#and because concord was close by and I was curious and my friends love little women

[musette22]

Goodnight from Concord 🫶🏼💫🍂

[capevans3000]

The reader is the fiancé of chris evans, and its the Day of the wedding and the reader is nervous, and the ceremony is cute , they have written there own vows, and the reader announce that she is pregant , and chris like you joking right, the reader so like i found out 2 weeks ago, and i waited till today to tell you, with a lott of fluff thanks and if its ready you tag me right

Hi @maximeevansblog, my friend. Sorry for the long wait for this one. I had a really fun time writing this! Thank you for the request, it’s really such a sweet idea. <3 I hope this does your request justice, and that you’ll love it!

A/N: You may find the vows really familiar, that’s because it’s mostly made up of different Disney quotes, haha! I’d imagine Chris’ wedding would be Disney themed, or least Disney inspired? He’s such a huge Disney fan after all! While reading this, you may want to listen to this, which was kind of the song I was picturing the reader walking down the aisle to. Also the ring that Chris gave to Y/N looks something like this.

Comments and feedback are really appreciated! Pictures are not mine, but all mistakes in this are mine. Stay safe everyone!

All that months of preparation had finally led you and Chris to this day. You sat alone in one of the dressing rooms of the Concord Youth Theatre, reminiscing the journey you and Chris took, just to arrive on this very day. It was clear right from the beginning of your relationship that you were both meant to end up together forever. But that didn’t mean it was easy. You learned the hard way, what it meant to date someone as famous as Chris. The media weren’t always the kindest with their words and their judgements, and you admitted that you had fallen into dark moments more times than you were proud of reading articles about your relationship with him. Still, Chris had never let the media be in any way of your relationship. He remained a constant rock, a strong foothold and a protector of you. Words weren’t necessarily needed at all for him to show you his love for you. He did it all through his actions, his time, his patience. No matter how much you loved Chris, he always seemed to love you a whole lot more.

You smiled as you thought back to the day he proposed. Chris had brought you and Dodger on a camping trip, one that you have had many times before. You just had no idea that the camping trip was when you’d become his fiancé. There were no frills, no theatrics. There were just the two of you and Dodger, in the rain, under the mellow moonlight when he popped the question. The rain was soft, but plentiful, on the day he asked you to be his wife. You could still remember the smell, the feeling of the rain pelting on your skin when you answered his proposal with a kiss. That was all that mattered.

You looked up and saw yourself through the mirrors. You were tearing happy tears, as your hand naturally moved up to your tummy to rub it gently. You could feel your heart pounding so loudly it was almost audible in the quiet room. You had requested to be alone for a moment so you could prepare yourself to announce the important news to Chris.

You dabbed your tears away with a napkin, straightened your dress, and exited the room. You passed a few of your close friends outside the dressing room and smiled at them. You further excused yourself to make your way to Chris’ dressing room. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on his door.

“Hey, what’s up, sis-in-law!” Scott greeted cheerfully as he opened the door with a wide grin on his face. You smiled cheekily as he gave you a quick peck on your cheeks. “My brother is so lucky, look at you!” Scott took a step back to look at you.

“Thanks, Scott.” You laughed. “Can I have a moment with Chris?”

Scott nodded and winked at you when he closed the door behind him, leaving just you and Chris in the room. You looked up and your gaze met with Chris’. He was wearing a maroon tuxedo with a bow tie, and your heart almost gave out at the sight. You may be becoming his wife in a few hours’ time, but you’d never stop fangirling over him.

Chris looked at you, his gaze soft and tender. He right hand was clutching on his chest, and you could tell he was trying to form words with his mouth, but nothing came out. You stepped forward to him and placed a hand on his face before tip-toeing to plant a kiss on his lips. “Hey.” You called out.

Chris kissed you back. It was the first time he had seen you in your wedding dress, and you could see from the look on his face that he loved it. “Y/N… You look… amazing.” He finally found his voice. You could hear a catch in his voice as he fought back his tears.

“You look really handsome, too.” You smiled, trying to stop your tears from falling as well.

You stood there with Chris, holding hands, unspeaking, just revelling in that very moment. It was a while before Chris finally spoke again. “Scott’s right, I’m a really guy to have you as my wife.” His voice was firmer now. You buried your face in Chris’ chest and smiled. “I love you, Chris.” You spoke against his chest, almost as if you were speaking right into his heart. You felt Chris’ chest moved and through vibrations from his voice, you heard him telling you that he loved you too.

“I’m really glad we’re having our wedding here.” You whispered, your head still resting on his chest. It was the most natural decision. When you were planning your wedding with Chris, you both had the same thought in mind to hold it at Concord Youth Theatre. This theatre held a very special place in Chris’ heart, and it was also the place where you met him. It was only natural to begin the rest of your life with Chris here.

“Mm, me too.” Chris replied, his hand tenderly rubbing your back.

You had no idea how long the two of you had stood there in each other’s embrace when you finally took a deep breath and gently pushed yourself away from Chris so you could see his face.

“Chris…” Your voice choking slightly. Chris looked at you, a hint of curiosity flashed across his face.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be married in just under an hour’s time. I’m so grateful for you, and I am so grateful you’re going to be walking this life journey with me.” You continued. “I am not perfect, but I promise I’ll use the rest of my life to love you as your wife… and... as the mother of your baby.” You were tearing again as you said those last words to him.

Chris looked at you, his face changing from curious to disbelief. You were almost whispering at the end of your sentence. Although Chris had heard you, he was afraid he had understood you wrongly. “Are you…” Chris held up your face with his hands to look at him, his eyes watery.

“Mm.” You cried as you raised your hands and took both of Chris’ hands to guide them over your belly. “That’s our baby in there.”

“Y/N…” Chris was crying too. He pulled you into his chest and embraced you tightly. You laughed, an cried at the same time, throwing your arms around Chris to return the embrace. "I wanted to tell you this before we head out there." You said, as Chris' chest heaved with a happy sob. He looked at you once again, and kissed you deeply, yet so tenderly. "I love you so much, Y/N."

You only had a little bit of time left to clean up your make up before the actual ceremony. It was easy to forget the concept of time when you were with Chris. Had Scott not come knocking on the door earlier, both of you would have continued to stay in that embrace.

Your girlfriends had rushed in to help you arrange your dress and to ensure you were ready. You had composed yourself by the time they saw you, so they had no idea you were just crying. Your father had come to your dressing room to bring you to the main theatre hall so he could walk you down the aisle. Behind the closed doors of the theatre, you heard the live instrumental music and choir singing of The Little Mermaid’s Happy Ending. The doors swung open, signalling for you to march in with your father. You looked at your father with tears in your eyes. He held out his arm for you to hold it, and gave your hand a little squeeze. Your father walked you down the theatre aisle towards Chris, who was standing at the end. The theatre was beautifully done up on this day with Disney inspired theme – where both of you were avid Disney fans.

You marched past all your close friends and families, throwing them smiles along the way, until you finally reached Chris, who had extended his arm to hold yours. Your father lightly gave you a peck on the cheeks and handed you to Chris. The both of you stood in front of the Minister, facing each other and holding gaze. Your heart was pounding as hard, if not even harder than the day Chris proposed to you. You were about to be his lawfully wedded wife.

The Minister called for Chris to read his vow.

“Y/N…” Chris choked back his tears. “You mean more to me than anything in this whole world. You are my greatest adventure and my dream wouldn’t be complete without you in it. I promise to love you forever, and always be with you. I promise to be the best husband I can be, and I promise to always take care of you. I want to promise you that I will love you and every single future children we’re going to have… starting from this one right here.” Chris vowed, and did a little point at your tummy at the end. As he said this, you heard an echo of gasps across the whole theatre floor. You laughed and smiled at Chris, tears forming in your eyes.

There was no time for your friends and families to fully react to the news as the Minister called for you to read your vows. “Chris, thank you for showing me that love is putting someone else’s needs before yours. Thank you for always putting me first in everything, for loving me so wholeheartedly for who I am. When I look at you, I can feel it. When I look at you, I’m home. I promise to be the best wife I can be, and I promise to always take care of you. And I promise to love you, as much as I’ll love our children.” Your tears were falling freely from your eyes now, just as Chris’ was.

You didn’t look at anyone else, but around you, you could hear your parents and Chris’ parents crying. Nobody else was talking, but the sounds of sniffing were all over the theatre, and you were sure there weren’t any dry eyes at that very moment.

The Minister’s voice gently broke through the sounds of crying, as he announced for the two of you to exchange rings. Just as he announced this, Dodger came running down the aisle with a ring pillow tied around his collar. He came forward to the both of you and sat down with his tail wagging excitedly. Chris bent down to pat Dodger on his head and removed one of the rings from his collar. Chris took your hand in his and slid the ring through your finger. The ring, inspired by the Little Mermaid, was specially designed by Chris himself, which held a seashell and a green gem in it.

It was then your turn. Dodger had stood up so you didn’t had to bend down too far to get Chris’ ring. You had also designed Chris’ ring for him. It was the same colour theme as The Little Mermaid, a movie both you and him loved. You took the ring and slid it through Chris’ finger.

With that, the Minister announced you and Chris as man and wife. The both of you were in tears, as with everyone else in the theatre, when Chris brought your face close and sealed the deal with a kiss.

[lilacerull0]

LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 2, PART 1: INVISIBLE STRING

Horizons and Sunsets

 

"Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs"

- invisible string, Taylor Swift

Concord, Massachusetts, 1868

 

Rays of sunshine playing on her skin. Soft grass under her fingers. Little specks of dirt scattered across her face. Leaves tangled up in her hair. It's not a common happening to be able to see yourself in such a way. A way that makes it seem like you are not you, but somebody else wearing somebody else's clothes, guarding somebody else's heart, owning somebody else's thoughts. Like you are only an observer, a background noise in your own life. These descriptions are usually used in unpleasant connotations, usually as metaphors, usually as another way of saying you feel transparent, forgotten and small. But in Jo's case, the phenomenon is not even a tiny bit metaphorical. Maybe it's the impact of the books. Maybe it's her imagination. Maybe it's just her. Whatever it is, Jo has always been able to see her life as a theatre piece, herself an audience member, her past self, no matter how far back she might travel to reach a certain memory, a performer.  And Jo craves those moments of remembrance. She craves the feeling of transparency. She craves to exist less.

 

Everything she remembers, she remembers in flashes. Her memories do not understand concepts such as "chronology" or "order". Her brain resembles an unsolved puzzle. Every piece of information she has makes sense. But when to be put together with another aspect of her being, it does not fit. Nothing about her ever seems to fit. And now, she doesn't fit within herself.

 

No, Jo March is not a puzzle. Puzzle, no matter how difficult and complex, can be put together.

 

She's a living breathing contradiction.

What else to describe the utter ridiculousness of her mind? She is not happy and she is not sad. One second she is completely content with her life, the other, she is not. She wants to receive love, love and love, but she is afraid to offer it.

 

When Josephine March loves someone, she does not tell them. She does show, but never tells. She never uses the famous simple phrase. Never not once.

 

Her best friend burns for the people he loves. Jo burns for them in secret.

 

And here, as she is seeing herself splattered in sunlight, Jo March is preoccupied with three actions of extraordinary importance.

 

One is chasing ghosts.

Other is rearranging thoughts,

Final is accepting sunsets.

 

***

 

Paris, France, 1868

Theodore (yes, he is "Theodore" now) is not exactly sure where he is or how did he get there. His vision is blurry and his body feels heavier than usual. What is fascinating about his situation is the fact that consuming certain "substances", (and substances being of alcoholic nature), were supposed to prevail him from feeling like this. From feeling the way he's been feeling his entire life. Like everything around him was frozen and he was the only one moving. He was just too fast, too warm, too different. Enormous in emotion, reckless in thought. All of this often led to conclusions too horrific to comprehend, so he tried to avoid thinking.

The thought of having too many emotions might be terrifying. But the thought of having too much love for everything and everyone but himself was rather paralyzing. It was ridiculous to expect anybody to feel with as much passion as he did. It was ridiculous to demand such a thing from people. Why would anyone put all of their energy into someone else when there were so many things to be done in the world? But those other things rarely sparked an interest in him. Adventures, boarding schools, trips and experiences seemed irrelevant and hollow unless they were intended to be shared. It's funny how he always craved the one thing he never had. And when he finally got a glance of the love he so desperately wanted, he lost it because of his stupid absurd annoying emotions.

When Theodore Laurence loves someone he does not tell them. He screams it until his lungs are on fire.

 

His best friend loves with her whole entire heart. He loves with his whole entire being.

 

And now, vision blurry and body heavy, Theodore Laurence finds himself preoccupied with three actions of extraordinary importance.

 

One is chasing ghosts.

Other is rearranging thoughts,

Final is accepting sunsets.

 

***

Concord, Massachusetts, 1862

 

Step one: chasing ghosts

Sand beneath her bare feet. Water. Silent whispers of the sea. Birds. Colors. Nothing. Everything. Oh, to be crafted in such a way to believe you shall always be sixteen and silly and reckless and real. That is how Jo feels right now. Real. Right here, observing, enjoying, doing nothing but existing. And the sea! So mystical and wide, appearing endless in its presence, it looks like something in possession of a dream rather than this time and place. And the best part of this? Her family. They all resemble a painting in their natural messiness. Amy with her hair half wet, positioned in a way she believes to be ladylike, smiling at the horizon, sketchbook in hand. Meg, holding her hat so that it doesn't leave her in its desperate wish to follow the wind, shoes untied, eyes glistening from laughter she experienced seconds before. Beth, oh sweet Beth, kneeling by the water, touching the shining surface, mouth moving as though she is singing to the sea itself. Teddy is by her side, like he always is, sitting with his eyes closed, head held high up to the sky. He would probably refer to his current position as a way to "suck out all the marrow out of life", which always sounded a bit inappropriate coming from his mouth, but Jo loved the symbolism of the phrase, so she decided to put her friend's foolishness to the side.

 

"Isn't it simply ethereal, dearest Teddy?"

 

"Yes, I did indeed think my face had a particular glow to it this morning, your kind remark is very well appreciated, Miss March" came a teasing response shortly followed by a light smack to the arm (because Jo, being an experienced bookworm, always had a book weapon down her sleeve).

 

"Oh Teddy, you're such a boy sometimes. I find it quite disappointing really." said Jo being perfectly aware of the effect the comment might cause. Teddy shot her a look of a supposedly hurt individual, put a hand over his heart and exhaled loudly, as though he was a character in a Shakespearean tragedy. Jo rolled her eyes at the glamorous gesture, but pretty quickly, her features were changed with a thoughtful expression. She turned her head to Teddy timelines after, only to be greeted with a no longer playful, but a reassuring smile. He knew her too well.

 

"You know, it doesn't make it any less beautiful. The fact that it's all going to end one day, I mean. Quite the opposite actually."

 

She does not answer that. She gets up from the ground and extends her hand to him.

 

"If it's going to end, we might as well suck all of the existing marrow out of it."

 

"Oh, what a wonderful choice of words, dearest Jo!" he exclaims theatrically while gladly accepting her hand

 

"Oh, what a wonderful life, dearest Teddy."

 

And with that, they run to the sea, their lungs almost too full, smiles almost too big. Spirits almost too free.

 

 

Childhood is a thing of dreams.

 

 

Concord, Massachusetts, 1863

 

Step two: rearranging thoughts

 

Trousers under skirts. It's scandalous. Scandalous and inappropriate. At least that's what society will label it as. And society loves labels. But Laurie finds a solace of sorts in his friend's choice of clothes. He isn't sure how to explain it (he is not as good with words as Jo is), but it's comforting to see someone be so unapologetically themselves, whoever that person might be. He tells her this one day because he's Laurie and he isn't familiar with the concept of "silencing your emotions".

 

"Teddy, don't flatter, I told you I do not enjoy nor support such doings. You might as well go practice your gentlemanly manners on Amy, I'm sure she will accept your words of so called admiration with much more enthusiasm than yours truly." says Jo, her voice a tiny bit too loud, her thoughts meeting the outside world in grave speed. Laurie often finds himself wondering how one speaks with so much passion and rush, it's like Jo's sentences are running instead of flowing. She shares her mind without looking at him, her hands busy with rearranging the dining table previously covered with Amy's unfinished drawings and Beth's beloved dolls.

 

"I meant what I said, Jo. But since you believe I'm incapable of offering sincerity, I shall escort myself out."

 

He gets up from the place he was sitting at and rushes out of the March house, leaving his waistcoat behind him. Jo knows better than to follow him right away. She will bring him the forgotten object later, once he's ready to start unravelling burdens.

 

 

***

 

Night.

 

Light.

 

 

These two nouns aren't supposed to get along very well, yet here we are. Jo finds herself awake in the middle of the night, which circumstance she is no stranger to, but this time it is not her restless mind that steals her from the arms of dreamland. It's light. Jo gets up, careful not to make a noise, and looks out the window to further investigate the strange occurring. And the sight her eyes are met with is a sight so undoubtedly Teddy-like that she isn't sure if she will be able to forgive herself for not coming up with such a conclusion sooner. The house of her neighbour, who happens to be her dearest friend, is shining with what she presumes is light of about two dozen candles. The scene would've been inspiring, if not captivating, especially for a person of her making, but Jo knows Teddy and this cannot mean anything pleasant. Therefore, she decides to pay her fellow pirate a visit, armed with a forgotten piece of clothing as a faithful enough excuse.

 

Proud of herself for avoiding all the obstacles successfully (and the obstacles being sleeping family members who have yet to be introduced to the pleasures such as "sleepless nights" or "windows"), Jo runs to the construction once known as a house, now as a gothic castle and knocks. Her efforts are answered with a voice of not a person, but a peculiarly human like ghost.

 

"Who is it?"

 

"Do you really think I will dare share information of an importance so big, oh so grand, without seeing your face, kind sir?" says not Jo, but a righteous, noble knight, his devotion as admirable as amusing.

 

Laurie opens the door only to be met with a grinning Jo.

 

"I believe you have forgotten this, my friend."

exclaims an unlike lady, kneels down and offers him his waistcoat in a way so grandiose, some might think she actually was a knight in shining armor, sharing sunlight, providing hope.

 

"Don't be a goose Jo" came a gentlemanly response followed by an annoyed sound and indifferent expression. Laurie turns around, but leaves the door wide open. Jo, understanding the message quite well, follows him inside to a candle lit room. Laurie approaches the piano and sits down as though he is about to start playing the instrument, but he doesn't confirm the logical assumption. Instead, he closes his eyes and remains like that for what feels like eternity, looking like a human statue. It would've been comical if it were anybody else, but Jo was familiar with Teddy's passion for extravagance. His behaviour does not spark laughter, but concern.

 

"Teddy, I think you should start explaining whatever it is you need to explain. Keeping it in won't do anybody any good despite you believing it will. I promise, you won't be a burden."

 

Laurie shifts in his position and exhales loudly, his eyes still closed. When he starts to speak, his voice is not his. It's distant and decorated with occasional trembles which he is desperately trying to avoid.

"When I told you today how I find solace in the way you carry yourself and how you wear trousers and don't care about what people think of you, I wasn't trying to mess around or anything. Sometimes... Sometimes I feel like I am not me... Like I'm not a good match for myself and I..." he opens his eyes at that, not sure if he wants to receive a response to any of the things he has just said.

 

"I am deeply sorry Jo, this doesn't make any sense, you can go, I don't know what came of me."

 

"Oh Teddy, but it does make sense! It makes so, so much sense." Jo doesn't say that like she wants to comfort him. She really seems to mean it. Their gazes meet at the exact same time, their eyes glossy (which observation they will both dismiss in immense respect to one another), their faces now beautified with soft smiles.

 

"You do realize you are wearing a night gown right?"

 

"I am not the one randomly lighting up candles, impersonating ghosts now, am I?"

"It's called dramatic effect, Jo! Dramatic effect! And keep the waistcoat, I never really liked it anyways."

***

After that day, Jo and Laurie's closets were left grieving for lost members of their separate societies. Blouses, neckties and waistcoats were introduced to the idea of travel and adventure. And even though the closets were left in grief, their owners were more than satisfied with the not so sudden change.

[justabrazilianwriter]

The Request (SHIKATEMAWEEK 2020 - DAY 2)

It is past midnight here in my country (it’s past 2 AM, actually), so technically it is the second day of ShikatemaWeek. My contribution to the best Naruto couple is this little fic that has been hanging around my mind for months and that I only now saw an opportunity to put on paper. It is also published in Ao3. It is my first Shikatema fic, so I hope you enjoy it! 

DAY 2: Marriage  

SUMMARY: Shikamaru wants to propose to Temari, but his fears prevent him. A conversation with Gaara changes his perspective.

 (2338 WORDS)

English is not my first language, so I translated this story through the google translator. If you find any grammatical or concordance errors, please let me know!

There was something extraordinary about watching Temari at Suna's sunset.

Shikamaru was always taken by this thought whenever he ended up being honored by fate, that allowed him to visit and see her in that position.

Temari was in the distance, on one of the hills in the landscape, with the wind on her face and the color of the sky mixing with the tone of her golden hair. Her arms and hips were supported by her huge fan and she had her head tilted slightly to the side.

She shone like gold, with her feet buried in the sand and her eyes fixed on the horizon. She seemed to have been made by and to that place. She looked like she was home.

And that thought, as extraordinary as it was, brought him enormous pain in his chest.

Because seeing her there, so at home, so comfortable, so in love, made his wishes seem even more selfish. His dreams for the future seemed silly and unreachable. The small box he had carried in his pocket for weeks seemed to weigh five hundred tons.

How could he ask her to leave that place? Leave her land, her people, her place in this world, because of him?

Shikamaru thought, when the idea of marrying her seemed more important than breathing, that maybe he should be the one moving. Why should it be Temari? He could go to Suna. He could move to her house, become part of her people.

But his village was gradually rebuilding after the war and his work was one of the most important of all. Kakashi told him whenever he could that without Shikamaru, it would all fall apart. And his father died. Shikaku died in the war and Shikamaru was now responsible for the Nara Clan.

And there was also his mother. She was a widow now. Shikamaru was all she had. How could he leave her? How could he get married and move on a three-day trip away, probably only being able to visit her every several months?

Shikamaru could not move from his village. But then, how he could ask Temari to do it? She had her brothers. Her job. Her people.

He was a strategist, he was the man who always had a plan and could see all the different results that his actions could cause. But, with fear growing in his chest like a poisonous plant, all that Shikamaru was able to think of were two results:

She would say no. And they would be unable to move on, their relationship would end and he would lose the woman of his life, the love of his life, his partner and best friend, forever.

Or she would say yes. But there would always be a resentment lingering between them, a pain he caused by asking her to leave everything behind. And time will pass and Temari would never forgive him and their marriage would end and he would end up alone and depressed, without her and and and...

Shikamaru's shoulders fell. A resigned sigh came from his lips. These thoughts have been prowling his mind every day for weeks. For the first time in a long time he was completely lost. There was no plan.

"The view is beautiful, isn't it?".

The voice behind him startled him. Shikamaru jumped slightly, turning quickly and facing very light eyes and a familiar face.

"Oh, Lord Kazekage" he sighed placing his hand on his chest. "You scared me".

"Sorry," replied him, giving Shikmaru an almost invisible smile. “You seem distracted. Mind if I sit down? ”

Shikamaru shook his head and indicated the empty spot beside him, on the bench he was sitting on. Gaara sat down and they both turned to Temari, who was still standing in the distance.

"She always comes here to watch the sunset," said Gaara in a soft voice. Shikamaru looked at him curiously. "I always saw her coming here every evening, since we were kids. I think that's where she likes to think”.

Shikamaru nodded, not knowing what to say. Gaara was always a distant figure for him, even though he had been dating Temari for many months. He was kind and polite, but shy and didn't speak much. Sometimes Shikamaru wondered if he was in favor of their relationship or if he thought he was worthy of his sister.

"You know, when Temari told us that you and her were starting to date, I didn't know what to think about" murmured Gaara as if he could read his thoughts. "But I know that you and Naruto are close and he always speaks very good things about you, so I trusted my sister's critical sense."

Gaara looked at Temari on the horizon. The expression on his face was calm and gentle, as was his tone.

"Time has proved to me that you are good for her" he continued and Shikamaru's heart raced in his chest. “I see her smile whenever a letter arrives or when you call. She always seems lighter every time she comes back from Leaf or whenever there is a chance for her to visit you”.

A warm smile appeared on Shikamaru's lips and he looked back at Temari again. He loved her so hard that he sometimes felt like his heart would explode in his chest.

"And I see your smile too."

Shikamaru looked at Gaara with slightly wide eyes. He gave him a small, rare smile.

“I see how you smile at her whenever you talk and how you look at her whenever she passes. It is visible to anyone how much you love her”.

They were silent for a few seconds. Until:

"That's why I wonder why you haven't asked her yet."

If it were possible, Shikamaru would have swallowed his own tongue at that moment.

"What?" he exclaimed, feeling his cheeks burn. Gaara almost seemed to want to laugh.

“Every time I see you watching her, it's like if Temari had invented oxygen. And every time I see you leave, it's like if your heart is being left with her. So it's confusing to me. I am not a person who has much experience with love, so there are many things that I don't understand. This is one of them. If you love her and it hurts not to be with her, why don't you propose? ”.

It seemed like a genuinely curious question. Shikamaru found himself speechless for a few seconds, with his mouth open like a fish out of water, trying to make his own thoughts make sense.

"It's not that I don't want to," he said softly, moving his hand instinctively to the pocket where the box with the ring rested. Gaara's eyes followed his movement. "I want to. More than anything I ever wanted ”.

And it is the truth. Shikamaru wants everything with her. He wants to see her every morning when they wake up, with her hair spread across the pillows and her bare shoulders against the sheets. He wants to hear her humming around the house, talking to his mother in the kitchen, laughing with Ino in the gardens. He wants to hear her footsteps through the halls, her voice every day, her laughter at every moment. He wants to be able to kiss her in the comfort of his home, in the comfort of their home, and see her cheeks redden. He wants to feel her skin on his fingers. He wants to hear her sighs echo in his ears. He wants to have children with her, if Temari so wishes. Small children with black hair and green eyes or blond hair and black eyes or simply blond hair and green eyes. If he can see her there, in that new life, her smile, her look, her attitude, then it is worthwhile that the future of the Nara clan does not look anything like its ancestors. 

He wants everything.

"So what stops you?".

Shikamaru understood at that moment why Gaara was a great Kazekage. He seemed to have captured him in a fog that melted Shikamaru's brain and made him suddenly want to open his heart and tell him everything he was feeling. No one could deny anything to those eyes.

"I'm scared," he admitted, so quietly that he barely heard himself. "Her answer scares me".

"Do you think she'll say no?" asked Gaara with a frown. He almost seemed to find the idea absurd.

"I don't know" replied Shikamaru looking at his hands. He needed a cigarette. “I just don't want to put her in an uncomfortable situation. I thought about it a lot and I can't leave my village. They need me more than anything right now. So asking her to marry me is asking Temari to leave her home. And I know that you and this land are all that she loves most. I'm afraid she'll say no. I'm afraid she will say yes and regret it later”.

Gaara was silent for a moment, his eyes on his sister. Shikamaru's hands were sweating. He would never expect, even in a million years, to have this conversation with Gaara. The last time he heard him say so many words was when he threatened to kill Lee when everyone was twelve.

Shikamaru knew that Gaara had changed. He might not be outgoing like Kankuro or incisive like Temari, but Shikamaru could see his personality change in his eyes and his light, rare smiles. It didn't make that situation any less strange and uncomfortable, but he decided to keep talking. He wanted Gaara to like him and he was completely lost, after all. Shikamaru was so desperate that even Naruto's help would be welcome.

"It is true that Temari loves this place," muttered Gaara. “And that she would miss the sand, the heat and us. But is also true that no one forces her to do something that she does not want to".

Shikamaru did not answer, being able to just stare at him in silence.

"I don't know if you know, but Temari was against the invasion of your village in our chunnin exams." Shikamaru looked at him, jaw slightly dropped. Gaara laughed lightly. “She was the only one to question those actions. She was only sixteen, but she confronted our sensei and said that it was not a good idea. And do you know what that proves? ”.

He looked at Shikamaru and smiled. It was the first time that he saw Gaara's smile so big.

“It means that Temari is intelligent and wise, but that she acts with her heart. If she thinks something is wrong, she speaks. If she is against anything, she acts. And if she wants to marry you, she will. It will not be a few thousand kilometers away that will prevent her from doing it”.

Shikamaru smiled, turning to Temari in the distance, looking at her with all the affection he possessed.

"Your sister is as uncontrollable as the wind," he said. Gaara laughed through his nose, affectionately.

"She is. And I think you should keep that in mind. If Temari wants to marry you, nothing will stop her. You will not force her into anything. I mean, Suna's sages try to convince her to accept arranged marriages since she is eighteen and they cannot. It will not be you who will force her to do anything ”.

Shikamaru laughed, feeling his eyes sting. Gaara's words entered his heart and were able to ease the tension in his shoulders.

"She doesn't know that I'm having this conversation with you, but if you want a sincere opinion from her brother, know that I don't believe she would say no to you" he says and Shikamaru feels such overwhelming relief going through his body that it almost burst into tears. “I think what I'm trying to say is that I understand your fear, but I believe it is preventing you from seeing her side. If you make her happy, I don't see Temari repenting in the future, for the simple fact that she didn't make that decision unless it is what she really wants ”.

His eyes burned. If that conversation didn't end he would cry in relief right in front of Temari's brother and she, if she found out, would never let him forget that.

"But what about you and Kankuro?" he asked softly. "Won't that be difficult for you too?"

Gaara looked at the end of the sunset and at Temari for long minutes.

"I got used to loving people from afar," he murmured quietly, his eyes still fixed on his sister. "I will be fine".

Shikamaru swallowed a bowling ball in his throat. And after a few seconds:

"Kankuro, on the other hand...".

Shikamaru groaned sadly. Gaara laughed.

"Oh Lord, he will kill me" he cried.

"Kankuro likes you," said Gaara. “He will be happy. It will just be more difficult for him. He and Temari always had each other ”.

Finally, he chuckled.

“Besides, you can always have a child and call him Kankuro Junior. It will make him forgive you” he joked and the fact that it was Gaara, there, making jokes, made a laugh pass through Shikamaru's lips.

The sunset ended and Temari turned to where they were. Shikamaru saw her beautiful eyes widen in surprise and she raised her hand, waving. He waved back and Gaara stood up.

With a last smile, he murmured as he watched Temari walk towards them.

“Remember, this is not an individual thing. It is not your decision. You are a team. A very smart team to be honest. Talk to her. You will find out what to do ”.

Then he was gone, quiet as always. And when Temari arrived with her beautiful smile lighting her lips, Shikamaru smiled back and felt that the small box in his pocket didn't seem to weigh that much.

[theatticoneighth]

Watching The Queen’s Gambit; on the Remarkable Unexceptionality of Beth Harmon

‘With some people, chess is a pastime. With others, it is a compulsion, even an addiction. And every now and then, a person comes along for whom it is a birthright. Now and then, a small boy appears and dazzles us with his precocity, at what may be the world’s most difficult game. But what if that boy were a girl? A young, unsmiling girl, with brown eyes, red hair, and a dark blue dress? Into the male-dominated world of the nation’s top chess tournaments, strolls a teenage girl with bright, intense eyes, from Fairfield High School in Lexington, Kentucky. She is quiet, well-mannered, and out for blood.’

The preceding epigraph opens a fictional profile of Beth Harmon featured in the third episode of The Queen’s Gambit (2020), and is written and published after the protagonist — a teenage, rookie chess player, no less — beats a series of ranked pros to win her first of many tournaments. In the same deft manner as it depicts the character’s ascent to her global chess stardom, the piece also sets up the series’s narrative: this is evidence of a great talent, it tells us, a grandmaster in the making. As with most other stories about prodigies, this new entry into a timeworn genre is framed unexceptionally by its subject’s exceptionality.

Yet as far as tales regaled about young chess wunderkinds go, Beth Harmon’s stands out in more ways than one. That she is a girl in a male-dominated world has clearly not gone unremarked by both her diegetic and nondiegetic audiences. That her life has thus far — and despite her circumstances — been relatively uneventful, however, is what makes this show so remarkable. After all, much of our culture has undeniably primed us to expect the consequential from those whom we raise upon the pedestal of genius. As Harmon’s interviewer suggests in her conversation with Harmon for the latter’s profile, “Creativity and psychosis often go hand in hand. Or, for that matter, genius and madness.” So quickly do we attribute extraordinary accomplishments to similarly irregular origins that we presume an inexplicability of our geniuses: their idiosyncrasies are warranted, their bad behaviours are excused, and deep into their biographies we dig to excavate the enigmatic anomalies behind their gifts. Through our myths of exceptionality, we make the slightest aberrations into metonyms for brilliance.

Nonetheless, for all her sullenness, non-conformity, and her plethora of addictions, Beth Harmon seems an uncommonly normal girl. No doubt this may be a contentious view, as evinced perhaps by the chorus of viewers and reviewers alike who have already begun to brand the character a Mary Sue. Writing on the series for the LA Review of Books, for instance, Aaron Bady construes The Queen’s Gambit as “the tragedy of Bobby Fischer [made] into a feminist fantasy, a superhero story.” In the same vein, Jane Hu also laments in her astute critique of the Cold War-era drama its flagrant and saccharine wish-fulfillment tendencies. “The show gets to have it both ways,” she observes, “a beautiful heroine who leans into the edge of near self-destruction, but never entirely, because of all the male friends she makes along the way.” Sexual difference is here reconstituted as the unbridgeable chasm that divides the US from the Soviet Union, whereas the mutual friendliness shared between Harmon and her male chess opponents becomes a utopic revision of history. Should one follow Hu’s evaluation of the series as a period drama, then the retroactive ascription of a recognisably socialist collaborative ethos to Harmon and her compatriots is a contrived one indeed. 

Accordingly, both Hu and Bady conclude that the series grants us depthless emotional satisfaction at the costly expense of realism: its all-too-easy resolutions swiftly sidestep any nascent hint of overwhelming tension; its resulting calm betrays our desire for reprieve. Underlying these arguments is the fundamental assumption that the unembellished truth should also be an inconvenient one, but why must we always demand difficulty from those we deem noteworthy? Summing up the show’s conspicuous penchant for conflict-avoidance, Bady writes that: 

over and over again, the show strongly suggests — through a variety of genre and narrative cues — that something bad is about to happen. And then … it just doesn’t. An orphan is sent to a gothic orphanage and the staff … are benign. She meets a creepy, taciturn old man in the basement … and he teaches her chess and loans her money. She is adopted by a dysfunctional family and the mother … takes care of her. She goes to a chess tournament and midway through a crucial game she gets her first period and … another girl helps her, who she rebuffs, and she is fine anyway. She wins games, defeating older male players, and … they respect and welcome her, selflessly helping her. The foster father comes back and …she has the money to buy him off. She gets entangled in cold war politics and … decides not to be.

In short, everything that could go wrong … simply does not go wrong.

Time and again predicaments arise in Harmon’s narrative, but at each point, she is helped fortuitously by the people around her. In turn, the character is allowed to move through the series with the restrained unflappability of a sleepwalker, as if unaffected by the drama of her life.  Of course, this is not to say that she fails to encounter any obstacle on her way to celebrity and success — for neither her childhood trauma nor her substance-laden adolescence are exactly rosy portraits of idyll — but only that such challenges seem so easily ironed out by that they hardly register as true adversity. In other words, the show takes us repeatedly to the brink of what could become a life-altering crisis but refuses to indulge our taste for the spectacle that follows. Skipping over the Aristotelian climax, it shields us from the height of suspense, and without much struggle or effort on the viewers’ part, hands us our payoff. Consequently lacking the epochal weight of plot, little feels deserved in Harmon’s story.

In his study of eschatological fictions, The Sense of an Ending, Frank Kermode would associate such a predilection for catastrophes with our abiding fear of disorder. Seeing as time, as he argues, is “purely successive [and] disorganised,” we can only reach to the fictive concords of plot to make sense of our experiences. Endings in particular serve as the teleological objective towards which humanity projects our existence, so we hold paradigms of apocalypse closely to ourselves to restore significance to our lives. It probably comes as no surprise then that in a year of chaos and relentless disaster — not to mention the present era of extreme precariousness, doomscrolling, and the 24/7 news cycle, all of which have irrevocably attuned us to the dreadful expectation of “the worst thing to come” — we find ourselves eyeing Harmon’s good fortune with such scepticism. Surely, we imagine, something has to have happened to the character for her in order to justify her immense consequence. But just as children are adopted each day into loving families and chess tournaments play out regularly without much strife, so too can Harmon maintain low-grade dysfunctional relationships with her typically flawed family and friends. 

In any case, although “it seems to be a condition attaching to the exercise of thinking about the future that one should assume one's own time to stand in extraordinary relation to it,” not all orphans have to face Dickensian fates and not all geniuses have to be so tortured (Kermode). The fact remains that the vagaries of our existence are beyond perfect reason, and any attempt at thinking otherwise, while vital, may be naive. Contrary to most critics’ contentions, it is hence not The Queen’s Gambit’s subversions of form but its continued reach towards the same that holds up for viewers such a comforting promise of coherence. The show comes closest to disappointing us as a result when it eschews melodrama for the straightforward. Surprised by the ease and randomness of Harmon’s life, it is not difficult for one to wonder, four or five episodes into the show, what it is all for; one could even begin to empathise with Hu’s description of the series as mere “fodder for beauty.” 

Watching over the series now with Bady’s recap of it in mind, however, I am reminded oddly not of the prestige and historical dramas to which the series is frequently compared, but the low-stakes, slice-of-life cartoons that had peppered my childhood. Defined by the prosaicness of its settings, the genre punctuates the life’s mundanity with brief moments of marvel to accentuate the curious in the ordinary. In these shows, kindergarteners fix the troubles of adults with their hilarious playground antics, while time-traveling robot cats and toddler scientists alike are confronted with the woes of chores. Likewise, we find in The Queen’s Gambit a comparable glimpse of the quotidian framed by its protagonist’s quirks. Certainly, little about the Netflix series’ visual and narrative features would identify it as a slice-of-life serial, but there remains some merit, I believe, in watching it as such. For, if there is anything to be gained from plots wherein nothing is introduced that cannot be resolved in an episode or ten, it is not just what Bady calls the “drowsy comfort” of satisfaction — of knowing that things will be alright, or at the very least, that they will not be terrible. Rather, it is the sense that we are not yet so estranged from ourselves, and that both life and familiarity persists even in the most extraordinary of circumstances.

Perhaps some might find such a tendency towards the normal questionable, yet when all the world is on fire and everyone clambers for acclaim, it is ultimately the ongoingness of everyday life for which one yearns. As Harmon’s childhood friend, Jolene, tells her when she is once again about to fall off the wagon, “You’ve been the best at what you do for so long, you don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us.” For so long, and especially over the past year, we have catastrophized the myriad crises in which we’re living that we often overlook the minor details and habits that nonetheless sustain us. To inhabit the congruence of both the remarkable and its opposite in the singular figure of Beth Harmon is therefore to be reminded of the possibility of being outstanding without being exceptional — that is, to not make an exception of oneself despite one’s situation — and to let oneself be drawn back, however placid or insignificant it may be, into the unassuming hum of dailiness. It is in this way of living that one lives on, minute by minute, day by day, against the looming fear and anxiety that seek to suspend our plodding regular existence. It is also in this way that I will soon be turning the page on the last few months in anticipation of what is to come. 

Born and raised in the perpetually summery tropics — that is, Singapore — Rachel Tay wishes she could say her life was just like a still from Call Me By Your Name: tanned boys, peaches, and all. Unfortunately, the only resemblance that her life bears to the film comes in the form of books, albeit ones read in the comfort of air-conditioned cafés, and not the pool, for the heat is sweltering and the humidity unbearable. A fervent turtleneck-wearer and an unrepentant hot coffee-addict, she is thus the ideal self-parodying Literature student, and the complete anti-thesis to tropical life.

[etaeternum]

Fathers and Sons

If you are enjoying this story, please let me know! I have not been posting often because I worry about spamming newsfeeds with content no one is interested in. This entire fic is already written and I can post more often if people are interested. Bond of the Grey Chapter 8 The Inquisitor and Queen reflect on their meeting. Morrigan finds Alistair and Caoilainn to share her discoveries. Alistair remembers the first time meeting Maric.

“I told you we shouldn’t have trusted her from the beginning. She wasn’t here for the Inquisition; she was here for herself.” Arms in the air, Alanna walked to the other end of the War Table across from Josephine. The Inquisitor kept the ambassador after dismissing the War Council to discuss tying loose ends before their former allies departed.

Josephine’s quill tapped against her chin as she watched the Inquisitor’s rant. Small sounds of agreement and understanding accented Alanna’s upset. Though Josephine had a different opinion, her lips remained sealed.

The Inquisitor stopped, chest heaving, she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, face red, nostrils flaring. Alanna released a snide huff. “At least her and her husband seem to be better.”

Caoilainn had arrived at Skyhold days before the troops she provided. The Wardens and Highever soldiers arrived together, followed by the Ferelden Army the next day. With the utmost strategic manipulation and sheer tenacity, Caoilainn had orchestrated the Ferelden Army to arrive without its King. When Alistair received word, he changed his plans to follow, unable to communicate with Caoilainn for close to five years. The palpable tension between the couple had been easy to detect upon Alistair’s arrival to the stronghold.

“I’d like to take the opportunity to remind you, Inquisitor.” The low level and gentle cadence of Josephine’s voice contrasted Alanna’s. “You are referring to the King and Queen of Ferelden.”

“And?” Alanna responded without taking a breath. “We are not allied with any country. We owe them nothing.”

“This is true. Yet, if you do not wish to obtain another enemy, it is best to maintain diplomacy. Forgive my forwardness, Inquisitor, but having Ferelden against us may be problematic in the future.”

A sigh of defeat released from Alanna. Acknowledgment of her chief diplomat’s wisdom expressed through the exhale. Alanna’s shoulders slouched. “What do you recommend?”

“Another meeting,” Josephine’s eyes lit up; wheels turning, determining the most effective strategy, she leaned a hip against the table. “You will need to apologize. The Queen of Ferelden is a difficult woman and remedying the situation will be a delicate matter. But her absence from the throne gives her less influence. Your concordance with the King is my concern.”

Arms crossed, the Inquisitor shook her head. “I’m not apologizing. She was using us; I know it.” She looked at the anchor on her hand, relating it to the tasks ahead. “We’ll just have to get this over with before they have a chance to make things difficult. For now, I need to talk to my cousin. Could you make arrangments for tomorrow?”

“As you wish, Inquisitor. I will arrange for a meeting with the young Warden in the morning.” Josephine bowed and departed from the War Room.

“She dismissed us!” Caoilainn turned to face Alistair as they walked into their room near the tavern. Alistair secured the door shut behind him and leaned against it, observing his wife in distress. “Can you believe that? She just,” Caoilainn nodded to the door, mimicking Alanna’s motion for them to leave, “and expected us to leave.”

“I know.” Failed attempts to refrain from grinning displayed in his amusement. His head turned side to side, showing his humored agreement with Caoilainn’s offense. “How dare she.”

The spectacle of Caoilainn’s outrage made for a livened divergence from the last image he had of the room. The bucket and cloth he washed her with sat the center of the room, her robe amidst the sheets on their bed, but this time she was here. Mournful days spent wallowing in grief and self-pity when he thought he lost her now contradicted by her zealous presence. Ablaze with anger, Caoilainn’s bright and fiery temper illuminated the energy in the room. He beheld her with charmed gratitude, tickled by her conviction.

Lost in her rage, Caoilainn overlooked Alistair’s joviality. “Exactly! Doesn’t she know who I am? Doesn’t she know I’m the fucking Queen of Ferelden?” Rushed speech stopped when she took a deep breath. “For the love of Andraste, Alistair what is so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” Alistair pushed off the door to be near her. Caoilainn’s rumpled brows expressed dislike of his entertainment with her displeasure. “I don’t think the Inquisitor handled her decision in the savviest way possible. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like hearing you claim your place on the throne.”

In the years spent avoiding Alistair, Caoilainn separated herself from her title as Queen. She often reserved her use of the position as a last resort when all other means of influence were unsuccessful.

Alistair reached out. Loving hands found her hips, joining at the small of her back. Caoilainn’s forearms applied passive pressure against his chest. Resistance to his affection indulged her anger. Cheeks flushed, face scrunched, she struggled to endure her foul attitude longer. “She accused me of endangering their mission. I nearly doubled her army! A quarter losses,” Caoilainn rolled her eyes, “that’s good for a battle that size! And who is she to insult my mages? Accusing me of abandoning my post.”

“There, there, my Queen.” The playful rocking of her frame tried to soothe. Caoilainn glared up, her scrunched expression replaced with a dead stare. He smiled down at her. “This might be hard to hear. Brace yourself,” he hugged her tighter. An annoyed huff joined the extension of Caoilainn’s arms around his neck, finally relaxing into his embrace. “The Inquisitor told the truth,” he concluded.

“But-” Caoilainn attempted to defend her dishonesty.

“No,” his tone teased as he shook his head. “No buts. Your mages failed to perform in that battle and you abandoned your post. Remember that part where you scared everyone and almost died?”

A defeated sigh released, and Caoilainn rested her face against his chest. Leather armor and fur brushed her cheek. “My mages did the best they could.” Her voice neared a whine, attempting to prolong her defensive anger. “I went to save you. You're the fucking King.”

He shushed her, calming through his light-hearted condescension. “I am. Try to have patience, my dear. The Inquisition's mission is important- even if they don't want our help. I'm sure we'll find a way to make things inconvenient for them at some point after this Corypheus thing is taken down.”

Caoilainn leaned back, creating some space. Her hands clasped his arms. Lines of heartfelt worry crossed her face. Fair skin, strong and elegant features, decorated by fear. The rush of anger from the meeting with the Inquisitor drifted away. The helpless emotions underneath drained as exhaustion settled in. Weeks of traveling had impact. Caoilainn’s tired body relaxed as she sighed.

“But the cure, Alistair. I'm not ready to leave yet,” she murmured, her eyes glazing as she stared at him. “Morrigan-”

A knock at the door interrupted her statement. The couple’s heads turned to look the direction the knock came. Firm hands steadied her hips as Alistair broke from their hug to open the door. Before he reached it, the visitor knocked again and announced her presence.

“I know you two are in there. I heard your voices just a moment ago. Let me in, I need to speak with you.”

Stopping mid-step, Alistair glanced over his shoulder to his wife. An annoyed grin stretched across his face. He spoke loud enough for their visitor to hear.  “Maker, Caoilainn. You've summoned the witch.”

“I heard that, Alistair!” Morrigan called again from the other side of the door. “Stop making us wait out here in this blasted hall.”

Holding eye contact with Caoilainn, Alistair's brows wrinkled in question. He mouthed ‘us?’ to Caoilainn who shrugged in response. She had a small suspicion who Morrigan may have brought, but couldn't be certain.

Alistair took a breath and opened the door. Morrigan stood, brows raised, annoyed with the delay. Beside her stood a boy. Alistair and Caoilainn’s exhaustion vanished.

“Oh.” The only response Alistair could muster, he stared at the mother and son in the doorway. “Morrigan-”

She interrupted with motion. Bending to meet the boy’s height, Morrigan spoke to him. “All right, little man. Say hello to the King and Queen.”

“Hello,” the boy gave a polite bow. Eyes wide, Caoilainn and Alistair froze as they stared at the young man. “Again,” he murmured to Caoilainn. Their previous meeting when Caoilainn arrived at Skyhold had been brief.

Alistair glanced at Morrigan, stumbling over words. “Now’s not the-”

“It’s polite to introduce yourself to one such as the King,” Morrigan gave the boy another direction before Alistair could finish his sentence. The irony of Morrigan being an enforcer of manners did not have a chance to resonate for Alistair. He remained dumbfounded.

“I'm Kieran,” he followed his mother’s order. His hands touched behind him as he glanced up to Alistair and gave another small bow.

Breath held, Caoilainn witnessed Alistair and his son facing one another on opposite sides of the threshold. Something she could not offer- a child- Morrigan had conceived with one try. Despite certainty of Morrigan’s use of magic, Caoilainn suffered a tinge of jealousy. But the envy did not interrupt their harmony; negative emotions cooled and swathed in the unique love she had for her friend. Deep friendship, formed more from understanding and action than spoken affirmation, found camaraderie in unusual circumstances. Morrigan and Caoilainn exchanged a curious glance, standing on either side of the father and son.

Far different from the prior image he had of this meeting, and equally unprepared, Alistair found gratitude. The mood, brighter, absent of the daunting despair of losing his wife, Alistair noticed details of this interaction. Even with his faculties unhampered by grief, he had difficulty finding adequate words.

Certain of the boy’s identity from the moment Alistair laid eyes on him, the taint in his blood activated. Strange, the sensation felt different from the bond with other Wardens, and not threatening as with darkspawn. Mature for the age of 10, the boy stood well-dressed with the Warden insignia on his chest. Kieran resembled his mother, dark hair and fair skin, but Alistair recognized his eyes staring back; unsettled peering into a hazel gaze so similar to his own. Alistair thought the boy might have inherited his nose. He scanned the little man’s appearance in the few seconds he had before replying.

“I’m Alistair,” the King replied, dipping his head to reciprocate the greeting.

“I know.” Kieran’s brows came to a subtle crease. “Mother told me about you.”

“Oh,” Alistair’s eyes darted to Morrigan. She smirked in reply and tipped her head forward, agreeing with Kieran’s statement without divulging detail. “And what did she tell you, exactly?”

Often one with a list of humorous ways to lighten uncomfortable conversations, Alistair found himself lacking. He bent forward at the waist, hands resting on his knees, better meeting the boy’s eye level.

“Mother said you are a good King and a kind man.” Kieran started, his face calm despite what most boys might find an exciting encounter.

Alistair’s glance wandered to Morrigan, though he stayed at Kieran’s level. A raised brow and a slight grin crept through Alistair’s neutral expression. “Did she now?” The news of Morrigan giving compliments for Alistair required him to double check. His look intended to tease.

Head tilting to the side, Kieran’s curious gaze searched for answers. “Yes, but she didn’t tell me your blood would be so loud. The song it sings is familiar.” His head swayed to the side.

Alistair, unprepared for the unique similarity of this moment to the one from his waking dream, stared at the boy, curious about what connections he might detect. “About that,” Alistair mumbled.

Before he could answer, Kieran changed the subject, glancing at Caoilainn and back to Alistair. He grinned, rocking on his feet, an arm gesturing toward the Queen. “Your wife is very pretty.”

Unable to withhold a laugh, wrinkles forming at the corners of eyes, Alistair’s smile resumed and widened. “Really?” He shrugged, “I think she looks well enough. I certainly didn't pick her for her looks.” A glance over his shoulder to Caoilainn found her grinning back, brow arched.

“All right, little man. Time to go play. Say goodbye to Alistair and Caoilainn.” Morrigan called to Kieran. He huffed, slumping his shoulders as he glared at his mother. Morrigan’s brows lifted, her head tipping to the side and her eyes traveling out the doorway, ushering him to leave.

Kieran released another begrudging sigh as he turned back to Alistair. Once again, such a familiar pair of eyes stared right back at him. A pit sunk in Alistair’s belly, tugging his attention to this somber emotion hindering what would have otherwise been a pleasant meeting.

Kieran inclined his weight to be closer to Alistair; the boy lowered his voice. “You’re funnier than Mother said you would be. Goodbye, King Alistair.” Speechless, Alistair could only nod. Kieran’s eyes traveled to the floor in front of him, his cheeks flushed. “Goodbye, Queen Caoilainn.”

“Goodbye Kieran,” she answered, giving an unnecessary wave Kieran didn’t see.

“Run along now, Kieran,” Morrigan ordered with a soft tone. Kieran shuffled from the room and down the hallway.

Dumbstruck, Alistair stared out the way the boy left. The moment flashed by, over before he realized what happened. It made for an odd alliance with his memory of Maric the first time Alistair met Cailan.

9:19 Dragon- Denerim Palace

Snow piled in the corners of the exterior hallway. The outfit they made him wear itched; clothes much nicer than those he wore at home. Alistair couldn’t feel his gloved fingers from the cold, let alone the hand he was holding. He noticed the splitting wood of the frost covered doors he counted as he walked down the hallway. Denerim Palace, a place he had heard of, seen in passing the few times he visited the city, wasn't as nice as Alistair expected.

Unsure why Duncan brought him here, he followed the order to hold the man’s hand. Inconsistent but caring, Duncan had visited Alistair at Redcliffe at least once a year Alistair’s entire life. But this was the first time Duncan took Alistair from Redcliffe. Eamon had approved, and Alistair trusted Duncan.

A boy older than Alistair waited by a bench in the courtyard. The boy’s clothes, pressed and layered with ornate detail, looked even fancier than Alistair's itchy outfit. Uncertain, Alistair’s lingering glance wandered up to Duncan. With a silent nod, Duncan’s eyes urged Alistair to walk to the other boy.

Taking tentative steps, Alistair released Duncan’s hand and walked to the bench, noticing another man sitting across the courtyard. He was large, donned in royal regalia and spoke with someone Alistair assumed was his assistant. The large man’s eyes flickered to Alistair even while he was talking. Alistair knew who the man must be. But why is the King looking at me?

“I’m Prince Cailan Theirin.” The older boy announced, his right hand extending in a professional manner Alistair had seen grown-ups use to introduce themselves. Alistair’s eyebrows bunched, his gaze following the movement of Cailan’s hand before glancing to Duncan again. Why is he doing that?

Cailan glanced at his unreciprocated handshake and brought his hand back to his side. He attempted another greeting. “Your name’s Alistair, right?”

How does he know my name? “Yeah,” Alistair answered and met Cailan’s gaze. Blond hair and blue eyes, something about the older boy looked familiar. “Do I know you?”

“Nope,” Cailan answered with a weak smile. “But I’ve heard about you. Do you want to play?”

Having long since been taught his insignificance, the idea of an older boy, let alone the Prince of Ferelden wanting to play with him seemed laughable. He couldn’t hide his humor. Alistair snorted, not noticing Duncan sitting next to the King. A bashful smirk preceded Alistair’s question for the Prince. “Why would you want to play with me?”

Bold and brazen, Cailan grinned before he held up his hand. The motion suggested Alistair allow Cailan to whisper something in his ear; Alistair nodded and leaned in. “Don’t tell anyone. But you and me, we’re brothers. Forever.”

While Cailan whispered, Alistair’s eyes landed on King Maric. Undistracted, he appeared interested in the meeting of Alistair and Cailan. Leaning forward, King Maric’s arms rested on his knees as he watched.

Alistair would never forget King Maric’s pensive smile.

The recollection encouraged the differences Alistair made from his father. Something akin to anger spurred within. Shouldn't we tell him? Morrigan wouldn’t allow it. Part of their agreement from the night of the ritual, Kieran wasn’t to know Alistair as his father. It served Alistair too. As King, having a bastard son with the Witch of the Wilds would be frowned upon. The fact he cared sparked more discontent. Even without a mirror, Alistair recognized the heavy-hearted smile he wore from the one he saw on Maric in his memory.

Acknowledging the similarities between Alistair's childhood and Kieran’s roused regret. Not given a choice, the option of having a father absent, Alistair spent his life pondering what could have been. He didn't wish the same for Kieran. But without a plausible alternative, Alistair evaded emotional discomfort with humor.

“I think he likes you, Caoilainn.” Alistair stepped to her, standing by her side with a hand resting on her hip. He gave a sideways glance. “He was definitely flirting with you. Quite awkwardly, I might add.”

Caoilainn hummed, her head tilted back, eyebrows creased,  mocking surprise and intrigue with Alistair’s assessment. “Ah… so he’s a flirt. Like his father.” She watched his reaction from the corner of her eye.

Alistair squinted, mocking displeasure with the connection she made. His free hand adjusted the position of the cord of his spaulders. He watched his hand with rapt and aimless attention. “Yes, well.... I suppose it runs in the family. I hope he uses that ability with care as he gets older. Right then.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes and sauntered into the room from where she stood in the doorway. Unamused by their banter, her low and impatient voice interrupted.  “If you two are done, I have news.”

Caoilainn's heart jumped. Cautious excitement teased by potential fulfillment of her initial goal. The solution to her strife and what felt a deep-seated inadequacy relied on a cure to the Calling. Caoilainn held her breath, unable to speak.

Aware of his wife’s sudden tension, her body freezing, muscles flexing into rigidity, Alistair spoke for them both. "The good kind, I hope?”

“‘Tis good as it can be,” Morrigan stood across from the couple. The slight angle of her hips, joined with her lifted arm reflected her nonchalant attitude. She explained more detail about the information she learned from her journey into the Temple of Mythal. “I gained knowledge from the elven temple, ages of wisdom whisper a new understanding of the world. I can hear the taint in your blood, and I know why it keeps you barren.”

“Well that’s great,” Alistair broke his gaze to look at Caoilainn. He joked in a loud whisper. “At first I thought she was kidding, but she really is hearing voices."

Morrigan scowled at him, but Caoilainn’s movement interrupted her reply. Eyes wide with intrigue, Caoilainn stepped from Alistair’s side to stand across from Morrigan. “Why? Morrigan, what do we need to know? What do we do?”

“The Old Gods are not concerned with your reproduction. Soldering with your blood, charring your insides, the taint grows and strengthens.” Morrigan’s matter-of-fact explanation provoked blank stares from the couple. “You have borrowed power from the Old Gods and alas, they will call you to the Deep Roads to reclaim it.”

“Well, that sounds hopeful,” Alistair laughed as his hand met his brow. “Don't be too blunt, Morrigan.”

“So what do we do?” Caoilainn's voice eager, eyes sparkling with the excitement she failed to maintain.

Whispers of rituals and blood magic, Morrigan spoke of absolution of the taint for the King and Queen. A cleansing of their bodies, freeing them the disease and its hold. Morrigan provided a hazy description of her plan. The process would require an altar for their purification and a drop of Kieran’s blood. Even with the vague report, Alistair refused. He resisted yet another ceremony to follow what Caoilainn already required to purge the red lyrium. The condition of blood magic set his dissent; his opinion strengthened by the need to use his illegitimate son’s blood.

Concerned brows furrowed, Morrigan asked about the other ceremony and Caoilainn described. Philippa and Aiden’s details, unclear and confusing to Caoilainn and Alistair, incited worry in Morrigan.

“Don't be a fool, Alistair. As I am sure you are both aware, the taint is accelerated for those who complete the Joining during a Blight such as yourselves,” Morrigan reported, her critical stare passing between both Alistair and Caoilainn. A new comprehension of the world and its function included a new understanding of the taint. “The red lyrium will expedite it.”

Caoilainn nodded, her brows creased with intent. A deep breath in and a purposeful sigh, she turned to Alistair. “I want to try the ritual.”

“Caoilainn,” Alistair sighed. His hands lifted, palms up, an indirect plea for her to rethink her decision. "We don't even know all it entails."

“I don’t have time to wait, Alistair.” Her head shaking, she took his hands into hers. “We might have a few years left as it is. If what she says is true, I’ll have even less.”

“Make this decision with care, Caoilainn.” With her warning, Morrigan’s expression changed. No longer cool and detached, now she showed empathy. Displeased with the news she must deliver, Morrigan frowned, her brows relaxed. “You may not heal enough from the damage the taint has done to have a child. The cure may be for naught.”

Heart sinking into the pit of her stomach, Caoilainn gazed at the floor. The answer seemed simple. An attempt at the cure could save years of her life. But without guarantee for recovery, the latent risks of blood magic may be in vain.

Standing between Alistair and Morrigan, Caoilainn looked at neither. “I’ll do it.” Her gaze traveled up to Alistair, imploring his willingness. “Please, my love. Consider joining me.”

The meeting adjourned after. Morrigan gave a time in two days, justified by a need to collect supplies, secure a location, and speak with the other sorceresses. The explanation made Alistair cringe.

[handlewithkara]

Well, so much for the little story I tried to write about Mon-El and Kara deciding to go to Argo and help it rebuild. It was supposed to have Alura talking to Kara about Zor-El’s death and Thara showing up and Kara angsting about not fitting in on Krypton and then the show came and did it for me. 

Since it’s not getting finished, here is what I had. 

„You are staying, then?“

He nods, not taking his eyes off the shelf as he looks for the right tools. “It’s not every day that you get to help a culture that everybody thought was gone.”

Kara slinks closer. “Is that all?”

His shoulders slump.  “No.” He only half turns to her, unable to meet her eyes.  “I’m here, because I’m still in love with you.”

Her heart stops, she isn’t sure whether to smile or cry, whether to be happy or scared or angry.

“What about Imra?”

Mon-El winces. “We didn’t exactly choose to get married. There was a political situation, the concordate, we thought it would be the wisest thing, that it would save lives. I don’t have much to offer to you. I… I hurt you. I, I don’t even … The future has changed, Imra’s sister is alive, hopefully. I don’t even know if I’m still married anymore, if there was still a need for us to get married. I understand if that is not enough for you. I don’t expect anything from you, but I thought you deserved to know.”

Kara blinks, tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

“Is it okay, if I stay, or would you rather ...”

“No! I mean, yes. I want you to stay.”

*

Her mom leads her to her room with short, tepid steps. Some furniture has been moved in, covered by planes, but all the toys, all the pictures are the same.

“I didn’t change too much, I couldn’t bring myself to use it.”

Kara nods. A lump builds up in her throat. She grasps the picture that shows her on her cresting day, white robes, the ring of cresting on her head, her father beaming with pride.  She tries to smile through the tears.

She’s grateful for Alura’s touch.

*

“Mon-El?”

“Mmmm?”

“My mom, she kept my old room. It’s wonderful, it’s, it’s just bit much to take in.”

He nods.

“Can I come in?”

He blinks, because after all, she already is in his room. Then it dawns on him.

Wordlessly he lifts the covers and lets her slip in.

*

“You shouldn’t have to do this!”

“Kara, it’s okay. It’s fine, really.”

“But it’s not fair. Why just you? I don’t want them treating you, like,” she lowers her voice to a conspirative whisper, “like a lab animal.”

“Our species are closely related, by studying him, we could gain new understanding for our people,” the magister from the science guild interjects.

“I don’t like it. I’ve been away for a long time, too. You should study me as well.”

*

They sign up for the repair squad. It’s strange to be without her flight. Hovering underneath the city, the sounds from her breathing mask in her ear, watching soil and rock break away slowly and drift off into space.

They don’t have to say it.

It’s not a good sign.

The base of Argo has always been stable, to protect against quakes. It’s gonna take a long time for it to crumble, but something has to be done.

*

“Here take it. It’s from the future. Maybe it can help.”

There’s just the faintest hint of hesitation as he slides his Legion ring off his finger and hands it over to the science guild.

Kara fights the urge to grab his arm, to stop him. Ask him whether he is sure.

But his jaw his set, his eyes determined.

Their eyes meet. One of them has to say it.

“You have to make contact,” Kara blurts out.

“Trade, ask for help”, Mon-El adds.

“You could use our ship. The fuel won’t last forever, but now you can leave, it’s a start.”

The magister’s shoulder’s tense.

“Your city needs a real home. 2.4 million souls in Argo city. It will be hard to persuade an inhabited planet to take you in. Your people should prepare for it.”

“We will take your advice into consideration.”

The magister turns to her. “Do you wish to call another meeting of the council, Kara Zor-El?”

“No, I’m good. But promise you will discuss it.”

“Of course, Kara Zor-El.” The man hesitates. “Your father was a colleague. A good friend. The last time I saw you, you numbered less than 10 cycles. It’s a great joy to see you again.”

*

“You have done this before,” she asks as they walk, leaving the science guild building behind.

“Yes. Kind of. It’s a long story.”

“Blight?”

“No, something different.”

“Are you gonna tell me about it?”

He stops. “Sure, if you want me to.”

She bites her lip. “You gave your ring away.”

Mon-El looks down on his feet. “I felt it might be needed here.”

*

The first time they do it without powers is in a rickety old garden shed, against a wooden wall.

They sweat more and it doesn’t last as long, but his mouth still tastes as it always has. She bites his lip and scratches the back of his neck. They do it fast, trying to swallow each other’s moans with hungry kisses, not wanting to be interrupted by the caretakers.

She feels it longer, afterwards.

And the hickey on her neck stays for two days.

*

This are changing around here. It’s not a bad change. Maybe Argo needs more change, Alura muses.

It’s little things, subtle. Like Kara coming out of his room in the morning, or when her daughter asks about the chances to get her own place (she can’t, real estate is among the most limited things in Argo City).

People come to visit, in overalls with dirt smudged faces.

Kara and Mon-El spend three days trying to recreate something called ice cream. It doesn’t seem to work and Alura is confused, because Kara tells her that this food is of limited nutritional value and even unhealthy.  

The house is no longer empty, people come and go. She realizes that she’s not used to it anymore, to the house not being empty.

*

They sit together, just the two of them. Her daughter, her pride, her joy. Alura squeezes her hand, no longer the hand of a little girl.

There are so many things left unsaid, undiscussed.

The words spill out of her. She tries to stop herself. She is Alura, esteemed council member.

But the words keep on spilling. She speaks of the darkness, the fear, right after they found themselves saved. The hunger, all that death.

It’s the first time she speaks to anyone about Zor-El’s death.

For a moment it is as if she has become the daughter, with Kara’s comforting arms wrapped around her.

*

“When I saw her disappear, swallowed up by the darkness, the same darkness that took in Fort Rozz… Part of me thought that maybe this was my punishment. For all those I sent away, I lost the thing I loved the most.”

*

One day Alura sees her necklace again, around Mon-El’s neck. It takes her a while to realize that he has always been wearing it, she has seen hints of the cord before, but only now he’s wearing it openly. It’s the same time when he moves into Kara’s room.

They’ve also taken to walking with their hands joined. It’s an unfamiliar sight, a gesture usually reserved for families.

It’s not respectful for a mother to pry into her daughter’s life, but who can blame a mother for wanting to know more? She knocks politely on Kara’s door and only enters after being invited.

She has come to see her daughter, to hold her hand, to ask her how she’s feeling. Getting to step into her daughter’s room is just a fortuitous side effect.

Her eyes sweep around the chamber. It’s not a little girl’s room anymore. Tools and papers from their work litter the table, male clothes hang from a chair.

“Kelex hasn’t been in yet, I’m, I’m not used to cleaning taking that long,” Kara says apologetically.

“Don’t worry, this is your home now.”

Kara beams and throws her arms around Alura’s neck.

*  

A young women approaches her, wearing the gylph of house Ur.

“Greetings to you, daughter of Zor-El.”

“Greetings to you.”

Curiosity and respect battle it out inside her guest, if her face is any indication.

“You have been away for a long time,” she blurts out at all.

Kara nods. “Such is known.”

The woman settles back in her chair. “My mate and I are very forward thinking. We are non-matched, we selected each other.”  She pauses, unsure how to continue. “We couldn’t help but notice that the unusual behavior between you and your mate.”

She leans in closer. “Your hands are often linked when you are in public. Is that a Daxamite custom? Is there a special meaning to it?”

“Not really. Humans do it, too. It is a frequent custom. Many species have it.”

Her guest mulls over the answer, trying to fit this information into her worldview. “He kisses you often, doesn’t he?”

Kara tilts her head. “I guess he does.”

*

The next time she sees Janna Dax-Ur stroll across the market with her mate their hands are joined.

Kara smiles.

“Everything okay, babe?”

Kara grabs his hand tighter.

“Yep, all is good.”

*

She settles down in Mon-El’s lap, resting back against his chest.

“They look at me. Like, like they are curious where I will go, like they expect me to still make a decision.” They would never say anything. Kryptonians are respectful. Still, she feels the distance that is there. Their looks that say that they haven’t decided yet whether she has come to be one of theirs or just as a guest.

“I thought that it would be different here, that I would finally be home. Among my people. I’m too loud, impatient, not respectful enough of my elders.”

Mon-El runs his palm along her back. “They might not understand it yet, but you have the best of all worlds.”

She takes a hold of his hand and hides her face in the crook of his neck.

“Do you think that that’s my fate,” she whispers. “No matter where I go, I will never fully belong?”.

He ponders, quietly, for a while.

“I think your home is where your heart wants it to be.”

“I miss Alex, I miss her so much.”

*

She kneels down in the temple, her mother beside her. It is the Feast of Light, being held the traditional way. Only with more speeches to commemorate the dead.

Mon-El could attend they assured her, as a guest.

He is invited to share their faith and celebration.

As a guest.

Then the prayers swell. Kara clings to her candle. She can feel her mothers gaze on her, tears stream down her face.

*

“I have to do this. I hope you understand. I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t at least try.”

“Kara, it’s okay. I get it, I really do.”

She searches his face, for any sign of dishonesty, but there is none.

[tornrose24]

Only a Voice part 9 (A Moana fan fic AU loosely inspired by the Little Mermaid)

In which Moana finally meets Tamatoa. Also I posted ahead of time because it was Tamatoa tuesday.

Note that this can also be found on fan fiction.net under the name HolyMaiden24

There was a dark laugh as a cloaked figure stood behind the writer who was tied into a chair. Strings of pearls and rope were tied around her wrists to the rests and she stared at them in confusion. “See, I can’t take any chances with you like with your precious readers.” The figure reached out and rested his hand’s on the writer’s shoulders. “Consider yourself lucky I didn’t do anything worse.”
“Uh...” The writer frowned at the ‘binds’ “I know this isn’t as bad as decapitation by the moon from Majora’s Mask but this is just awkward.” She cringed “Seriously, string of pearls for rope? Ugh, and then I keep forgetting that you’re a Disney character, which makes this a lot more weird.” The figure laughed. “In a good way sweetheart!”
“What happened?!” The writer demanded. “I thought we had a truce! And I feel betrayed!” She frowned as a genuinely hurt look was on her face. “I mean, I thought we were becoming friends! And why do you call me ‘sweetheart’?” She asked. “In fact, why did I write out that you would call me ‘sweetheart’ that one time?” “Oh you mean the A/N version of me?” The figure laughed and the writer shot him a confused look. When he pointed, she turned around to see another version of Tamatoa in the human form she imagined him and he was also tied up in a similar (but more sparkly) manner. “I took care of him too.” He added. “Explain why there was a version of Maui’s little friend playing video games and also knew who I was.” The A/N Tamatoa asked her in an annoyed tone. “And can you explain WHY I’m a human?” The writer groaned. “Oh this’ll give me and the readers a headache with the reviews.”

“Well, off to pay a visit to the little human.” The cloaked figure laughed at the readers before looking at the writer. “By the way.... I realize you’ve been trying to restrain yourself from me despite allowing my other self to give away love to the readers. I understand why, you don’t want to be THAT kind of fan.” “No, I am not THAT kind of fan and I am aware that you aren’t MY kind of guy, even if I do like characters like you.” The writer snapped before she realized something. “Wait, what did I just say?” The figure laughed as he patted the writer’s head. “Oh you silly little human, I know you can’t resist me.” He then went off. “Have fun with the denial.” The writer just stared in dumbfounded disbelief before staring at the A/N Tamatoa. “He’s... kidding, right?”

My sadistic side really enjoyed this chapter. Now I’m not trying to make enter an angst phase in this story for the heck of it. Imagine being a teenager who is going through a really difficult time, in addition to having to deal with a lot of pressure of the difficulties of adulthood and that is the painful reality that is happening here. It was also interesting for me to do something new and explore the other sides of such issues within the family and how these events are effecting them, but of course this is a story where things are about to get MUCH worse. Speaking of which... As stated before, I wanted to keep the description of Tamatoa’s human form to a minimum, with the exception of a few key details. This is so that you, the reader, can envision your favorite humanized version since there are so many awesome ones out there to use (I know I have mine on tumblr and deviantart (also, its under the name tornrose24 if you need to take a quick look), but I’m curious to know which version you opted for in the reviews). Of course there was one thing I had to include in his description no matter what because I don’t think Motonui would be an easy place to maneuver around without it (especially without a walking stick). Yeah, sorry about that. So I did some alterations to some recognizable songs. The first song might be unfamiliar because I changed most the original lyrics but if you know the song Suppertime or its reprise from Little Shop of Horrors...well, you’ll see. (it’s one of the best broadway songs in my opinion, not to mention downright creepy). And in case a select few of you are wondering, no I didn’t use ‘Goodbye Moonmen’ from Rick and Morty or ‘Mermaid’ from Flight of the Concords as fitting as they would have been. Sorry. :(

Chapter 9: The lure of the Siren When night came there was a strange quietness upon Motonui. Even the sound of the ocean in the distance seemed to have dulled down to the point that its calm nature was missing. It was only if you were more aware of your surroundings that you would notice this, yet most of the villagers were in a hushed excitement for the visitors that would come tomorrow and the fun that the events would bring. Only a select few dreaded the day that was to come, yet one resident held a special kind of fear for her role. Grandma Tala finished her drink in silence before turning to see her granddaughter huddled under the protection of the tapa that depicted Maui in all his fierce glory. She had her head bowed and her arms were drawn into her body as her arms were around them in a tight grip to the point that she looked like an unmoving rock. Her injury was cleaned, treated, and bandaged up, but nothing could be done to fix the pain within the girl. Pua sat by Moana’s side and looked up at his human friend with sorrow and whined as he wished there could be a way to cheer her up but he didn’t know how. Tala sighed as she set the drink down. She would not let her son be anywhere near his daughter for the time being as there was too much anger and heartbreak for them to be in each other’s presence. Normally she would be more than happy for Moana to come spend a night with her, but this was not a happy visit. “I don’t think I can smile when I dance.” Moana finally spoke in a pained voice while she was still curled up. “I can’t think of a reason to. Not after what has happened.”
Tala wished that she could posses all the knowledge of the world, for sometimes there was no true way to comfort someone so that they could be happy before the sun rose up the next morning. She knew that feeling when her husband died and it took awhile for her to smile again, but she knew that what Moana was going through was something entirely different. Her soul had almost been crushed completely when the boats were about to be destroyed by her father’s hand and she was going to lose a friend as a result. Worse yet, she had to experience the pains of not only growing up, but the heavy burdens she knew her future would bring in her role as a leader. “I saw you leave Motonui on that boat, but I did not say a word about it.” Tala finally spoke as she tried to find a way to help the girl. “I could not see you clearly but I could feel your happiness as if you were beside me. I had prayed that the gods would make that dream come true, and they did.” “But now its a tainted dream.” Moana looked up and revealed how utterly miserable she was as well as a slight redness in her eyes from crying. Even now it looked like she was trying to hold herself together. “I thought this would be the best day of my life, but when I remember what happens after I go back to the island, I’ll always remember how badly it ends. Even the best part of today had to be taken away from me by father.” Moana let out a small, bitter sigh. “I don’t think I’m meant to have happiness.” Moana confessed. “I’m always kept from the things I want more than anything and if I get one taste of it then I’m punished for it. If people try to help me, then they get punished. And now I am expected to play a part and smile and dance as if nothing happened.” She closed her eyes. “I feel like I’m suffocating because I want to be a leader for my people, but I don’t think I could be able to live up to their expectations. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a husband that I would like or if I’d even be able to have a child to continue the line when that day comes. I’m drowning and this time there is nothing that can pull me out or save me.” “I’m scared, Grandma.” Moana looked at her grandmother with quiet despair in her brown eyes. “I’m scared because I will always have to make sacrifices whether I want to or not. I can’t make my own choices because its like fate has something in store for me and I don’t know if I want it. I don’t know if I can wear a smile for a mask for the rest of my days.” Tala stared at Moana before she took a breath. “So you think you don’t have a choice in what you say?” When Moana shook her head, she continued. “Sometimes there is no telling what the world wants us to do or what fate has in store.” Tala told Moana. “We can’t change the past and we can’t always correctly predict the future. We can’t decide to be born into the life we find ourselves in, and the given circumstances limits our options, but we do have a choice. We can chose to stick in the same spot forever or we can get up and try to move on. You can make the most of what life offers, you can fight your way out, or you can let someone else decide your path. You can stay on this island or you can leave–” “I can’t!” Moana cried. “I can’t abandon my people and yet I–!” She gave up and sighed. “Not a lot of people in my life have ever considered what I want, especially considering who I’m destined to become. And yet, of all the people who gave me that freedom to have that one day to be out at sea was someone who could have easily taken it away from me. Someone who took a serious risk for my sake.” “Ah yes, the one who cannot speak.” Tala smiled knowingly. “But why would you think that way of the one who you tried to get away from through trickery and who you could not stand? I thought you regarded him as arrogant and–” “He is!” Moana confessed as she threw a hand out. “And he treated me like a bratty child when I acted like one! Yet–” She dropped her hand as she thought about her friend. “The more I spent time with him, the more I could really see him. Arrogant, smug, and a bit of a trickster, but...” She pondered over her words as well as the man on her mind. Had her opinion of him changed that much? “He went against father’s wishes to make my dream come true and I can’t think of too many people who would be willing to do that. It took me awhile to really know him, but I could see someone who could be fun, reliable, incredibly daring, adventurous, and determined. Someone who listened and who didn’t treat me like a Chief’s daughter, but as a regular girl, and was willing and patient enough to teach me all I wanted to know. There is more to him and I want to know more about him, like what he used to do. If I could have another day on the sea with him, I would take it in a heartbeat and not just because it would mean that I would have that day on the sea once more. And if it was in my power, I would do anything to pay him back for all he did. I’d even give him his voice back if I knew how to do it.” And in truth, she almost wished it were possible that he could stay in her life a little longer or at least that he could come back to visit her. If he was to leave her life forever, she doubted that she could ever forget him that easily. “And its all my fault that he’s going to be sent away.” Moana sighed. “For all he did, he gets banishment as repayment and I can’t do anything to stop it or say goodbye. I don’t think I even gave him a thank you hug in all the time I knew him.” Come to think of it, did she ever have a chance to do that? She verbally thanked him, but she never expressed it in the gesture that would have meant so much more and would tell him everything that she would not be able to say. Tala frowned as she thought some things over. “Would he be worth defying your father?” She finally asked. Moana looked up in confusion as Tala added “Some people and causes are worth defying all odds. Some sacrifices are worth making and no matter how large your foe may be, you can overcome them by being your true self as well as being true to yourself. Remember what I said about having a choice?” Moana was about to ask her grandmother what she really meant when they heard footsteps coming towards the fale. Afraid that it was her father, Moana hurried to one corner of the room while Tala got up with her cane and went to move the entrance aside. “May I speak with you alone?” It was her mother and she sounded desperate and lost. “Its about some things that happened today.” “I will in a second.” Tala nodded and walked to Moana where she knelt beside her. “Remember, if you really don’t feel up to dancing tomorrow, you can always claim illness at the last moment.” Tala whispered to Moana. “It works every time.” She then raised her voice as she got back up. “Would you like me to bring anything back? Some fruit perhaps?” Moana shook her head before turning to Pua. “I’d like to be alone for a bit, Pua.” She told him. “Could you go with Grandma?”
Pua was reluctant to do so, partly because he didn’t want Moana to suffer alone, but also because he sensed that there was something wrong in the air. It was as if there was a strong force, like a large amount of mana that was compressed all together and stuffed into a coconut shell that could barely hold it in, but it wasn’t comforting and he had no idea what it was. “Please?” Pua reluctantly left Moana and followed Tala out of the fale as his concern for his friend won over his concern for the strangeness in the air. He hoped that Moana would have some time to clear her thoughts before they got back. Moana watched as Tala and Pua left and she could see a row of torches outside that illuminated the black darkness in their welcoming glow. When the entrance fell, she could see the lights from the torches through the tapas as well as the designs upon them. She turned to the tapa that she was originally under that depicted Maui–that intense gaze and those barred teeth made her think of her friend’s moment of anger from earlier–and she recalled her dream with the mysterious woman. So long as you are by the ocean or within it, it will protect you from a certain danger.” The words rang in her head but they only made her annoyed. “What good was being safe near the water when all it did was cause me trouble?” Moana asked the tapa of Maui before turning around to look at all the tapas. “What could can any of you be to me now?!” She demanded with a scowl as she walked around the room and shot accusing looks at the characters. “I can’t overcome my foe because he wishes to control my future! I can’t just abandon my people, no matter how much I want to leave! I’m not a hero like some of you and I don’t have the power like the rest! I can’t save my friend and I can’t save myself!” She felt like she was suffocating again, like she was choking on something unseen. “I know father will still try to burn down the boats.” She felt herself going into a panic. “I let our heritage be destroyed because of me! I let one person get in trouble because of me! I just can’t get out of the dance because of how much it means to me! I’m expected to do things that I don’t know if I can or not, I’ll always have to mask my real feelings–” She was drowning in her stress and she tried to swim back up in an angry outburst. “No one cares about what I want! Why would any of you start caring?!” She cried out to the characters. “Do any of you understand how I feel?! I can’t be the person–I don’t want to be–I–!”
She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. “I don’t know what my true self is.” She stopped at the tapa of Tamatoa and collapsed under it. “I can’t–” She felt her tears coming. “I can’t–” She curled herself into a ball again and tried to calm herself as her head bowed into her knees. She was terrified and she wanted out. She didn’t want tomorrow to come and she wanted to defy all odds but she had no clue how. She couldn’t be true to herself and she had no idea who she was anymore. All she knew was that she was just a stupid, selfish little brat who couldn’t do anything right. Moana started to sob as her tears came flowing out while the ball of stress was still locked inside her body. The light from the torch outside illuminated the tapa Moana was in front of and it revealed all the sinister details that made up Tamatoa who was right above her. Yet an ominous shadow of a figure from outside walked forth and stopped in front of the tapa and covered up the character on it. The shadow blocked Moana from the light, trapping her in its darkness, and as she continued to sob, the shadow waited for a few seconds. “Hey little princess hello...” A smooth, yet deep sounding voice sang out from behind Moana. Moana ceased her crying as she took in the voice through her stress filled mind. “Wh-whose there?” She sniffed as she slowly raised her head and acknowledged that she was not alone. “You’re looking glum as can be...” She never heard such a voice before; it had a smooth, calming quality and yet there was an odd seductiveness about it that made you want to hear more.
“Hello?” Moana’s voice rose in strength with her demanded as she began to forget her concerns. Who was outside the fale and singing as if it was for her and her alone? “You’re looking mighty sad.” The voice continued to croon and it was at this point that Moana finally got up, but the figure retreated away from the tapa as if he sensed what she was doing. “It’s so plain to me.” Moana wiped her tears off her face as she walked over to the entrance to the fale and opened it to see an almost human like figure in strange cape like garments of dark greens and browns that completely covered him from head to toe and slightly dragged upon the ground. He took one of the torches off the ground and proceeded to walk away from the fale with a strange staggering movement as if his steps varied between normal and uneven. “Well if you need a friend,” He continued singing as he went about his way “I got a hand to lend.” Curious as to who this strange singer was, Moana watched as he got farther away before she went over to also grab one of the torches. She watched as he headed his way on a side trail that lead somewhere near the mountains and forested area of the mountain in that strange walk of his. Could he be her friend? No, she was positive that couldn’t be what his actual voice sounded like (and she wasn’t sure if he did escape) but she felt compelled to follow this man who didn’t sound like any of the men from her village. No man she knew of possessed a voice that seductive or that unique. If truth be told, any distraction was a welcome to the girl and this was a very interesting one. “Come on, come on,” He sang as if he knew she was following him as he got further and further away into the darkness of the night with only a torch to guide him. “Come on, come on,” And follow him she did, away from her grandmother’s fale. “Come on, come on.” His singing continued to make Moana forget her troubles from earlier that day and her sadness turned to a burning curiosity. She wanted to know who this person was while at the same time she was drawn to his voice, which seemed to numb away her inner turmoil. “Poor unfortunate soul,” He sang another song. “In pain, in need. This one longing for their freedom, this one longing to escape, and do I help them? Yes indeed.” Moana was barely paying attention to his words as she continued following this strange figure farther and farther away from the village. It was easy to follow him due to his limping movements and his torch which he held as far away from him as possible, yet she was unaware as to where exactly he was going as they continued. Moana wanted more than anything to see the face of the one who possessed such a voice. She already had to go through many years wondering about the face of the voice she tried her hardest to remember. If her savior’s voice had been like a warm day with the sun at its highest point in the sky and was deep and full of life, then this voice had a strange playfulness about it and a smoldering quality, with a rich depth unlike that of the ocean. Eventually he changed his song again that practically radiated with confidence. “Well Tamatoa hasn’t always been this glam,” He crooned. “He was a drab little crab once. Now he knows he can be happy as a clam, because he’s beautiful, baby.”


“Did your granny say, listen to your heart?” He continued as his voice picked up in volume. “Be who you are on the inside?” I need three words to tear her argument apart: your granny lied.” Moana became aware that they were now somewhere between the forests and the mountains as he continued in a more upbeat, show-offish manner. “I’d rather be shiny! Like a treasure from a sunken pirate wreck! Scrub the deck and make it look shiny! I will sparkle like a wealthy woman’s neck!” For a brief moment Moana was reminded of her friend’s earlier smug behavior and felt convinced that if this man wasn’t him then these two would probably get along. In that moment she felt a twinge of regret and she completely missed part of the man’s song. When she came back to reality, she only heard “-they chase anything that glitters! Beginners! Oh, and here they come, come, come, to the brightest thing that glitters!” At this point the man stopped at a small dead end of an area where the earth rose up to serve as walls, though one wall was low enough that you could see the tops of the nearby trees. There were some plants and a few boulders and rocks, yet there were a few torches already placed here and there to give the area equal illumination. It was here that the man hummed the rest of the song and he thrusted the torch in between a few boulders and Moana stopped a few feet away to see what he would do. He cracked his head to one side and took the odd garment off before quickly throwing it away as far as he could as if he hated it and he let out a deep sigh of relief. He made to roll his head for a moment but then he paused for a second when he seemed to be aware that someone had followed him. “Well, well, well,” He sang with a low, amused tone as he turned around to face Moana, who almost flinched in surprise and even backed away a few steps when she realized that he was now fully aware of the fact that she followed him. This man was not ordinary in appearance. His clothing was unusual in that the vibrant colors were impossible to create with any ordinary dyes, nor did they look natural. His adornments included strange looking objects and materials that flashed and shone in the light of the fire and he even wore them as accessories. His appearance was so peculiar and flashy, yet so other worldly, that Moana had no idea if she was standing before a warrior, a lord, or even one of the gods. When she looked down, she realized why the man walked so oddly–he was missing part of a leg on one side and he was wearing some sort of prosthetic unlike any she had ever seen as a replacement so that he could be able to walk like a normal two legged person. “What have we here?” Moana looked up when the stranger asked in an amused and eager tone of voice. His talking voice was slightly different than his singing voice as he had specific accent that was more prominent and made the emphasis on some of the words come out differently than what Moana was used to. “I thought I heard someone following me.” He flashed the girl a strange grin that revealed a set of crooked teeth as he walked over to her. “I didn’t expect that it would be the young princess of this island herself!” He then bowed before her in a dramatic flourish, his upper body bending low as far as he could and his free arm extending completely out to the side. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness!” “I–uh–” Moana felt a little unsure as to what was going on. “I’m not a princess.” She told him with a slight awkwardness. “I’m the Chief’s daughter–I’m afraid isn’t the same thing.”
The stranger let out a strange scoffing sound. “Aw, it doesn’t matter.” He got up and rolled his eyes before walking towards her. “From what I know, the titles are all the same.” He then did something Moana didn’t expect when he got close enough– he reached out and took her free hand with an almost light as an air hold and extreme carefulness. It was as if he was barely touching her and was trying to avoid completely grabbing her hand as if doing so would break it and he lowered himself slightly to her level as his other arm went behind his back. “Enchante, mon princesse.” The stranger gave Moana a wide, yet oddly charming smile before he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. It was such a sudden gesture that Moana had no idea how to react, yet she felt herself blushing at the contact of his lips against her hand. She couldn’t deny that there was a strangely charismatic nature about this man, despite his other oddities. “Was that too forward?” The stranger flatly asked with a frown after kissing her hand when he saw the blush, yet his eyes hinted at a pleasure towards her reaction. “You’ll have to forgive me.” The stranger continued as he lowered her hand from his face and he looked into her eyes. “I know that’s not the traditional greeting around these parts, but I’m a collector and I tend to pick up more than just treasures when I go out and about in the world. Its quite educational and some of the things I find are beyond your wildest imagination.” Moana heard his words but she was looking at his eyes–they were a beautiful shade of deep blue, like certain parts of the waters around Motonui, yet his left pupil was slightly larger than the right one. She wondered how that was possible (an injury or something he had since birth?) and she missed hearing the stranger brag about his career as a collector until he finally said: “Hey, babe?” The stranger’s unique eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Just pick one to look at.” “Sorry!” Moana shook her head with a cringe of embarrassment and focused on his face altogether. “You must get easily distracted a lot, don’t you?” He asked as he finally let go of her hand and he stood back up. “Granted I can’t blame you since I’m impressive looking to begin with and I know I got a nice set of eyes.” He let out a smug smile at this as he gestured to himself with a dramatic flourish. “I actually quite enjoy the staring, so I forgive you for stalking me.” “Wha–?! No, I–!” Moana didn’t know whether to be offended or not by his earlier words but she didn’t want to embarrass herself either, nor did she want to seem offensive (she did notice that he was missing a leg after all, in addition to the differences in his pupils). “I mean I did follow you,” She stammered “But that was only when I heard you singing and you were covered up and–and you are a great singer!” She quickly added before she could offend him. The man’s face dropped in confusion for a second. “Wait... you actually liked the singing.” “Yes.” Moana smiled a little after making that recovery as she moved her torch in her other hand. “I’ve never heard a voice like yours. I was feeling depressed about some things that happened but I forgotten all about them now, so thank you.” It was true, she did forget her troubles. The stranger stared at her in disbelief before he let out a smile that felt a lot more genuine then the others. “You mean it?” He laughed in delight. “Thanks, mon princesse! The last time I sang, I was told to shut up!” “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Moana frowned as she wondered how that happened. He was a great singer, so it couldn’t have been because he was terrible. “Yeah, well he got what he had coming to him!” The stranger’s following laugh was now more out of amusement but there was an odd thing about it that felt wrong and almost mean spirited. “Actually it was kind of ironic, now that I think about it!” His laughter died down for a moment and the humor in his eyes vanished. “You know its almost funny.” He mused as he suddenly became lost in thought. “There was a time when I thought my voice alone could make others see some sort of value in me. In fact it used to be my only favorite thing since it could make others happy.” His eyes became melancholic and he paused for a few moments to turn his head around to try to look at his back for some odd reason. “And then you find out that no matter what you do, all people care about is what’s outside and whether or not you’re–” He quickly shook his head and that smugness returned when he moved his head back to the confused girl. “But hey, why should others care about how you feel, right?” He closed his eyes as he cupped his chin with one hand. “Its not like it’s more important than politics, preparations, appearances, or why the sky is missing some stars at night.” The stranger opened his eyes and let go of his chin to wave his hand out. “Though I can see quite a lot above our heads right now.” He looked up for a second. “I wonder how they shine like that.” One part of what he said was oddly specific and yet it caught Moana’s attention all the same. “You know that Maui’s constellation is missing too?!” She asked. “Tell me,” She stepped forward. “What do you know about it? Why has it vanished?”
“Oh?” The stranger seemed rather interested in her reaction. “So you hum–” He was about to say something but then hummed it instead before changing his words ”–you noticed that, didn’t you?!” His eyes then narrowed at Moana as his mouth turned into a smirk. “Question, O daughter of a Chief–well, its more like a personality question. Not one of the annoying kinds, like what your favorite color is!” He waved his hand but then he paused again. “Jewel tones.” He quickly threw it in as if he considered the answer but then he waved his hand again. “Anyway, its something more meaningful like...” His smirk deepened as his voice lowered to a strange, ominous tone as he leaned in towards Moana “What would you say if Maui turned his back on the human race and left them because they all took him for granted?” Moana stared in disbelief. What kind of question was that? “No,” She shook her head. “No he wouldn’t do that!” She denied this. “We appreciate all that he has done for us! We tell his stories and they inspire us even today! He wouldn’t just leave us like that!” That couldn’t be why the constellation vanished because Maui was said to genuinely care about the well being of humans. It just wasn’t a good enough of a reason. The stranger was taken aback by this but then he let out an odd snorting sound mixed with a laugh. He tried to hold it in yet he covered his hand as he snickered at Moana’s reaction and she thought she heard him mutter something behind it. “Oh sorry forgive me, something about that reminded me of something amusing that has to do with an old friend.” He shrugged and waved his hand again. “So despite all the less savory tales about him, you honestly believe that Maui is still a hero to you all? That he won’t get upset because one or two humans took advantage of his generosity over the years? You really think he is selfless enough to care about the feelings of at least one human if he goes missing, let alone if he actually does exist?” His words struck a small blow into Moana’s heart but the anger she held came back. “You probably know as much about him as you know about me!” The man stared at her and was taken aback by her outburst but then he shook his head as he threw his hands out when he shrugged. “Like I said, mon princesse–it was just a personality question.” “Of course I know enough to know that you were hiding a few secrets of your own and that you got in a lot of hot water with your daddy earlier today.” The stranger added as he walked around Moana, who was forced to turn around to follow him. “You are a little like me in a way–you can’t stand being like the others and being trapped and unable to do your own thing is suffocating you. You know that you were meant to shine and someone is trying to keep you in the dark. I know you have dreams and goals, mon princesse, but you can’t for reasons either beyond your control or because someone tells you not to do the things you want. And I’ve experienced enough to know that being selfless isn’t going to help you in the long run.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Trust me, I’ve been there and done that. I’ve been lied to before by someone close to me about how inner beauty can get you by in life. Unlike all your subjects and your family, I can give you a way to get off this island as far as you’d like to go.”
“What do you mean?” Moana asked as something in her head was screaming that something wasn’t right. “Well, if you do everything exactly as I say, you can get off this island before tomorrow night.” The man shot her an incredibly wide eyed look and a mischievous grin–the effect didn’t make him look human and it started Moana for a moment. “You see, I can guarantee that the way things are going, you are going to be stuck here miserable and forever doing what everyone wants you to do instead of the other way around. Now if you are willing to ignore the ‘voice’–” His features relaxed back to normal when he used his fingers with one hand to make air quotations on that word “–in your heart and give in to being a little selfish, you can free yourself and get what you desire the most. And all my ideas and back up plans, mon princesse? Every one of them gets you right off the island.”
“So what do you say?” He stopped and held a hand out to her. “Want to free yourself from all these people and get off for good?”
Moana stared at the stranger before staring at the hand. She wanted so badly to get off the island after all that happened, yet this was all too good to be true. “Why exactly do you care about what I want?” She asked. “Why me, of all people? I don’t see how this benefits you.” “Hey, I recognize a real diamond in the rough when I see one.” The man told her. “You got out on a boat one time, but it wasn’t enough, was it? Don’t you want more of that? To be part of that world?” He gestured out to where the sea was. “Even if one can almost drown in it or if there are a bunch of storms and monsters down below, I can’t blame you. The ocean gave me a heck of a time when I tried to get here but its better out there, take it from me.” Moana hesitated and she was about to ask what the man wanted from her when she realized something. How exactly did he know about the boat and her dad being angry at her in the first place? How did this man get on the island without anyone being aware of him? Wouldn’t someone have told her and her grandmother? And how did he– He mentioned drowning. Moana paused and looked at his garments and at the strange objects he had that seemed to shine in the firelight. There were not many objects she knew of that could do that and fact some of these strange objects shone so well that the shine was almost a brilliant white. Something shiny hit her in the eye earlier today and it wasn’t the sun. The angle wasn’t correct and she wasn’t looking at it, so you would have needed something reflective to have the light bounce off. Then it hit her like a rock to the head. “You,” Moana gasped as she held a hand to her mouth in shock. The man raised an eyebrow at her and, despite her warning scream in her head, she let it out “You were the reason I–!” Then Moana realized that the man had deliberately lured her away from the village. He knew where to find her and he had something in mind when he got her away when she was all alone. In fact this area had been set up as if he was expecting her to come to him. She was beginning to be afraid. “I...I just remembered that my grandma will be looking for me.” Moana avoided the stranger’s gaze as she tried to walk backwards away from him. “In fact I think there might be some people out around this area tonight.” She lied with a straight face. “Maybe I could come by tomorrow instead.” She turned around and was about to walk away when she heard the man approach her and grab her free arm in a painful squeeze. “You know its very rude to walk out of a conversation that hasn’t ended yet, babe.” The man’s voice came out in a warning hiss before Moana turned around to face him. “Weren’t you taught better than that?” The stranger’s pleasantries faded and his eyes narrowed at Moana, who now realized that despite his impressive appearance there was something about this man that was wrong. She was just too distracted by her issues and his showiness to see it. She couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong with this man, but there was something hiding behind the grandiose surface and within his eyes. Her grandmother’s warning on how appearances could be deceiving could not have been more effective in any other situation. “You were the reason I was blinded on the boat today!” She trembled as she yelled out her accusation. “You caused that to happen and I almost died!” She narrowed her eyes at the man before her. “Did you tell my father about me being out on the sea too?!” She demanded. “Who are you and what do you really want with me?!” The look of embarrassed surprise in the man’s eyes was all Moana needed to know the answer. “Oh ho, aren’t you a clever one.” The stranger scowled as annoyance flashed in his eyes. Moana slowly stepped back as the man got closer to her as he kept his hold on her. “I’ve yet to meet your daddy, so no I wasn’t the reason why he found out, but he’s getting too curious for his own good at the moment. The thing is, you have no idea what you got yourself caught up in and I’m afraid I’m going to have to resort to a drastic measure.” He made as if to take something out of his clothes. Moana took no chances–she waved the torch between her and the man as hard as she could. The man recoiled in terror from the torch as fast as he could and almost stumbled backwards but by then she made a run for it. The man groaned in annoyance as he regained his balance before running after the teenager. “Why did I forget the bloody fire in her hands?!” It was almost as if the person who brought fire to the humans was still around her! Moana ran as fast as she could as she tried to figure out where she was and how close the village was with her fire in her hand. She might have a chance to outrun the stranger since he had a handicap (it was not the first time she took advantage of something like that), but she had no idea what it was that he really wanted with her and she didn’t want to take any chances. “GET BACK HERE!” The stranger yelled as she heard him coming. “I SWEAR IF YOU DON’T, I’LL MAKE THIS MUCH MORE DIFFICULT FOR YOU!” Moana chose not to respond back as she ran as fast as she could. Her injured leg was still recovering and was protesting against her actions, but she ignored the pain. A part of her wished there was someone by her side to help her, but she also felt confident that she could find the village. If she was close enough or else she could see it, then she would yell for help. At the same time, if she yelled for help, he would find her based off the sound of her voice. She once swore to never let herself be kidnapped again and to be ready if something happened, and now that was going to be put to the test. “I MEAN IT, YOU GET ONE CHANCE TO COME BACK!” He yelled again. The voice that was once so pleasant was now a cause of alarm and fear. “DON’T BLOW IT, BABE!” Where was she?! She thought she knew this island by heart and yet the darkness made it unfamiliar to her. Any moment the stranger could find her and already it seemed that her insides were starting to hurt from all the running! She knew that there was a freshwater pond and a waterfall close by if this pathway was familiar in the light of the torch. There was also a set of rocks she could hide behind over there if she was careful, but that meant that she would have to sacrifice her light. It was the only give away to her location and although she was afraid of doing it, she had no choice. The stranger sounded as if he were getting closer to her. She wished deep down that there was someone by her side and she wanted to scream but she couldn’t. Her heart was pounding and adrenaline was kicking in. She could barely even feel whatever she was stepping on underneath her as she ran for her life. Finally she found the small, narrow pathway that lead to the waterfall and she ran into it. When she finally saw the waterfall and the pond that turned into a stream that headed to her village, she glanced at the rocks, before hurling the torch into the waterfall. She quickly darted right to the rocks and crouched behind them where she was forced to wait. The darkness that she once feared could now become her greatest ally in this time of distress. “BABE!” The man sang. “WHERE ARE YOU BABE?!” Moana closed her eyes and covered her mouth as her body shook out of fear. Her breathing was already heavy from the hard work and it would be a give away to her hiding spot. Don’t find me, don’t find me, don’t find me. She pleaded. The footsteps slowed down and they got closer and closer to the waterfall. Moana held her breath. Her family and her friends raced though her mind as she feared what would happen if she was caught. The footsteps stopped. Moana pleaded to the gods to divert his attention away from this area. The steps then sounded as if they were retreating until there was a silence. Moana looked up to see that there was nothing out there; the sound of the waterfall cascading down into the pound was the only thing to break the silence. It seemed that the darkness was truly her ally for once in her life. With a huge sigh of relief, Moana got up from her hiding spot and held her face in her hands as she walked around the rocks. She would need to be extra careful getting out of here and she would have to alert the village about the stranger. She needed to get help and she needed to hide in a place where there was a lot of people. Moana took a few moments to calm herself down and she took a few deep breaths before she lowered her hands and opened her eyes to face the waterfall... and let out a strangled gasp of horror as her heart stopped. Staring right back at her was a large and incredibly monstrous face. She couldn’t make out what it was supposed to be, but it had intense colored markings of garish pink and dark blue on its face and somewhere illuminating the silhouette of its mountain of a head was a bright light blue glow. There was also pink and black colored antennas above its eyes–white eyes that were huge with a small dot of purple in each one and they were staring right at her. The water of the waterfall made the face ripple and distort a little, which only made the overall effect even more sinister. Moana took a few steps back before turning around as quickly as she could, only to come face to face with the stranger she had been trying to escape from. But now there was a big change in his appearance–the stranger also glowed in the darkness like the monster in the waterfall. All the peculiar adornments and accessories that he wore now glowed with that same light blue and he too also bore the blue and pink markings on his face. Even the whites of his eyes glowed as their blue color turned into the bright purple that belonged to the monster. Moana gasped in terror as she turned to try to get away before she found herself facing the monster in the waterfall again. She then hesitated as she stared up at the monstrous face and then realized that there was supposed to be a wall of earth and rocks behind the waterfall and there was nothing behind the stranger to cause that reflection. “What... what the...?” Moana gasped as her eyes widened while she tried to make sense of what was going on in her state of panic. The monster’s eyes narrowed at Moana and the purple of his eyes changed colors–one became light blue and the other became a garish pink. At the same time, his mouth grew into a big grin to reveal his white teeth which were as crooked as those of the one behind her. “Oh, babe, babe, babe.” The monster’s mouth moved, but the voice that spoke out belonged to that of the stranger. Moana turned around–her eyes wide with fear–as the man grinned and his eyes also changed like those of the monster’s. He took out a strange necklace with a purple shell with golden flecks that gave off a faint glow and he held a hand out to her. “You really shouldn’t have seen that.” In her panic, Moana made to run as fast as she could around the man, but he grabbed her when she was close enough and slammed her into one of the walls of earth that trapped her in this area with him. The strength behind the move was far more powerful than that of a normal human being and the force against the wall was enough to almost knock the air out of the young girl. While she was stunned, she fell to the ground and struggled to catch her breath as the man came and bent down to her level. Moana cried out as the stranger grabbed her neck with one hand, and forced her back up to her feet against the wall. Moana tried to scream but his hold was too tight to the point that he was almost chocking her; she tried to kick at him, but he kept his distance as if he expected it to happen. Instead she was forced to try to pull his arm away from her with her hands and she tugged as hard as she could, but it was futile. “I can’t believe you are the only thing in my way, but I can still use this to my advantage.” The stranger growled as he glared at Moana, who now tried to scratch at his hands while kicking at him. He then smirked as the hand that held onto the necklace flipped it in the air within the safety of his grasp before it was dangling down low between his fingers and thumb. “You humans with your embellishments to stories.” The stranger continued with a chuckle as he raised the necklace in front of Moana’s face. “Of course there are ways to make them real if you have the right possessions on hand.” “Wh–” Moana struggled to snarl at the man. “What are you doing?!” “Ever seen one so shiny?” The man sang as he waved his free hand and the shell of the necklace waved back and forth in front of Moana’s eyes. “Soak it in because it’s the last you’ll ever see.” Moana made to pull to the side, yet the man kept his hold and forced her off the wall and into a position that forced her to bend her knees as she furiously tried to pull his hand away as hard as she could. “Ces’t la vie, mon ami, I’m so shiny!” He sang in a dark cheerfulness as the glow of the shell grew and Moana tried her hardest to break free. “Now I’ll claim you so prepare your final plea, just for me.” He almost begged it as if it gave him pleasure. Against her will, Moana’s eyes were being drawn to the shell of the necklace that seemed to wave in time to the beat of the tempo of the stranger’s song. The more it glowed, the more she was drawn to it and her struggles were slowing down as the whites of the man’s eyes and the eyes themselves shifted from blue to pink and back again in a crazed manner and his grin widened. “You’ll never be quite as shiny,” He taunted Moana as her head began to throb and the browns of her eyes were slowly being taken over by a milky purple color. “You’ll wish you were nice and shiny!”

In back in the safety of the village, Sina slowly approached the fale of the man who could not speak with a basket of food in her hands. Tala followed her close behind with Pua by her feet and she could only let out a sigh and shake her head when she saw that there was already someone guarding the entrance to the fale with a club in their hands. “Maybe its better if I never tell them.” Sina quietly confessed to Tala as she looked down at the basket. “Maybe I’m not pregnant after all and it was a false alarm. Its not going to make things better.” She wanted so badly to tell Tui that she was positive that this was why her body was behaving so strangely lately (there had been so many signs and one of the women who helped deliver newborns that she confided in earlier was also convinced about this), but now it just felt too early to say. In fact, there could not have been a worst time for a feud to strike to prevent her from letting her family know. “It won’t unless you can help mend the bond between father and daughter.” Tala advised Sina. “If Moana chooses to stay with you tonight, please watch over her, will you?” Sina asked. Tala could only walk up to her daughter-in-law and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She carefully patted it before walking away. “Good night, Sina.” “Good night.” Sina responded with a weak smile before heading to the fale and Pua followed after her. When the guard looked up, she held the basket out to show why she was there and he nodded and parted to the side; Sina nervously went inside to see what her husband had done. The man had been tied to one of the central beams that held the fale up. A rope had been wrapped a few times around both his stomach and the beam he was pressed up against and his hands were tied at the wrists to the point that they allowed some comfortable movement, but they still kept them bound together. He had been forced to the ground in a sitting position and he was slumped over in a dejected manner to the point that his head hung low and his hair hid some of his face from view. Sina hated the sight and she wished that her husband hadn’t gone to this extent. She walked over and set the basket down close enough so that he could reach the food. “I’m sorry, I can’t find a good enough reason to excuse why my husband did the things he did.” Sina tried to apologize for something she knew she had no control over. He didn’t look up to indicate that he heard her, which made her lose more of her confidence. Even Pua tried to bump his head into the man’s leg, but he didn’t bother to notice Moana’s little friend. “I’ll see what I can do for you in the meantime.” Sina tried to say. “If it were in my power I–” There was no point in saying anything that could give him hope at the moment. She would give him an empty promise if she did. She sighed again and got up to turn around but stopped. She wanted to say something–anything–to cheer him up or give him closure, but she didn’t know what to say. It was only when she made it to the entrance and Pua followed her that the man finally looked up at Sina. She didn’t see the look of regret in his eyes before the light from outside vanished and he was stuck in the dark once more.

Sina later found her husband lost in thought as he looked at the strange golden brown object in his hands in their fale. She already knew the story behind it, but that wasn’t her concern. “You say that earning trust is important, but isn’t Moana’s trust in you as her father just as important?” Sina asked as she was determined to follow Tala’s advice. “You are afraid of losing her because of what happened in the past, but there are other ways to lose her forever. Could you imagine what would of happened if you did burn down those boats?” Tui turned his head to look at his wife, but he did not respond. “If I was in her position, I would have left the island and never came back.” Sina hardened her gaze. “I try to avoid picking sides and to help the two of you see the other’s views, but you went too far this time, Tui. Moana is also my daughter and I care about her happiness and well being. You cannot burn down those boats or else we could lose her for good.” Tui looked as if he wanted to answer but he could only force his eyes away from Sina, who was angry at this. At least her husband could be able to talk, so this was not excusable. “Can’t you at least let her say goodbye to her friend?!” Sina demanded. “I don’t want her to hate you Tui, but you have to at least make an effort to show that you aren’t the heartless father she thinks you are! What do you think will happen to her when he leaves the island?! What will happen if you choose to burn down the boats when the visitors leave?! What will happen to this family?! Do you think she would want to sleep in her own home with us ever again?!” “Eventually she will forget what happened, Sina.” Tui could only say. “Oh and like you didn’t forget your friend or your father?!” Sina yelled. It was at this point that Pua crawled away as far as he could from the argument. “Why would you bring them into this?!” He demanded. “We can’t forget the people who leave strong impressions on us!” Sina threw her hands out. “Especially those we were close to! So unless you try to find a way to fix this situation, you’ll be at risk of making Moana think that you were a horrible father to her when you were alive! She’s not going to have us in our lives forever!” Sina added. She had to stop herself from saying anything that could make the situation worse. She wanted to tell Tui that she wanted to be able to go to the other islands herself, that Moana might view the man who could not speak as a better father figure than Tui was when she looked back on those lost to her, that maybe his friend would not have appreciated how Tui was ‘honoring’ his memory. She needed to get through her husband’s stubbornness and make him see before her family was ruined forever. Sina glanced at the object in Tui’s hands. “You should return that back where it came from.” She advised with a scowl. “They say its bad luck to take something that belongs to the gods and I would not be surprised if that belonged to one of them.” “Its dark out and we won’t have time for that tomorrow.” Tui countered. “The owner lost it and they would have come for it if they knew it was missing.” “Then I guess you better not burn the boats.” Sina countered. “Because if you’re suspicion is correct, then we don’t know what will happen if the owner is not a friendly being.” Meanwhile a certain teenager was stumbling through the village as if lost in a trance. The moment she saw the Chief’s fale, she paused for a moment to take it in before she straightened herself up and headed towards it with more natural steps. Inside the fale, Pua sensed Moana approaching and he hurried out to greet her. The moment he finally located her coming towards the fale, he stopped and all he could do was stare in confusion. Sina sensed why Pua had left the fale and she stepped out to see her daughter looking at one of the many torches. “Moana?” Sina asked as she went to approach her daughter. Strangely enough, her daughter was dressed in an unusual skirt and top that was composed of a strange hue of magenta, with touches of blue and yellow. Even the clothing was somehow adorned with blue–green stones around her neck and what looked like rows of pearls upon the skirts. There was a string of pearls on top of her head like a crown and the only thing about her attire that did not change was the bandages around her injury. “Moana?” Sina asked again. Moana finally looked away from the fire and her eyes seemed to have a strange look in them like she was somewhere else. “Mother.” Moana nodded with a strange stiffness and a small smile. “Are you feeling well?” Sina was concerned and found herself holding her hands together. Was Moana still suffering and was this the result of it? She also wanted to know where Moana got that dress, but she was more concerned about Moana’s well being. Moana broke into a slightly wider smile as she straightened her back. “I’m perfectly fine.” Moana nodded and spoke in a strangely upbeat tone as if everything was perfectly natural, but there was still something about her that seemed restrained. “I just don’t think I can sleep here tonight. I think I’ll sleep at grandma’s instead.” Pua frowned from where he was as he looked over Moana. Something was wrong about her besides her outfit, which wasn’t exactly her style–there was a strange air about her that didn’t feel natural. He trotted over to her to see what it was. “I understand.” Sina nodded with a frown as she tried to hide her worries. “I know a lot has happened and I understand if you need to be away from your father for a bit.”
Moana’s smile twisted for a second and she flinched at the mention of her father. Sina saw the intense flash of anger in her daughter’s eyes, but to her it felt perfectly understandable since she wasn’t happy at Tui herself right now. “I would like that very much.” Moana admitted. At this point, Pua approached his companion and when he tried to push against her leg, she didn’t acknowledge him by looking down or petting him like usual. “Well... I’ll see you in the morning.” Sina turned around and left, feeling horrible that she didn’t have any other way to fix the situation before tomorrow morning. And who knew what would happen tomorrow while each member of her family was supposed to act like everything was ok? Moana turned around and ignored Pua, who tried to paw at her leg with one of his feet. She went on and walked away without even looking down. Pua immediately regretted leaving her alone. He was offended that she didn’t notice him, but he could tell something was wrong because this behavior wasn’t like Moana. He knew something had happened when he left her alone and it had to do with that strange atmosphere from earlier. He had to be extra careful so that he could figure out what was going on and what had happened to her. And that meant that he could not afford to let any of the villagers put him in an enclosure with the other animals. Moana continued walking and when she passed by the fale of the man who could not speak, the person with a club moved in front of the entrance as if she was going to try to enter it. She only stopped to look at it for one second before glancing back at the fale where her father was. The mask broke as her forced smile darkened into an angry glare and her eyes narrowed at it. What he did today was unforgivable. She would not let him get away with what he had done. Did he want her to be the perfect daughter? Oh she would give him the perfect daughter tomorrow. She shot her angry look at the person in front of the fale and they almost stumbled backwards in surprise at how intense her gaze was. Satisfied, Moana continued on her way.

Somewhere not too far from the village, the stranger Moana encountered stood by one of the torches he stole as he examined his arm. It was a very human like appendage made of flesh and bone instead of a hard shell and when he took the princess’ hand to kiss it, it wasn’t a claw that was holding her hand and his sense of touch had been heightened to the point that he could actually feel her skin. He had taken a drastic measure in order to make sure that the human wouldn’t get in the way. Granted the ocean had been dead set on keeping him off this island and it was one heck of a struggle for him as it tried with all its might to drag him back into its hold until he finally managed to get completely on the island and away from it. He knew the ocean was going to give him trouble. It was partly why he couldn’t go after the girl when he had his earliest possible chance, because that entity seemed really invested in the current events and it wasn’t on Tamatoa’s side. Of course, he knew he couldn’t blend in the way he was, which was why he had the foresight to make a back up concoction that didn’t last as long as Maui’s was, nor did it have the ingredients that took the demi-god’s voice or tattoos away. He was not a magical being but he wasn’t kidding about how going out into the world would be educational because he picked up quite a lot in the vast ocean besides treasures. He lucked out in learning how to turn into a human, but he never had a real need for that until now. The moment he had taken the concoction, it was one of the most physically painful experiences of his life next to the loss of his leg. It was like he was being compressed and something was pushing against him, forcing certain body parts to retreat into himself and he had to bite down on one of the many trees to keep himself from screaming before it got too big for him. Even his insides changing was agonizing and especially when his posture was changed so that he would have to stand like a human. He wasn’t claustrophobic but he suddenly had a good idea what it was like when that happened and there had been a lot of cursing in addition to the screaming. He wasn’t sure if Maui got the better end of the same deal or not at this point. It took the once mighty crab a while to get used to the changes, including learning to move like a human, the change in perspective, and a whole lot of other things that were incredibly disorienting to him. Even learning how to readjust holding onto objects took some time and luckily he had enough while he was still observing and forced to hide in an (unflattering) set of rags to cover the splendor and shine of his human form from the unsuspecting mortals. Being in this form was interesting, but it wasn’t enjoyable if he couldn’t show it off, if he couldn’t see his proper reflection as it currently was, or if it had to come with immense pain with the initial change. Also he wasn’t able to get his missing leg back, which was a huge downside. He did grow a little fond of the human princess and he did appreciate her sincere compliment on his singing. It was disorienting in the fact that he didn’t have to do anything to force her to his eye level (and it had been years since he was large enough to be at eye level with a human) but he had been convinced that she seemed to like him and that he had impressed her by being himself. It was a blow to his ego that the only reason why she was comfortable around him at first was because he was a mortal like her at that point and it did prove his point that outer beauty was all that really mattered in this world. However it did make him wonder what the heck she was able to see in Maui if his body had been damaged by the spell, in addition to losing his voice. But somehow she figured out enough to force Tamatoa to take a drastic measure. It wasn’t a big loss because, from what he understood what was going on, he did her a huge favor that was also going to work in his benefit. As long as the princess was away from Maui, Tamatoa’s victory would come to pass and it looked like the stakes were raising much higher for the demi-god than ever before. He was even considering stopping by and gloating his victory over the voiceless man, just to add more salt to the wound. Tamatoa laughed as he took a fish that he stole from the village (it would help with swallowing down some of the concoction that he needed to take to continue hiding from the mortals and to stay away from the ocean) before he bit down on the once living creature and ripped it apart with his teeth to eat it raw. Its insides spilled out and some of it went down his chin before he wiped it away with the back of his hand (even as a human, the taste was still the same to him). It wasn’t fresh or still alive like he would have preferred, but beggars can’t be choosers. Tomorrow would be the final sunset and now it was a matter of waiting. In the meantime, Tamatoa now had a sure way to keep the princess away from the demi-god until it was too late for either of them to come to their aid.

Moana continued walking until she was near a torch that showed her that her grandmother’s fale was close by and it was here that she stopped. “So you want to get off the island, babe? Well the easiest way to do so is with this.” The voice of the stranger echoed in her head from before he left her to go off and vanish. Moana moved her hand so that she could reach for the back of the top that went with her new dress and pulled out a strange object that the stranger had given her. It was beautifully crafted with purple colored tones of some sort of material that felt like hardened tapa cloth and it had pearls spiraling around it, yet the top part was made out of purple coral that had been smoothed down so that it was safe to hold onto. “It doesn’t matter how you use it. There are many ways you can use it, but each one guarantees a one way trip out of here. Do whatever you like, but I do have one recommendation.” Moana grabbed the top end and pulled the object out of the beautiful sheath before she could hold it out to look at it. In her hands was a carefully crafted dagger made from the bone of an undersea animal that had been carefully sharpened to the point that lightly touching it would cut someone and the ends were jagged on one side. A bit of rope tied the topmost and blunt end of the blade onto the coral handle, and the blade itself it was long enough that it could cause serious injury if plunged deep enough into a person’s body. “At the very moment you stop dancing for everyone tomorrow–the moment you stop giving them the person they want to see–go ahead and go after the one person who held you back.” Moana turned away from the torch to face her family’s fale and glared at it. Without any light around, her eyes glowed with a faint purple which was the only clue to the fact that someone had casted a spell upon her. Compassion, love, forgiveness, guilt–they had been suppressed in the spell that was controlling her. Instead there was a numbness that dulled down her sorrow and stress, but there was a certain anger that had been amplified in the spell and was patiently waiting to erupt like a volcano. “Go ahead and kill your daddy, mon princesse.”

Now is the time to start being afraid since the nods to the original Little Mermaid are starting to become more obvious. I didn’t want to do the ‘hypnotized into marriage’ that was in the original Little Mermaid film because it didn’t fit with what I was going for (though I can imagine how Moana would react to both that and who she almost got hitched to if I did) though in some ways I see that this was a lot darker. And kind of ironic considering what’s happened to Moana (I do get some Te Ka vibes from this corrupted version of her). I admit that this... isn’t the first time I’ve had a character endure a similar fate/spell, or a strange character referring to the heroine as ‘princess’ a lot (looks at ‘Hyrule Warriors Warped’ for a second with a nervous laugh). Of course this is getting to the point where I can’t make Moana the damsel in distress forever. It feels wrong to me that I am doing this to her when she was able to save herself and Maui more than a few times in the movie. I wonder how many people thought that I would make Tamatoa be able to actually hypnotize Moana through voice alone. *laughs* Actually I wonder how many fans were won over by the act he was giving Moana (hand kissing and all) before the cracks in the disguise began to develop. I was kind of inspired by ‘Poor Unfortunate Soul’ by Serena Valentino for that one scene near the end where Tamatoa was observing his human form (there is a scene in the book where Ursula observes how Eric is first drawn to her human disguise under her spell). However I’m NOT going to make Tamatoa a sympathetic antagonist or someone who ‘needs to be fixed’ by someone. I don’t know his whole backstory and while I can only make a guess that it wasn’t a pleasant one, this is a guy who almost ate Moana in the original film and tore into Maui over his own insecurities. Plus I enjoy writing out a good antagonist when I get one. And with that, we enter the climax chapters of our story. Its a race against the final sunset at this point and while I need to do a little more research to make sure I get my facts right on a few things, I aim to give you guys something that feels unique as well as familiar.

“Thanks.” The writer rubbed her wrists and thanked A/N Tamatoa for helping her get free. “Your story self is weird as all heck, you know that?” She took out a special device and stared at two special buttons on her laptop that said  ‘outtake’ and ‘fourth wall hammer.’ “Rgh, I want to use these and I had some good ideas, but I should wait a little longer!” The writer frowned in frustration. “Especially considering what might happen next. It won’t be as satisfying if I use them now.” “So,” A voice asked. “ARE you that kind of fan?” The writer turned in confusion to the A/N Tamatoa who grinned at her. “Do you want a little adoration from me? This chapter was updated on Valentine’s Day.” He reminded her. The writer felt herself panicking as a blush went to her face. “Uh... what?” She stammered. “Uh, no I don’t know if–look I admit that I can develop crushes on fictional characters like everyone else but I’m realistic enough to not fall under the delusions of–And I doubt I’d have a crush for you if you existed in real life, but–” “Oh gods, you stupid little idiot.” The A/N Tamatoa huffed as he knelt down beside the reader and grabbed her hand. “Here you go.” He took it and kissed the back of it. “Is that all?” He asked in a low and very suggestive voice. The writer’s blushing intensified before she collapsed back to the ground with a thud. “Wh... what is going on?” The writer continued to stammer in her state of confusion. “That happened. That actually happened. Why did that happen?! I thought I was above this!” She cried out. The A/N Tamatoa laughed as he turned back into his crab self. “Ok, seeing you act like that was worth it.” He turned to the readers with a grin. “Oh, would some of you readers like some appreciation from me too? Your adoration alone is good enough for Tamatoa.” “I’M GOING TO FIND MY REAL LIFE COUNTERPART AND KILL HER!” The writer screamed.

[musette22]

Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p 

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.” 

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”  

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is. 

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️