicked against the goads of authority.

I give an unladylike sniff and let loose a hiccoughing laugh. 

Jehanne hugs me closer, “So he was troublesome and rebellious” She smirks at me.

“Hmmm, it seems he was always at odds with his superiors” I grin back at her, “He  didn’t stay a Black Monk for too long.”

“Then you must be your father’s daughter,  I can see where both your obstinacy and sense of justice come from!”

She gives a false yelp and feigns hurt, as I smack her arm but she is laughing at me and of course she is right. I continue the tale of how he came back to Rouen to find that Blanche had left to go and stay with her Sister and Brother in Law, Marielle and Thomas Pelletier. That he had no time to search for her as he had taken service with the Baron and joined the ranks of his company, all of them seemingly  hell bent on getting themselves killed in a Holy War. Already under orders to leave the soldiers were ready to move out, he had no option but to go.

“But surely he was not a fighter, not a soldier” Jehanne frowns at me.

“Oh, it seems he never gave up his training and practiced in secret but of course he was found out, another mark against him.”

I manage a weak smile, then shiver a little and squeeze at Jehanne’s hand.

“Isabé, please, if you don’t wish to tell me more then don’t, I know I am a nosy baggage but I have no wish to see you in distress.” 

Burning tears prick my eyes and now I begin to feel some remorse for how I have behaved to Blanche. “It did not end well Jehanne.”

I lean into my friend as she slides her arm about my shoulders.

“Marielle was overjoyed, she too was expecting their first child and was glad of the help, it did not matter to her that Blanche was not married and it seemed she was settled and safe. The birth was hard and the child survived for only a few hours but Thomas named her Ève, and at least she was baptized, but Marielle was so very weak and only lived for a few more days. Blanche is sure that she gave up on life, that she died of a broken heart as much as much as the fever.”

The tears start again, I let them fall fast and hot as I remember the pain and heartache of losing my own child so early, that poor scrap of life. Jehanne understands for she was there, my dearest friend, who helped me, a naïve girl who did not really know what was happening. 

I think on how harrowing it must be, to carry a Child all that time only to see it lose the fight to survive and I wonder if there is there a God? 

I push on, stuttering out my words with a ragged, uneven breath, telling of how Thomas was good to us at first, letting us stay on after I was born and that he doted on me until something evil worked into his brain and he sought solace in wine, more so after the anniversary of their deaths. To him Blanche was responsible, she had not done enough, had not been vigilant enough. He called her a whore and a slut and wondered how he could have allowed such a lecherous bitch take care of his beloved Marielle.”

Jehanne gasps in her breath. “The Arsehole, the bastard” what was he thinking?” She hisses between her teeth then strokes at my hair and makes soothing noises. 

“We could not stay, not when he started to become free with his fists or his belt. Blanche was in fear for our safety and the only place she could think to go was Madame Bouvier’s. One night when Thomas passed out again from too much wine, she bundled up only what she could carry, though she made sure to take some coin and he was so drunk he did not even realise she was rifling through the coin pouch on his belt.” 

“She should have taken the whole purse from that shit”

I Shake my head at her,” No she would not do that she took only what she felt was her due”

“Remember” I rest my cheek atop my knees and look across at her. “His heart was broken and it seemed that his mind was following.”

She snorts at me and her eyes flash with anger, “Don’t you dare, don’t you damned well dare make excuses for him Isabé”

I ignore her, for I never heard Blanche speak ill of him.

Recounting how with a sling across her body to carry me, Blanche walked away from that place, pausing only to say a prayer at the grave of Marielle and Ève. I tell more the story before I can forget the things Blanche has told me, the nights sleeping in barns or even in the open, that she begged rides on carts when she could and for a while joined with a group of nuns, then later walked with Pilgrims heading here to Rouen to seek a blessing at the Cathedral before they set off to Santiago. There were always plenty of people on the road and it seems that on the journey back here, I became Isabé Pelletier her niece, child of her late sister. 

The pain in my head has worsened, like an ever beating drum the thumping sensation is relentless, and my eyes are gritty and sore.

“Isabé, you look so weary, stop now, tell me the rest later hein”

“I think I shall burst if I don’t tell someone whilst it is fresh in my mind and who better than you my friend,” I smile broadly at her “My sister” 

I see a flush settle on her cheeks, “Don’t be so silly Isabé.”

“Truly Jehanne, you are like a sister to me” Her blush deepens and she shakes her head.

“But you survived Isabé”

“Indeed, Madame Bouvier confirmed Blanche’s story to whoever asked and no matter what anyone thought in private, no one challenged her to her face. It was she that told Blanche my Father had left to fight in the Holy War” 

“When Hénri returned from fighting, Blanche helped to care for him, I think he had always held a place in his heart for her, twice he proposed marriage, and twice she refused.  Finally she told him she was waiting for my father’s return but when he heard the name, he had to break the news to her that he had seen him fall on the battlefield and that although he had watched his body carried away he was sure he had not survived.”

“Poor, poor Blanche” I sigh, “to hear such news after waiting so long, it must have felt like a blow.”

Tears are still not far away and my voice cracks, “Yes a short love affair, but I know now that he was the only man she truly loved, indeed still loves, Hénri knows it too.”

“But your father is alive is he not?” 

“Oh yes and somewhere in Rouen, he returned many months after the other survivors and found Blanche married and already pregnant with Guillaume.”

“Sweet Mary Mother of God, he must have hated her for that.

“No, No Jehanne it seems that in spite of being rebellious he is also a very forgiving and practical man, for that matter so is Hénri and he never forbade my father the right to visit Blanche or me, though I have no memory of anyone in particular, we had so many visitors once we moved to the Manor.”

“Do you know why he returned so long after the others?”

“Blanche would not say, it seems that is histale to tell.”

I hear the bitter note in my voice, I can’t help it for I fear that I shall never know the truth of it.

Jehanne scrambles to her feet and reaches down to clasp my hand, standing quickly I grow dizzy and sway a little as everything goes black.

“Isabé what is it, are you well? 

“Just a little light headed”

“For God’s sake when did you last eat, I know you had nothing before you went to the Mason’s yard”

As I frown at her I think back.

“I don’t know, yesterday perhaps, yes, yesterday, midday.”

“Idiot, all this upset and upheaval, the cleaning, Raymond going to Paris and not least Blanche”

“That’s why I forgot with all this shit happening” I snap back at her, “Christ, you’re not my mother, so don’t speak to me as if you are.” I stare wide eye at her and bite at my bottom lip as I realise the stupidity of what I have just said.

“Jehanne I...” She cut’s me off, but she smiling.”

“Kitchen, Now!” She bellows at me. “I will carry on here”

“Alright, Alright I’m going, I need to speak with Fournier anyway”

Jehanne rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then leans forward to kiss my cheek.

“You will need to be fit for Raymond coming home, he will want a wife who can match his energy and from what I have seen so far he has plenty of that” She winks and leers at me “Now go”

I make my way down the stairs and across to the screens passage. A blast of hot air hits me as I enter the kitchens, in the centre of the room the Seneschal stands straight as a spear and whilst everyone else wilts in the heat he seems indifferent to it.

Shorter than Fournier by at least a foot, the Chef stands toe to toe with him and cranes his neck. He is clearly agitated, though with all the noise I can’t hear what he is saying.  I smile for what he lacks in height the smaller man makes up for in build, his ruddy, sweaty face is contorted into an angry mask and as he speaks he waves his arms around. This would hardly matter were it not for the fact that he clutches a large knife in his right fist and in his left, a cleaver, both of which seem to swipe perilously close to the Seneschal.

Fournier stands as calm as if he were being addressed by a venerable old Aunt, when he speaks it seems to infuriate Chef all the more, until finally he quietens, gives a curt nod  and stomps off to another part of his domain.

The Seneschal misses nothing, he knows I’m there, I saw him slide a sideways look at me as I entered the kitchen and he strides across and bids me good morning.

“Good Day to you Monsieur Fournier, if you have time I should like to speak with you about the wedding” I smile up at him. “I may be the Bride but I know nothing of the arrangements and as Sieur Raymond has been called to Paris not even the date is settled.”

“Of course I have time Mam’selle, but it is just Fournier.”

I nod my head and notice his grey eyes are almost silver in this light.

“First though if I may, I should like some food, I have been so busy that I have not eaten since midday yesterday”

“We must set that to rights Mam’selle , what can I have brought for you?” 

“I must admit I have no real appetite some cheese and bread will suffice” 

He waves a kitchen maid over and speaks in a low voice, as she scurries away he guides me across the kitchen to where a large table and two chairs are wedged in a corner. 

“Mam’selle my office.”

“Forgive me, but I should have thought that as Seneschal you would have your own private office”

“Oh indeed I do, close by the Baron’s quarters, but this is convenient for the day to day business of the Chateau and everyone knows where to find me. The other is for more private matters with the Baron or Sieur Raymond, besides I like the bustle and the noise in here.”

He gestures towards the chair nearest to me “Please, sit” He waits until I do before he settles into the other.

The dark wood of the table is battered and ink stained, on it an earthenware jug, two beakers, ink pot, quills and four neat stacks of parchment sheets arranged in front of him. Each, one weighted down by some object, an unusually shaped and coloured stone, a small wooden box, a carved stone hand missing two fingers, and on one, what looks to be the remains of a child’s toy, battered and broken now but unmistakeably a small wooden horse. Something about that discarded toy strikes at my heart, it makes me feel desperately sad.

Taking two sheets of parchment from the stack beneath the stone hand and one from each of the others, he runs a long finger down the columns of words and figures on each sheet and reads out each item. His attention to detail is impressive.

As he speaks my food is brought across, so much for bread and cheese, I widen my eyes and smile at him. A dish of peaches, fresh young cheese and warm bread, a dish of honey, thick slices of ham, a dish of almonds with spices, enough for three at least.

I pull some bread, spread it thickly with the cheese and drizzle it with a little honey then sink my teeth into the soft, sweet, salty, tangy whiteness. “Delicious, thank you” “My pleasure” He leans back in his chair “So Mam’selle as you see everything is well underway.” His smile is broad and generous. “Whatever supplies we cannot provide for ourselves will be brought in, they will begin to arrive tomorrow, though of course it will be only be those items which will not perish in this heat. The rest we can arrange when.” he smiles across at me “When Sieur Raymond advises me of the date”

“I understand perfectly Fournier” and I smile back in sympathy “I too should be delighted to know exactly when he has decided drag me before the Priest.” I am rewarded by a rumble of laughter and his eyes glitter “Indeed Mam’selle, indeed!  Though I am given to understand that the Archbishop will conduct your wedding at the Cathedral. As for quests the number is already at,” he rifles through his lists “One hundred and fifty three and should His Majesty deign to grace us with his presence, the number will increase markedly” I gasp, “His Majesty?” my voice is no more than a squeak. Fournier pours wine into a beaker and passes it to me, my fingers tremble as I raise it to my lips to take a sip. “Sieur Raymond is held in very high regard by the King, so personally, I think it is more likely than not that he will attend.”

“Then thank goodness we have started to clean the Chateau.” I sip at my wine and watch him from under my lashes as he rearranges the sheets of parchment.

“I think you will be a good friend Fournier, another ally”

We sit in silence as I eat, enjoying the delicious, simple food.

“I must go Fournier, thank you for the food and for what you have told me” I rise to leave and he accompanies me to the screens passage.

“Should there be anything else you need Mam’selle, you know where to find me”

I smile up at him, “Oh you have everything well in hand, I don’t think for one moment I shall need to trouble you much at all”

He nods, smiles “As you wish Mam’selle but you are most welcome here at any time and I have some ideas for the feast that you may like to hear, I was” he chooses his word “I was discussing them with DuFour as you as you arrived.”

“Yes I saw, is he always so excitable?”

“Oh sometimes far worse but,” he taps the side of his nose “Humbert DuFour is a master of his craft, he is an artist, the King has tried to entice him away more than once.

“He really is that good?”

“Oh indeed and I know he would be delighted if you would come and taste some of the wonderful dishes he is creating for your special day.”

I look across to where Chef DuFour is working, rapt in concentration, his brow deeply furrowed

“I will not disturb him now, but would you tell him please that it would be my pleasure?”

“Of course Mam’selle, though I fear it will make him even more unbearable, God help us” His laugh rumbles up again.

“Thank you for your time Fournier, for everything.”

“It is what I do” He shrugs and bids me good day.

There is a brightness to Fournier’s eyes, a soft indulgent smile on his lips and as Isabé walks away he smiles and whispers.

“How could I not do this for my own Daughter?”

Raymond and his Captain Mathieu Descoteaux ride side by side. A Sadness works deep into Raymond, sadness and disappointment, that Guillame of all people should be working against him, it has cut his heart.

“Keep your eyes on him when I cannot Mathieu, I hope I may yet save him if he is not in too deep” Mathieu gives him a searching look, Raymond nods, for if Guillaume cannot be pulled from this mire there is only one solution “If needs be then he must die, either at my hand or yours Descoteaux”

“Understood Sieur, Understood.” And with a nod the Captain reins away to ride a horses length behind his lord.

Raymond, pulls a corner of Isabé’s veil from his tunic. It is a little grubby now but still carries her scent of roses and he breathes it in, then unseen, he presses the cloth against his lips before tucking it away again.

“Sweet Christ all I want is not to have to do this shit anymore, to be home with you in my arms”

He closes his eyes for a moment, smiles and whispers her name.

**To reach the position of Cellarer as a Benedictine Fournier would have had to serve a much longer period than he did. From Postulant to Novice and Junior could have taken at least 4 years if not longer. So I’m taking licence here and using the premise that family would have gifted the Abbey a substantial sum of money or land and that would have “eased” his progress. I have tried to keep other timelines correctly fitted, but hey my sandpit my rules.