Spitfire Spinoff of Author Reader Comfort Character (RL! GN Reader x SGR)
Comfort Character Pt 1, Part 2, part 3
On The Same Page! (American, Author Reader x SGR)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15
Beasts of the Deep (SGR x Reader Au)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Wolf! Simon
One and The Same
Part 1
One Shots!
a moment
Misc Posts!
Library AU idea!
Compromising Position ft Soap!
Hypnogogic (Angst)
Saving Johnny! (Slight Angst) Look for parts 1 and 2!
Soft! Simon Headcannons
Johnny "Soap" Mactavish
Letters from Nowhere (CBF! Soap x reader x Simon)
Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
Poly 141!
Jewel of the Abyss (or a labyrinth x cod fic)
Part 1
Our Shattered Heart (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.25, Part 2.50, Part 2.75, Part 3.00, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Headcanons! (just extra content for the universe!)
Part 1,
Assorted one shot (141 + others x reader)
Patch-up, Dance, Electric
Labyrinth (1986)
Jareth the Goblin King
Out From Twisting Pages
After finding a beautifully bound book titled “Journey into the Labyrinth” in your university library and being told to keep it, you take the uncatalogued book home over the seasonal break. However when school is suddenly shifted online, you start finding marbles everywhere you go, mysterious hijinks occur, and a large white owl suddenly decides to nest in the tree out your little house’s window, you begin to wonder if something may be up with the mysterious book…
Red Thread Of Fate (Knight! Simon x Magic! F! Reader)
This is a play on a book idea of mine about threads that bind the worlds together!
Word count about 1300
Masterlist
The light filters in from between the blinds as a form shifts through the dark. He was a wraith, haunting the hall, and is haunted himself. A mask hangs loosely from his fingers as he paces quietly.
What were those moments in between the dreams? Lucidity walks and pulls him under. When did it turn to love?
The mood shifts with a passing glance as you sleep soundly. You had come home after a normal day to an empty cottage as usual. The aloneness was an old friend to you at this point.
“Spinster, cursed to love death himself.”
Their cautious whispers lifted as you passed in the market, an old wicker basket in the crook of your arm filled with herbs and flowers. Despite all you did for the village, they dare speak of you like this?
The sheets pull taut as you move, some unease settling onto your sleeping face. The figure in black moves on instinct. A gloved hand reaches to caress your cheek, your movement calming in his grasp. There is a sigh.
-
The empire had fallen, bloodshed and tears stained the land, and the peace from ancient times had been broken. He had led the revolution, astride a black horse, clad in silver steel; he was the hand of justice and the tyrant's reprieve. It was on a lone summer day, the cusp of fall, clutching the land, when he met you.
Shadows chase his sight as the spear lodged in his chest tightens his breathing, his horse carrying him down the moonlit path. The forest grew thick with tension as the Capitol burned a bright star on the horizon.
Simon had led the final charge, breaking down the walls and rushing into the fray; it was only when his second-in-command thrust the spear through him in betrayal that he began to see. Starlight guides his way now; on the cusp of death, he collapses in a glade, towering willows caging his soul in as the fae begin to stir.
“Here comes death, a soul lost to the path.”
But even as his vision swam and the stars fell above, there was satisfaction in the killing of the emperor and the severing of sinew and flesh. Blood seeped an offering into the ground below, and as he drifted into eternal sleep, the fae stopped singing.
“What's this/ a soft hare/ in the wolf's breath.”
Soft hands work quickly, pulling off his helmet and mask, as his vision finally fades in the dark. There is a chime, clear as silver bells, and there is pain. Scorching, searing pain burns his chest, and he grunts, hands clenching into fists as the spear is yanked out and spirits fill the gaping hole in his chest. The following voice is a balm.
“Easy, Sire.”
He relaxes back into the grass as his armor is discarded piece by piece. The angel he decides in delirium is efficient as a smell of salve crosses his chest.
You work quickly, hushing the worried neighs of the horse, A kind spirit despite her size. She murmurs for her master in a quiet voice. The fae dance in the moonlight, some straying into your sight, curious, but you wave them off as you finish with the salve.
“His spirit is drifting; I must seal it.”
You pull a sharp knife from your satchel and swipe it along his chest, splitting the thick linen of his shirt to expose a marred chest. The blood seeps into your fingers as you dig in yoru satchel blindly before producing a quill.
“I am sorry, Sire.”
You address him before touching the quill to the blood seeping from his wound.
-
Simon jerks awake in a panic, his heart racing as he sits up in a simple bed, a tightness in his chest slowly releasing; he can feel the threads, gossamer in the daylight filtering into the room from the window. They string all about the room, and he feels a knot in his chest as there is a knock at the door.
He calls a low come in, and the very radiance of life enters.
Dressed in a deep forest gown, the length of your sleeves trails along the floor as you enter. Dark eyes widen when you approach, and he feels the tug then, a solid ruby thread bound to his chest pulls taut, and you stumble in surprise. He acts on instinct, finding his footing as he rushes forward to steady you, bandaged arms tightening around your waist.
You blink up at him with silver eyes, distilled moonlight that glows warmly. He stares into your eyes before coming to himself, yet he lingers, fingertips spreading along the fabric of your dress as he pulls himself up to his full height.
You pull back first, a hand reaching up to the knot in his chest.
“The threads have settled,” you eye the red fateline, “despite some unforeseen consequences, Sire.”
Simon traces the red thread to where it anchors in your chest. He had heard the tales, a spinster of fate in the Old Woods, but he paid it no mind; he had no time for fate when he had an empire to besiege. He knew of the threads, the binding between worlds and souls, but he had never been gifted the Sight to see them. But here he was, tangled in gossamer threads and, with the blood thread before him…
“We are fate-bound.” He speaks deeply, calmly even, flexing his sword arm as he looks himself over, but makes no motion to move. You realize then just how close he was, startled by his admission, you step back, but dark eyes anchor you down.
“Would you run Fate-Seer?”
His eyes are umber, the deep woods and liquor. There is then a keen shine in them, and he reaches a hand up to pluck at the red thread. It chimes throughout the room as a tender heat warms your heart.
“No.”
It comes out small, defiant even, as you step forward. His hand lifts as a grin flitters onto his scarred lip, his fingertips brushing against yours where they rest at your side. He murmurs something softly, a prayer to the guardian mother, perhaps, before dipping his head down to yours. Blond hair curls, dried from a wash, rid of sweat and blood. There is a bandage wrapping his left shoulder that curls up his neck; your work is clean and precise.
“Mother bless me.” He says quietly, and you can feel his breath on your cheek, heart pounding as he observes the curves of your face. His fingers open and take your left hand, warm in his grasp. His fingers search, tracing along your knuckles, finding no ring.
“You are unmarried?” He asks quietly, finally engulfing your hand and holding it.
“Yes.” You answer simply, but your heart is burdened by the prospect.
He watches the downshift of your eyes, a frown pulling his lips down. He then lifts your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your bare knuckles. Your cheeks warm, and you dip your head shyly.
As your eyes fall, you see the mended hole in his chest, just shy of his heart. Spiraling script, inked in blood, stains his pale skin. Lines of thick muscle trail down his torso, disappearing under plain black pants. He is in all ways a warrior, scars and healed puncture wounds dotting his skin. You could never have imagined such a person for yourself.
It was a trick of fate, you think, never before had the threads bound You!
Your eyes trail back up to his. There is a quiet intensity there, and the world seems to swallow up the sound as he leans forward, his other hand coming to your jawline, thumb brushing your lower lip.
Summery | Anxiety on an all time high, you confront March during his work. Taking the step forward to make him yours, you request for him to join you to attend the Shoot Star Festival with you. Will he accept? or will he turn you down as he has with any other attempt to bond?
Warnings & Content | Minor Swearing, Anxiety. Besides that, it's all fluffy goodness.
Work count | 2689
Distant flickering, its greener scenery,
This weather's bringing it all back again.
Great adventures, faces, and condensation,
I'm going outside and take it all in.
You know you're better than this, lowering your chin hastily with a hand pressed against your chest and grasping the fabric of your clothing, struggling to breathe. The tension is so heavy you could cut it with a sharpened blade. When had you become so weak?
You know the answer.
You've known the answer.
Foolishly avoiding it, the fear of rejection eating you up, deep within.
Catching yourself linger in his presence, you couldn't help but pity yourself for such weak attempts to make a move. As if March of all people would catch on, hell, if he were to even care.
Has he noticed?
Of course, not, right?
His ego is thick as the earth's plating.
Unwilling to break away from his pride at all times.
Curious.
That is all you had become, drawn in by his nonchalant attitude.
You stood before March, crudely interrupting his work while clutching a device in your spare hand, cloaked behind your form.
For somebody so worked up over this confession, all the planning you wrote down for this moment, you weren't prepared for those eyes of his to glare at your presence. You knew this was an inevitable "possibility."
Maybe he did hate you.
But, you wanted to trust his older brother's advice.
Somebody who knew March better than any other.
Lord, you despise how fearful you found yourself beneath his analytical eye, how he’d eat you up with a single glance. Has he read your intentions from a mile away?
For somebody who insisted on disliking you- he sure did have a watchful eye on you at all times. Whether you were making your way to the mine, the Inn, to the request board. You'd overhear your name usher from his lips. All complaints, making you lower your head and rush past him. Feeling his gaze never once leaving your form, judging you.
Has he grown tired of you?
“…”
March noticed your frozen figure, raising a brow, he waited for something- anything. Expecting some sort of response. A greeting, yet he received nothing. Resulting in his hardened glare to soften. Why is it you lowered your head further, he wondered, confused by your actions. Ultimately, he’d press his hands deeper into the pockets of his apron. The wind swept through their figures, his red bangs shifting to cover his eyes temporarily before he murmured beneath his breath.
“…Did you come to waste my time? You've got a knack for breathing down my neck.”
You’d suck in a breath, raising your slouched figure to look him in the eye, for a split second you’d see that his glare was nowhere near as cold as before, what changed? Was it all in your head? You felt like he was driving you mad.
"N-No, no... I-"
There you stood tall, rolling your shoulder back in an attempt to appear more confident, but he could see right through you. Why exactly were you so tense? Have you finally opened your eyes to how poor of a person he is to hang around? He had his suspicions. Despite this, his narrow gaze would widen. Pursed lips and a flushed expression are all he is met with, your hand revealing itself from behind your back with a mission. Pressing something hard against his abdomen.
A contrast versus your normally delicate hands, for being a farmer, he was unconvinced you did anything with them. But the proof was all there, not wanting to believe how well deserved the praise you received from everybody has been.
Pressed against his chest is an invitation, a silent proposal to join you for a well-known event in Mistria. The Shooting Star Festival.
You say too late to start, got your heart in a headlock,
I don't believe any of it.
You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,
You know you're better than this.
“-…just say no.”
March heard your croak, nothing more than a choked whisper. March lost the wind in his chest, frustrated and confused. He had several suspicions about what your arrival may have been for, but inviting him to such an event was far from what he believed may happen.
Do you know what this entails?
You were often chipper, always willing to lend a hand despite his cruel treatment towards you. He intended to keep you at arm's distance, preferably even further, but, it backfired and seemed to ignite some sort of flare beneath your feet.
He’d tell you to leave him alone, you’d return with his sheets from the request board, a toothy grin apparent in your features. You almost walked off without the reward on several occasions, selflessly aiding those in town, no, him in specific.
Were you attempting to get on his good side? What for? It frustrated him, he hated you. No, he hates you. So why is it he can never forget your greetings each day? The praise, the complaints, every word escaping those lips of yours.
He knew you had become a part of his routine by now.
Left in a state of denial.
What was there to deny?
He wanted you near him at all times, brightening his day.
He wanted you to wake him from the solemn cycle he put himself in.
The crease of your forehead each time you'd pout, furrowing your brows then playfully smacking him whenever he'd say something rude. How your nose would scrunch up at the smell of the alcohol he downed each Friday night at the Inn with everybody.
We're a different pair, just something out of step,
Throw a stranger an unexpected smile.
With big intention, still posted at your station
Always on about the day, it should have flown.
“-Please! Fuck, March. It’s yes, or no."
You couldn’t stand his silent treatment, you were once excited to ask him. Looking forward to making an official partner for the Mistrian Tradition. One that allowed those of Mistria to gather around with friends, family, their significant other…
What even were you to him?
You wanted to believe you were friends, but, March was still so distant. You hardly knew him, and that’s what led you here. You wanted to learn about who he is.
You caught yourself attracted to his work ethic, the way he’d focus so heavily on his work. Wishing he could take some time in the day to relax as well, his body desperate for a release. The way his muscles flex after a repeated swing of the hammer, the sweat dribbling down his chin from the heat.
You fantasize about him more than you’d like to admit, wishing nothing more to see who he is at heart.
“Say no? Why’d you even come in the first place? Shouldn’t you want to hear me agree?”
Yes, you wanted so desperately to hear those words he withheld from you. Growing impatient, desperate. Left waiting, him saying either of the options you intended for him to say, god, he was frustrating. So frustrating you could cry.
“…Of course I do!”
You’d raise your voice, taking a step closer to him. The space between you closed further, forcing him to shift back as well uncomfortably. Did you intend to get this worked up over someone like him? There were plenty of others who would’ve loved to receive this brooch from you. Balor, Eiland, Ryis... hell, even Celine or Reina.
For the love of god, why is it him? Why are you here?
“…Why else would I be here? Just as you said, it wouldn’t make sense. But, I came despite my better judgment! Hoping that for some damn reason, you’d accept me despite..."
He'd notice your body tense up, lips trembling, anxiety shot like ripples through your body. He saw it. Tides crashing against the shores of your fragile heart. You were strong, and he admired that, from a distance. Standing here with the ability to openly ask him to be your partner for the festival. A feat he was never capable of doing,
"Despite?"
He'd inquire further,
"You're going to make me say it..?-"
You'd curse under your breath, weakly allowing the words to slip from your tongue.
"-d-despite your clear disinterest towards me..."
You say too late to start, got your heart in a headlock,
I don't believe any of it.
You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,
You know you're better than this.
That was his intention from the start, to prevent you from seeing through him. Brushing you off, pushing you away, and nudging you in the direction of others far kinder than him, people who understand how to treat you right.
Why is it that his consciousness weighs itself down with guilt?
The guilt of his treatment toward you, the guilt and outright refusal to admit when he's in the wrong. How his heart would ache each time your excitement died down over time, that cute smile faint, like a neglected puppy whenever he shot down your requests to hang out together.
He couldn't allow any sort of attachment, not when he knew you'd leave. He was confident you would, averting his eyes from the clear signs of your settlement at the farm you built up from blisters and bedrock.
He wouldn't admit his feelings.
The warmth in his heart at the sight of your passing figure each time you made your way through town, stopping by the forge just to say hello and part ways, he grew accustomed to your visits. Missing you when you'd show no sign of life, busy elsewhere with your life. Missing the way strands of hair clung to your glistening skin, soot and dust kissed your cheeks from hours in the mines.
Your clothes soaked from diving in rivers for artifacts, he noticed it all. Shifting positions with you at the anvil to stand near the fire of his forge, preventing any chill. The cold in winter, without a word of discourse. Maintaining his nonchalant disposition, knowing his true intention wasn't for you to move out of his way, but to warm up next to the crackling heat. Dry those clothes of yours, fearing you'd grow sick and not show up the next morning if had hadn't.
Afraid to start, got your heart in a headlock,
I don't believe any of it.
You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,
You know you're better than this.
The tension wouldn't let up between the two of you, deciding it was best to take your leave, you'd whisper something so meek he struggled to catch on.
"...I shouldn't have gone through with this. I'm sorry, March."
You felt utterly ashamed, humiliated by his silence, it wasn't a no- neither was it a yes. Your anxiety wouldn't settle down without this man, left to answer for him in your mind. Unable to accept being turned down, unable to celebrate his acceptance... left in the dark. Eyes glued to the ground, holding back tears.
Your hand would fall from his chest, fingers wrapped around the brooch weakly. Ready to pull away, you'd suddenly gasp as his hands would clasp around your own. Forcing you to hold the brooch back against his chest. A stray tear made its way down your cheek as you'd blink,
I'm walking, you've been hiding,
And you look half-dead half the time.
Monitoring you, like machines do,
You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye
"F-Fine. I'll go with you."
March couldn't stand the sight of your tears, he knew he had been a complete jerk recently. He didn't enjoy behaving that way, but it's all he knew how to behave comfortably, and safely. A way to cope with his insecurity. You were beautiful, talented, smart, and most importantly... Kind.
"-Olric will definitely badger me if I say no."
He's defending himself, his pride.
He'd then follow those words with a hushed grumble, closing his eyes and lifting his head. His cheeks flushed now, similar to your previous expression.
"-Quit crying, I never said I wouldn't go."
His hand wouldn't budge from your own, the warmth of your fingers brushing against each other. The comforting pressure was so foreign to him. His hands were significantly rougher, calloused from his line of work. Not that yours were dainty either, one look and they told a story of all your efforts to build your farm from what had been given to you upon your arrival.
I've been walking, you've been hiding,
And you look half-dead half the time.
Monitoring you, like machines do,
You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye
You still hadn't spoken a word since he agreed, somewhat irking him. Is this how you felt about his silent treatment? No wonder you raised your voice at him.
"-Look who is silent now... I'll go with you, alright? Just, don't let it get to your head. I- hate the idea of leaving you on your own after you put so much thought into... asking me. That's all."
Sticking to his excuses, he wouldn't pull away. Allowing you to collect your thoughts, feeling your gaze rise up once more. You worked too hard towards this for him to turn you down, he couldn't do it.
"March, I- You don't have t-"
You'd feel him squeeze your hand, forcing your mouth shut. Was he doing this just to please you? Before your anxiety could haunt you any further, he'd rip the brooch from your hand and lift the back of his hand to shield his mouth. Throwing his head aside with an averted gaze. His blush is still visible.
"Shut up, I said I'd go. I'll see you at eight. Tonight. Got it?"
He was excited. Thrilled at the idea you wanted him to accompany you. Would he express that openly? No. Ignoring the flutter of his heart, the constant pounding in his ears, his heart thrashing in his chest.
You know you're better than this
Come back and start, got your heart in a headlock,
No, I don't believe any of it.
You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,
You know you're better than this.
Your lips would part, only to close once more. Smiling, finally, a reaction he enjoyed witnessing.
March had a way of making you lose your ability to speak, but it only worsened as you'd feel a weight plant itself on the top of your head, forcing your head down, losing sight of him.
Your face lit aflame with blush. March's eyes scanned around the pair of you, sighing in relief. Nobody's eyes were capable of witnessing what his next actions were. Allowing himself to indulge in his desire to comfort you, his hand began making claw motions in your hair, massaging your head for a moment. Just as you'd scratch the head of a cat.
"-Don't be late."
He'd then pull away, feeling the warmth in his heart becoming unbearable. Taking a step back, making his way towards the door of his Smith. Abandoning you at the forge, in a rush to do something inside it seems.
"I- I won't!"
You'd shout back in the hopes he heard you, a bright smile blooming on your face. Unsure whether he heard you or not. Not that it mattered, you got the answer you desired. All the anxiety from before washed itself away as you'd look at your hands, reminiscing about the way he held your hand.
His hands were so warm.
You hadn't expected him to suddenly scratch your head like that, not that it was unwelcome. Perhaps, he cared more than you initially thought... or was it you just confirmed a suspicion you had believed in for seasons now?
March has begun to warm up to you, and you couldn't be happier to see the signs firsthand.
Afraid to start, got your heart in a headlock,
I don't believe any of it.
You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,
Letters From Nowhere - 5 (CBF! Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley)
Part 4, Masterlist
The afternoon following the unexpected visit passes with more work and another call with Bucky. His rich voice echoes throughout the office from the speaker of your phone.
“So Martha was hanging up the Halloween flags and old Jack fell from the top of the shelf and scared her.”
“Meaning you set the skeleton up to scare her, Buck?”
His laughter quiets down, and he hums,
“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation, Darling.”
You laugh, and on the other end, Bucky smirks, pleased to hear your laughter ring out in the room of his office.
You catch up for the next few minutes before there is a knock at the door, and after you call out to come in, it's Johnny who enters this time. He looks at the phone before his eyes find you.
“Brought you some tea, Love.” His voice is even, with a certain masculine pleasure in his voice when you smile at him. The cup of tea was steaming in the cool room. He sets it on the desk as you murmur a thanks. Johnny doesn’t leave then, though, hip leaning against the desk, and he leans into your space easily, glancing at the phone. Your eyebrow shoots up, humored by his posturing, knowing him too well not to notice.
“Si will be in soon for your date.” His accent thickens as he speaks, and you nudge him.
“Got it, now, shoo you big lug.”
Johnny doesn't move easily, but he steps a pace back before he takes your chin, leaning down, and presses a kiss to your lips. You return it to humor the man, and he pulls away, pleased, pressing a kiss to your forehead and leaving.
Bucky is silent on the other end for a moment before he questions,
“Date?”
Bucky’s voice deepens in question, and you turn back to your phone, sighing.
“Yeah, Johnny’s back.”
Buck leans forward in his chair, a frown tugging on his lips.
“He finally came home, did he?” It's more of a statement than a question, and you reply with a steady yes.
“His lieutenant is staying as well; we’re set to go out tonight.”
“Is he a good man?” His protectiveness gets the better of him, and the question slips out. You breathe out and think of Simon, his figure in your mind.
“Yes, yes, he is.”
You’re sure of the statement when you add,
“He’s sweet Buck, he and Johnny repaired the deck, and Eliza’s raised flower beds.”
Bucky considers himself for a moment before nodding.
“He'd better take care of you, don't make me come down there. “
“Will do Bucky, thank you, I gotta go now, see ya.
As he murmurs his goodbye, he wonders if he should have told you about Him.
-
You leave the office at 5 o'clock, empty tea cup in hand, and go searching for Johnny. You call out for him, and he replies from down the stairs.
“Jus’ set the cup on the bannister. I'll get it, you need to get ready, love.”
“Right. Where are we going?”
Johnny comes to the edge of the stairs before calling back up to you,
“I suggested the old bar in town.”
“I haven't been there in years!” You shoot a smile down to him before entering the bathroom to shower.
-
You enter your room, having dried your hair and ready to choose what to wear. You shuffle through the clothes you put away yesterday and fall upon something that makes you smile. A sundress, a floral collection with a lace trim in the bust, something soft and sweet that you had picked up on a vacation, for a moment just like this.You reach for it and change quickly, sighing at the soft but thick fabric and spinning in it admiring the way the dress dances around your figure. You move back to the bathroom to do what makeup you wanted, and mess with your hair.
You emerge, grab a matching bag, slipping your phone inside before heading downstairs, where you hear Simon talking quietly with Johnny. As you pass down the stairs, their eyes meet your figure in the softest whisper of fabric.
“You lucky bastard”
are the first words out of Johnny's mouth as his eyes take you in. You bite your lip in a laugh until you see Simon, and your mouth goes a little bit dry. The man cleaned up, wearing dark jeans and a dark buttoned dress shirt, the fabric hugging him comfortably. His eyes meet yours as he sweeps his hair back with a steady hand. His eyes are dark, sparked with something like satisfaction.
He steps forward from Johnny and offers a hand as you come down the last few steps, and you take it, letting him guide you down gracefully. As you take the last step, he brings your hand to his lips and presses a light kiss to your knuckles.
“You look divine, Love.”
Heat crawls up your neck at the compliment. He leads you down to his side, where you can take in the spice of cologne and shampoo. Riley comes down the stairs a moment later, seeking you. Her tail wags upon seeing her three favorite people, and she nudges your hand for pets. You stroke down her head while Johnny steps into both of your spaces.
“Ye look beautiful, Hen.”
He swallows, and an old smile pulls onto his face. You stand a little straighter under his inspection, but he just looks into your eyes before his arms come around you and pull you gently to him.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head before murmuring something into your ear, something illegible, and you question hi,m but he just passes you back to Simon. His eyes crinkle then, and you know that Johnny is happy.
-
The ride to the bar is warm in Johnny's jacket, the soft lining pulled tight to your form as Simon drives, His free hand resting on your lower thigh, his thumb circling every once in a while. As he drives, he tells you a bit more about his family.
His mom was a florist back in Manchester, while his younger brother was getting a master's in history.
“He always liked digging around in the old bookstore mom took us to when dad was away.”
When his voice wavers, your hand covers his, a weight settling in the cab.
“I bet you’ve made them proud, Simon,” You say, encouraging him.
As he pulls up to a red light he takes the moment to look at you fully, something in his eyes searching, to which he seems to find his answer because he squeezes your thigh affectionately.
“I guess so.”
He looks back at the road, and you huff.
“You guess so? Sir, I happen to know so. Johnny must be proud of you.”
You see the smallest smile rise on his lips and you roll your eyes in mock exasperation but your hand remains on his for the rest of the ride.
-
The bar sprawls in an area surrounded by patches of woods as Simon parks. He gets out and comes around to your side to let you out, helping you down as he did with the stairs. As you step out, the smell of the forest presides over everything. Simon closes the door and comes to stand next to you, waiting for your lead. You approach the door, his hand resting warmly on the small of your back.
As you approach the door, it suddenly swings open in front of you, making you jump, but Simon is quick to raise an arm to catch it before it hits you.
The people passing through the door stumble when they spot you two men wearing the colors of your old college here in the city. The taller of the two grins, holding a hand out.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
You recognize his voice immediately,
“Michael?”
He seemingly sobers up at the call of his name, or at the arm that comes around you as Simon steps forward.
“It's been a while.” He quickly regains his composure while his buddy looks between you and him, then back up to Simon.
“Sorry about the door, we gotta catch up sometime.” He and his friend pass, but Michael pats you on the shoulder, and you nod offering a good night.
You finally enter the bar to be greeted by a scattering of people in their own groups, enjoying themselves. You pass through the mud area and into the main area, your boots knocking on the hardwood of the floor. The sound of poolballs clatter in the corner while music plays from an old tape jukebox. But in the corner of the room is the bar and a sight for very sore eyes.
At the bar in a well fitting apron is a longer-haired blond man, with a rough but trimmed beard covering his face. He tends to a patron, but feeling eyes on him, he turns and when his blue eyes land on you, he beams, a handsome smile lighting up his face.
You squeeze Simon's hand before moving forward to greet the man who exits the bar and scoops you up into a hug, spinning you around excitedly as he laughs. When he finally sets you down Simon is at your side, taking in the man cautiously.
While Simon has a few inches on him, the other man is built, with firm muscles in the arm that coil around your shoulder. He is also older, possibly in his late 30s or even early 40s. And then there are his eyes as he looks at Simon the same way, appraising.
You notice the stare-down and take the man's arm and tug, and he looks down to you and presses a kiss to your hair line.
“It's good to see you, Sweetpea. Your mom said you’d be in town but didn’t tell me when.”
You smile at him as Simon shifts, and you finally part, backing up into Simon’s space. The man watches curiously as Simon's arm comes around you, hangs at your hip, a sort of claim to your personal space, and you lean into him in return.
Your uncle figure eventually holds a hand out for Simon to shake, which he takes.
“Tom Cladwell, the owner of the establishment.”
While Simon's hand is still in his, Tom turns it, making Simon's eyes widen a fraction as he traces the tattoos on Simon's exposed arm.
“You served?”
“Yes.”
Something akin to approval shines in Tom’s eyes. He releases Simon’s arm with a hearty laugh.
“Sorry to bother ya son. I served in the Navy myself years ago. I retired when my best friend settled down and had this little one,” he ruffles your hair fondly.
“Lieutenant Simon Riley.” Simon finally introduces himself, sure of the person Tom is now, he eases his shoulders a fraction, the tension slips away with Tom’s friendly demeanor. He eases up more when your hand comes to his arm, taking it and moving to his side again.
“First drink at the house! You want your usual?”
You look at the fond grin on his face and know there is no arguing.
“Yes please.”
“And for you, son?”
“Whisky, neat,” Simon says simply before pulling out a bar chair for you. After you sit, Simon pulls the next chair up and joins you, a hand resting on the back of your chair naturally. As Tom prepares the drinks, Simon asks how work went.
You beam up at him,
“Buck and I worked on the research for the gardening program. We work with local schools and get interested in gardening and recycling.”
Simon hums, taking a low sip of his drink before Tom sets your Shirley temple down. You take a breath and take a sip, appreciating the fizz and cherry on your tongue.
“Who is Bucky to you?” Simon asks, and you blink at the question and the look in his eyes before sighing, setting your drink aside.
“He and I dated for a bit, more casual goings, I appreciate him as a hard worker and friend.” Simon hums, setting his drink down as umber eyes look into yours with a curious shine.
He shifts, turning towards you and hooking a long leg up for balance and your eyes trace what is exposed of his chest in the shirt, his tags hanging. You take him by surprise when you reach over, a hand gently taking the tags in hand.
“You saved Johnny.” You say quietly, setting the tags after inspection gently against this marred skin before tracing his neck. You feel him exhale through his nose, tracing a particularly nasty scar before pulling back for your observation, a soft look in your eyes. Simon feels his heart quicken feeling you look into him for the first time.
“Thank you.” You say silently and move to pull away, but a hand takes yours. You blink when he smiles.
“I love him, more than I could ever realise,” He says quietly, and there is a pulse of affection in his eyes, and you watch his eyes soften when he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, your blush turning away when he chuckles richly, gently releasing your hand.
Simon looks around the bar, then expectantly finds what he's looking for, the juke box in the corner, and he takes a quick sip of his drink before setting it down and pulling you up gently.
“Johnny did give me some pointers,” Simon smirks at your furrowed brow, but he leads you over to the jukebox before inserting a coin and letting the music play when you finally get his intention, your eyes lighting up with joy as smooth lyrics begin to play.
Boys workin' on empty
Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?
I just think about my baby
I'm so full of love I could barely eat
There's nothing sweeter than my baby
I'd never want once from the cherry tree
Cause my baby's sweet as can be
She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me
Simon guides you with a hand at the small of your back, passing underneath Johnny's jacket, the weight of it a comforting presence as his fingers spread and he pulls you closer to his chest. He then guides you into a gentle way as memories take you away.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
The bar dissolves as you come home on a late night after a failed date, heels in hand and a tired sigh leaving you. You make the steps up your parents' porch and are surprised to find the door unlocked and as you approach, the porch light comes on, and the door opens to reveal Johnny.
“You were out late.” He crosses his arms, and you sigh again, and he softens,
“That bad huh?” He frowns and ushers you inside for a mug of tea.
In your kitchen, parents log past asleep you both toe the line between friendship and something more as he pulls you close.
Boys, when my baby found me
I was three days on a drunken sin
I woke with her walls around me
Nothin' in her room but an empty crib
And I was burnin' up a fever
I didn't care much how long I lived
But I swear I thought I dreamed her
She never asked me once about the wrong I did
Simon sways on his feelings, arms coming around you and pulling you from your mind as Hozier sings. It was this very song you cried to many times, Al the loss, the directionless running, it all seemed pointless then.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
There must be some storm in your eyes because Simon takes your cheek in hand and looks into your eyes. His are deep brown depths, a fondness shining in the low lights of the bar, he murmurs your name and you focus on him ignoring the others around you.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
My babe would never fret none
About what my hands and my body done
If the Lord don't forgive me
I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me
When I was kissin' on my baby
And she put her love down soft and sweet
In the low lamp light I was free
Heaven and hell were words to me
On a dime, Simon pulls you closer, stopping in the moment to hold you close, the smell of leather and a faint trace of gun oil permeating. There is still the scent of earth, you notice, from his working outside and there is a faint smell of bourbon and vanilla that clings.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
As the song slows, you feel the eyes of Tom watching with curiosity; there is the low murmur of other patrons. But instead, you focus on the beating heart holding you, leaning your head into Simon's chest.
Letters From Nowhere - 5 (CBF! Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley)
Part 4, Masterlist
The afternoon following the unexpected visit passes with more work and another call with Bucky. His rich voice echoes throughout the office from the speaker of your phone.
“So Martha was hanging up the Halloween flags and old Jack fell from the top of the shelf and scared her.”
“Meaning you set the skeleton up to scare her, Buck?”
His laughter quiets down, and he hums,
“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation, Darling.”
You laugh, and on the other end, Bucky smirks, pleased to hear your laughter ring out in the room of his office.
You catch up for the next few minutes before there is a knock at the door, and after you call out to come in, it's Johnny who enters this time. He looks at the phone before his eyes find you.
“Brought you some tea, Love.” His voice is even, with a certain masculine pleasure in his voice when you smile at him. The cup of tea was steaming in the cool room. He sets it on the desk as you murmur a thanks. Johnny doesn’t leave then, though, hip leaning against the desk, and he leans into your space easily, glancing at the phone. Your eyebrow shoots up, humored by his posturing, knowing him too well not to notice.
“Si will be in soon for your date.” His accent thickens as he speaks, and you nudge him.
“Got it, now, shoo you big lug.”
Johnny doesn't move easily, but he steps a pace back before he takes your chin, leaning down, and presses a kiss to your lips. You return it to humor the man, and he pulls away, pleased, pressing a kiss to your forehead and leaving.
Bucky is silent on the other end for a moment before he questions,
“Date?”
Bucky’s voice deepens in question, and you turn back to your phone, sighing.
“Yeah, Johnny’s back.”
Buck leans forward in his chair, a frown tugging on his lips.
“He finally came home, did he?” It's more of a statement than a question, and you reply with a steady yes.
“His lieutenant is staying as well; we’re set to go out tonight.”
“Is he a good man?” His protectiveness gets the better of him, and the question slips out. You breathe out and think of Simon, his figure in your mind.
“Yes, yes, he is.”
You’re sure of the statement when you add,
“He’s sweet Buck, he and Johnny repaired the deck, and Eliza’s raised flower beds.”
Bucky considers himself for a moment before nodding.
“He'd better take care of you, don't make me come down there. “
“Will do Bucky, thank you, I gotta go now, see ya.
As he murmurs his goodbye, he wonders if he should have told you about Him.
-
You leave the office at 5 o'clock, empty tea cup in hand, and go searching for Johnny. You call out for him, and he replies from down the stairs.
“Jus’ set the cup on the bannister. I'll get it, you need to get ready, love.”
“Right. Where are we going?”
Johnny comes to the edge of the stairs before calling back up to you,
“I suggested the old bar in town.”
“I haven't been there in years!” You shoot a smile down to him before entering the bathroom to shower.
-
You enter your room, having dried your hair and ready to choose what to wear. You shuffle through the clothes you put away yesterday and fall upon something that makes you smile. A sundress, a floral collection with a lace trim in the bust, something soft and sweet that you had picked up on a vacation, for a moment just like this.You reach for it and change quickly, sighing at the soft but thick fabric and spinning in it admiring the way the dress dances around your figure. You move back to the bathroom to do what makeup you wanted, and mess with your hair.
You emerge, grab a matching bag, slipping your phone inside before heading downstairs, where you hear Simon talking quietly with Johnny. As you pass down the stairs, their eyes meet your figure in the softest whisper of fabric.
“You lucky bastard”
are the first words out of Johnny's mouth as his eyes take you in. You bite your lip in a laugh until you see Simon, and your mouth goes a little bit dry. The man cleaned up, wearing dark jeans and a dark buttoned dress shirt, the fabric hugging him comfortably. His eyes meet yours as he sweeps his hair back with a steady hand. His eyes are dark, sparked with something like satisfaction.
He steps forward from Johnny and offers a hand as you come down the last few steps, and you take it, letting him guide you down gracefully. As you take the last step, he brings your hand to his lips and presses a light kiss to your knuckles.
“You look divine, Love.”
Heat crawls up your neck at the compliment. He leads you down to his side, where you can take in the spice of cologne and shampoo. Riley comes down the stairs a moment later, seeking you. Her tail wags upon seeing her three favorite people, and she nudges your hand for pets. You stroke down her head while Johnny steps into both of your spaces.
“Ye look beautiful, Hen.”
He swallows, and an old smile pulls onto his face. You stand a little straighter under his inspection, but he just looks into your eyes before his arms come around you and pull you gently to him.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head before murmuring something into your ear, something illegible, and you question hi,m but he just passes you back to Simon. His eyes crinkle then, and you know that Johnny is happy.
-
The ride to the bar is warm in Johnny's jacket, the soft lining pulled tight to your form as Simon drives, His free hand resting on your lower thigh, his thumb circling every once in a while. As he drives, he tells you a bit more about his family.
His mom was a florist back in Manchester, while his younger brother was getting a master's in history.
“He always liked digging around in the old bookstore mom took us to when dad was away.”
When his voice wavers, your hand covers his, a weight settling in the cab.
“I bet you’ve made them proud, Simon,” You say, encouraging him.
As he pulls up to a red light he takes the moment to look at you fully, something in his eyes searching, to which he seems to find his answer because he squeezes your thigh affectionately.
“I guess so.”
He looks back at the road, and you huff.
“You guess so? Sir, I happen to know so. Johnny must be proud of you.”
You see the smallest smile rise on his lips and you roll your eyes in mock exasperation but your hand remains on his for the rest of the ride.
-
The bar sprawls in an area surrounded by patches of woods as Simon parks. He gets out and comes around to your side to let you out, helping you down as he did with the stairs. As you step out, the smell of the forest presides over everything. Simon closes the door and comes to stand next to you, waiting for your lead. You approach the door, his hand resting warmly on the small of your back.
As you approach the door, it suddenly swings open in front of you, making you jump, but Simon is quick to raise an arm to catch it before it hits you.
The people passing through the door stumble when they spot you two men wearing the colors of your old college here in the city. The taller of the two grins, holding a hand out.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
You recognize his voice immediately,
“Michael?”
He seemingly sobers up at the call of his name, or at the arm that comes around you as Simon steps forward.
“It's been a while.” He quickly regains his composure while his buddy looks between you and him, then back up to Simon.
“Sorry about the door, we gotta catch up sometime.” He and his friend pass, but Michael pats you on the shoulder, and you nod offering a good night.
You finally enter the bar to be greeted by a scattering of people in their own groups, enjoying themselves. You pass through the mud area and into the main area, your boots knocking on the hardwood of the floor. The sound of poolballs clatter in the corner while music plays from an old tape jukebox. But in the corner of the room is the bar and a sight for very sore eyes.
At the bar in a well fitting apron is a longer-haired blond man, with a rough but trimmed beard covering his face. He tends to a patron, but feeling eyes on him, he turns and when his blue eyes land on you, he beams, a handsome smile lighting up his face.
You squeeze Simon's hand before moving forward to greet the man who exits the bar and scoops you up into a hug, spinning you around excitedly as he laughs. When he finally sets you down Simon is at your side, taking in the man cautiously.
While Simon has a few inches on him, the other man is built, with firm muscles in the arm that coil around your shoulder. He is also older, possibly in his late 30s or even early 40s. And then there are his eyes as he looks at Simon the same way, appraising.
You notice the stare-down and take the man's arm and tug, and he looks down to you and presses a kiss to your hair line.
“It's good to see you, Sweetpea. Your mom said you’d be in town but didn’t tell me when.”
You smile at him as Simon shifts, and you finally part, backing up into Simon’s space. The man watches curiously as Simon's arm comes around you, hangs at your hip, a sort of claim to your personal space, and you lean into him in return.
Your uncle figure eventually holds a hand out for Simon to shake, which he takes.
“Tom Cladwell, the owner of the establishment.”
While Simon's hand is still in his, Tom turns it, making Simon's eyes widen a fraction as he traces the tattoos on Simon's exposed arm.
“You served?”
“Yes.”
Something akin to approval shines in Tom’s eyes. He releases Simon’s arm with a hearty laugh.
“Sorry to bother ya son. I served in the Navy myself years ago. I retired when my best friend settled down and had this little one,” he ruffles your hair fondly.
“Lieutenant Simon Riley.” Simon finally introduces himself, sure of the person Tom is now, he eases his shoulders a fraction, the tension slips away with Tom’s friendly demeanor. He eases up more when your hand comes to his arm, taking it and moving to his side again.
“First drink at the house! You want your usual?”
You look at the fond grin on his face and know there is no arguing.
“Yes please.”
“And for you, son?”
“Whisky, neat,” Simon says simply before pulling out a bar chair for you. After you sit, Simon pulls the next chair up and joins you, a hand resting on the back of your chair naturally. As Tom prepares the drinks, Simon asks how work went.
You beam up at him,
“Buck and I worked on the research for the gardening program. We work with local schools and get interested in gardening and recycling.”
Simon hums, taking a low sip of his drink before Tom sets your Shirley temple down. You take a breath and take a sip, appreciating the fizz and cherry on your tongue.
“Who is Bucky to you?” Simon asks, and you blink at the question and the look in his eyes before sighing, setting your drink aside.
“He and I dated for a bit, more casual goings, I appreciate him as a hard worker and friend.” Simon hums, setting his drink down as umber eyes look into yours with a curious shine.
He shifts, turning towards you and hooking a long leg up for balance and your eyes trace what is exposed of his chest in the shirt, his tags hanging. You take him by surprise when you reach over, a hand gently taking the tags in hand.
“You saved Johnny.” You say quietly, setting the tags after inspection gently against this marred skin before tracing his neck. You feel him exhale through his nose, tracing a particularly nasty scar before pulling back for your observation, a soft look in your eyes. Simon feels his heart quicken feeling you look into him for the first time.
“Thank you.” You say silently and move to pull away, but a hand takes yours. You blink when he smiles.
“I love him, more than I could ever realise,” He says quietly, and there is a pulse of affection in his eyes, and you watch his eyes soften when he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, your blush turning away when he chuckles richly, gently releasing your hand.
Simon looks around the bar, then expectantly finds what he's looking for, the juke box in the corner, and he takes a quick sip of his drink before setting it down and pulling you up gently.
“Johnny did give me some pointers,” Simon smirks at your furrowed brow, but he leads you over to the jukebox before inserting a coin and letting the music play when you finally get his intention, your eyes lighting up with joy as smooth lyrics begin to play.
Boys workin' on empty
Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?
I just think about my baby
I'm so full of love I could barely eat
There's nothing sweeter than my baby
I'd never want once from the cherry tree
Cause my baby's sweet as can be
She'd give me toothaches just from kissin' me
Simon guides you with a hand at the small of your back, passing underneath Johnny's jacket, the weight of it a comforting presence as his fingers spread and he pulls you closer to his chest. He then guides you into a gentle way as memories take you away.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
The bar dissolves as you come home on a late night after a failed date, heels in hand and a tired sigh leaving you. You make the steps up your parents' porch and are surprised to find the door unlocked and as you approach, the porch light comes on, and the door opens to reveal Johnny.
“You were out late.” He crosses his arms, and you sigh again, and he softens,
“That bad huh?” He frowns and ushers you inside for a mug of tea.
In your kitchen, parents log past asleep you both toe the line between friendship and something more as he pulls you close.
Boys, when my baby found me
I was three days on a drunken sin
I woke with her walls around me
Nothin' in her room but an empty crib
And I was burnin' up a fever
I didn't care much how long I lived
But I swear I thought I dreamed her
She never asked me once about the wrong I did
Simon sways on his feelings, arms coming around you and pulling you from your mind as Hozier sings. It was this very song you cried to many times, Al the loss, the directionless running, it all seemed pointless then.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
There must be some storm in your eyes because Simon takes your cheek in hand and looks into your eyes. His are deep brown depths, a fondness shining in the low lights of the bar, he murmurs your name and you focus on him ignoring the others around you.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
My babe would never fret none
About what my hands and my body done
If the Lord don't forgive me
I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me
When I was kissin' on my baby
And she put her love down soft and sweet
In the low lamp light I was free
Heaven and hell were words to me
On a dime, Simon pulls you closer, stopping in the moment to hold you close, the smell of leather and a faint trace of gun oil permeating. There is still the scent of earth, you notice, from his working outside and there is a faint smell of bourbon and vanilla that clings.
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her
As the song slows, you feel the eyes of Tom watching with curiosity; there is the low murmur of other patrons. But instead, you focus on the beating heart holding you, leaning your head into Simon's chest.
If you see this and you've been struggling I want you to know that I see you. I see you and I know how hard it is
And I'm just wondering if you'd like to hang on together. If you'd like to stay strong with me. If you'd like to keep living along with me.
Times like these I feel like it's important to slow down. Stop thinking about the future for a moment. We can worry about it when we get there. How can we make it through today?
Happy New Year, everyone! I plan to post weekly from now on. I have collected my thoughts to the best of my ability. There has been so much going on, I am trying to chase part of myself.
Plans include:
Chapter 2-5 of Jewel of the Abyss
Working on the next chapter of OTSP
Maybe publishing parts of my novel here
I am happy to be back!
A little line to pass the time:
Like dew of the sun,
Glistening starlight rolled down her cheek,
“Sometimes I think I will never leave Rua dos Douradores. Once written down, that seems to me like an eternity.“ - Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
In dreams, that freedom felt to me as if the South Seas had proffered up a gift of marvellous islands as yet undiscovered. Freedom would mean rest, artistic achievement, the intellectual fulfilment of my being….
But suddenly, even as I imagined this (during the brief holiday afforded by my lunch break), a feeling of displeasure erupted into the dream: I would be sad…I could never leave all that behind without weeping, without realizing, however displeasing the thought, that part of me would remain with them and that losing them would be akin to death.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
“…Between one soul and another, voices, cities-
None of this comes with an explanation for why
It exists, nor does it have a mouth for speaking.”
Fernando Pessoa, From Faust
“Those who never receive a proper burial are denied the relief of state-trasition amnesia, their memories sticking to them even in death.”
Lewis Hyde, A Primer for Forgetting
“Given that the etymological root of the greek lethe suggest theatr forgetting is the covering up or hiding of something, we could extend the image and say that to forget is to bury…there are two kinds of burials: in one, something is hidden because we can’t stad to look at it; in the other, it is buried because we are done with it…This latter is proper burial, burial after attention has been paid and funerary rites observed.”
Lewis Hyde, A Primer for Forgetting
“Teach me I am forgotten by the dead / And that the dead is by herself forgot.”
Emerson (A Primer for Forgetting)
(AN - I am slowly getting back into writing, I hope to have a chapter up by the end of the week! I have started writing my novel as well, so that is taking my creative energy.)
The world flittered past your resting eyes, some colors of unsung dreams seeping into your mind. He was near.
A presence in your room as of late, since that night on the shore staring out into the abyssal sea. Crying your heart out at the loss of everything. Life had turned sideways in your mind, as everything crept in. You spat out the wish to drown.
He steps from the shadows in your dreams, coming to your side.
“Sweet thing, why do you cry?”
The tears well up in your sleep as your soul shatters into the waves.
The scream wells up as you fall into sleep, but you drift into his waiting arms.
AN Chapter 2 of Jewel of the Abyss will be up this upcoming week. I am also working on On the same page for a glorious return!
Jewel of the Abyss (or a COD X Labyrinth Story) 141! x Reader (Part 1)
Masterlist
Lately, your dreams have bled color, like old film, blurring, winding, and eventually stabilizing. Dancing memories woven into fantasy, taking you from your day-to-day into some otherworld of your mind. The days begin to cycle as summer ends, and the beckoning of fall calls to you. The prospect of spending the weekend in bed with your books made you want to cry.
You spent that Friday barely containing your excitement; there was a new bookstore opening in the old town center, which you were looking forward to raiding. As 5 pm crept closer, you practically vibrated, and you gathered your things. The library around you breathed a sigh of relief as the golden time struck. You gather your items and leave the offices of the library to join your coworkers in watching the rest of the regular patrons leave.
Alice catches your eye as you head out of the circulation room and to the back of the front desk.
“Big plans?” Her eyebrows raise, and she smirks as you shoulder your book bag.
“Lots, I'm heading downtown for that new bookstore.”
Alice nodded, appraising you,
“Might have to join you, but I have dinner with Jane tonight.”
Jane was the ostentatious tabby main coon mix. Named after Austin herself, the cat reigned in Alice’s household along with Lewis, her golden retriever. You had met the duo in the bring your pets to work day hosted by the Friends of the Library, a volunteer headed group that ran a bookstore of their own in the library, one that you had seemingly exhausted. Due to this, you had been excited about the new bookstore. You heard about it, strangely enough, from a book in circulation. As you set the Aesop’s fables aside, a bookmark fell out, on the back, a hand-scrawled note read,
“New Bookstore! Explore the literary seas with Captain Joh-”
The rest of the writing had been smudged, perhaps in the author's quickness to record the message. You had just shrugged it off and set the note aside. But as the days passed, it nagged on you, and now here you were.
-
As you leave the library, there is a rush of cold air that blasts into you, it whisks the scarf from Alice's neck as she rushes after it towards the parking lot.
“Have a fun time, dear!”
Her voice retreats, and you chuckle to yourself before heading to your car. As you get in the rumbling of thunder calls in the cold front that was soon to hit.
The passage to town was full of autumnal delight as the leaves were just beginning to turn. You pass the bakery, the smell of sweets and sourdough luring your senses even in the car. You slow, glancing back as you stop at a stop sign and sigh.
“No point in stopping on an empty stomach,” you murmur as you find the visitor lot and pull into a space.
As you get out of the car, your boot hits a brick-paved street, evidence of the town's old roots as it has expanded. You close your door and, after tightening your jacket, head into the bakery. The door chimes with an antique brass bell, and you step into a converted space, the old industrial factory cleared and sectioned into mom and pop shops. You frequented the record store next door.
The ding alerts the owner and your friend William. His head pops out of the back kitchen and his face lights up, he calls your name, and you smile.
“The usual?”
“If you don’t mind Will.”
His face dusts a light shade of pink at the nickname, but he nods before disappearing back into the kitchen. As he works, he calls out from the kitchen,
“What brings you into town so late?”
You lean against the counter, both listening and admiring the muffins and cookies in the case.
“You hear about that new bookshop? They open tonight.”
There is a pause in the kitchen sounds, and you hear a utensil drop, and Will curse, and you giggle. His head then appears back out of the kitchen.
“Yeah apparently the owner is foreign, stumbled upon some old wealth, and quit the navy or something. At least that's what Rachel says.”
You roll your eyes fondly,
“Rach will say anything.”
Will disappears for a moment, and there is silence before he returns to the counter with a plate loaded with a fresh chicken salad sandwich on toasted sourdough. You move for your wallet, but he waves you off,
“You're a friend, don't worry about it, call it a sample.”
You nod a bit dumbly, but he just smiles and slides you the plate. You take it, then take your seat by the window as Will returns to work.
-
You finish the sandwich by 5:40, just in time to hit the shop early. You return the plate to Will, thanking him.
“No problem, for you anytime.”
He waves as you leave and begins the few-block walk to the store.
The imitation gas lanterns light as dusk settles, the clouds painted a dusty orange and indigo. You watch the clouds wisp into stars as you walk, humming to yourself and watching people pass by doing their shopping. Antique shops pass by, nestled in between are cafes and the occasional stationery shop. Reaching into your bag, you pull out the worn bookmark, its cream paper thick and tattered on one edge. Out of curiosity, you examine it as you walk. On the back is the illustration of a masked dancer, the devil mask grinning at you with bejeweled embellishments. At each corner of the bookmark is a small gem inserted, with gilded embossment.
You slow when the gems shine in the light of the lamps,
“Pretty thing, isn't it?”
You nod to yourself and tuck the bookmark back into your bag as you turn the final block and come in sight of the store.
-
Before you, at the corner of the block before a break of a park sat an old brick and mortar 3 stroies tall. The setting sun reflects of the windows, and you squint trying to make out the name on the unlit sign. Moving closer, you see what it reads:
Anchor & Tome.
You chuckle at the name, something tickling your fancy as you make the final approach. There are a few others, a few couples, and a small gathering of older ladies outside waiting in a makeshift line. You move in to join them, and the minute you d,o there is a jingle of the handle that has everyone looking up the steps.
The old wooden door to the building opens, and the man who steps away fits the description of that Will told you perfectly.
Tall, with a strong form, the man wears a leather apron over a navy sweater and work jeans. His eyes, ocean blue in the dim light, shine as he scans the small gathering of people. His eyes sweep over everyone with a twinge of his lips, but they soon settle on you, and he pauses, his head tilting in evaluation. You blink, and the moment remains a second longer as a spark goes up your spine before he speaks with a worn and deep voice.
“Welcome to Anchor & Tome, I am, well,” He chuckles, “was Captain Johnathan Price.”
The old ladies clap, and you stifle a laugh under your breath at their cheeriness, but you feel the same elation in your veins, like a new story ready to be uncovered.
“Each of you found your own way here, and I can only hope this ship offers what you may be looking for.”
His eyes meet yours again, and he smiles this time, something knowing you can’t quite place.
“Without much further ado, come on in!”
And with that, John steps aside, allowing the people in front of you to enter the store. You make up the tail end of the group, and as you head up the step,s you stumble on an uneven paver. Before you shift, there is a large hand on your elbow as John reaches out to settle you.
“Easy there, Love.” his accent thickens as he helps you up.
“Thank you.”
He nods, an easy smile on his face. He looks then to the horizon, parts open due to the park.
“Seems a storm is blowing in. Glad you joined us?”
He insinuates a bit, so you offer your name as you step to the threshold of the store. John's hand remains at your elbow, guiding almost protectively. Some strange energy builds in your mind as you meet his eyes, and you are reminded of sharp sapphire waves from your dreams. As you exhale, you take the final step into the threshold and enter the bookstore with John at your back.
So I have teased this, but I wanted to say it is in development.
I just don't know who would be the leader, there of course is John as a king, as has been done before. But I like Simon as the main 'villain', I will be bringing elements of my other fics into this.
I also have a 60,000-plus-word fic in progress for Labyrinth that I am porting over to Tumblr. I miss this fic, and Labyrinth was what got me into fanfiction seriously, so I owe it enough to bring this fandom and all its mystique to the COD space.
All in all, I am returning to reading and writing and am choosing to drag any wayward souls with me. Expect an update to one of my main fics within the week
The scared light landed on him through the bars of the window, Dark eyes open at the kiss of the moonlight. His head lolls against the stone wall, and as umber eyes close, he finds himself in the embrace of sleep.
Colors dance in the nebulae behind his eyes. What is the meaning but love?
Words burn themselves from his skin into the night.
In the sacred moonlight, his soul opens to you.
You long drifted in the dream state, lack of worship leaving you unloved and leaden, sinking into the dark ocean. You shepherd the dreamers into creation.
Oh muse, his mind calls as you take his hand from the cell and lead him into the stars.
So has anyone done the soul-wretched poet Simon yearning for his muse?
Masterlist
The battle rages on,
The machine stutters under the weight of the mind,
Yet you dance among the flowers,
The broken marble and the seeds.
Prose explores, but poetry empowers.
Your eyes are the holes in the stars,
Spatial greatness too large to comprehend,
But my love, you cradle me in your light,
As the lion prowls during the everlasting day,
I find comfort in the bask of the night.
I can only see you in the fragments of my mind,
Before the flood, before the death in the waves,
I broke myself for you,
Baptised in your shining depths
Then forever we will dance.
I've been reconnecting with my writing side after taking some new medication. I plan to reread all my fic series this week and post the next chapters soon. Here is just a look inside my mind rn...
“You were the light that is blinding me
You're the anchor that I tie to my brain
'Cause when it feels when I'm lost at sea
You're the song that I sing again and again
All the time, all the time
I think of you all the time...”
Anchor - Bastille
“And all their words for glory, well, they always sounded empty
When we're looking up for heaven, looking up for heaven
Way down here upon the ground when we're lying in the dirt
There's no looking up for heaven, looking up for heaven...”
Glory - Bastille
“I say you kill your heroes and fly…”
Kill Your Heroes - Awolnation
“And about this time of every year
The line will go to the ocean pier
And walk right off into the sea
And then we fall asleep...”
March to the Sea - Twenty One Pilots
“I think pain is waiting alone at the corner
Tryna get myself back home, yeah
Looking like everybody
Knowing everybody lost somebody…”
“And there's a reason I wake up alone in strange places
A reason I see myself in a million faces
A reason I can't stop it all from changing…”
