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kettle-on · 4 years ago

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(Oh woops, this is a lot longer than it was supposed to be, but I got carried away. Still not super happy with it, but I figured I'd post it sooner than later, before I changed my mind completely!)

Monty Python and the Barbados Fic

Eric x Michael x OFC

Chapter 4

attn: @jessm78 @coincidence-ithinknots-blog

Evenings at Heron Bay were lively, silly, rowdy, and populous. The Pythons had decided they would have guests to dinner every night, and surprisingly this proved not too difficult. Apparently Barbados was hopping with friendly famous faces at this time of year.

Mick Jagger continued his regular visits with Jerry on his arm, and one or two pairs of glamorous mystery Misters and Misses. It was revealed through many rounds of Charades that the Rolling Stone had an extraordinary talent for both miming and deciphering interpretive dance. His rendition of “the eruption of Mt Vesuvius” was met with roaring applause, and his “Sex Pistols” brought the evening to an un-toppable peak.

Things would take a turn, however, when an entirely sober Graham introduced a favourite game of his called “Poor Pussy” in which the chosen “pussy” approaches guests and, through meowing and distinctly feline behaviour, must make the guest laugh whilst they attempt to pet pussy’s head and say with a straight face three times: “poor pussy.” When one does laugh, they become the new “pussy.” This last rule changed quickly when it arose that multiple “pussies” had taken over the room, and hardly a word could be spoken from the guests through their laughter.

Perhaps the most uncommon news, however, came from casual chat. A visiting Keith Moon explained his plans for a new house in Malibu, anxious for acres of privacy and leaving behind his celebrity neighbours. Jagger the Charades king told of all-night New York City parties, to which Graham countered: “At least in London, one has the good sense to wrap up before sitting down to breakfast.”

Y/N was sure that, had she been keeping a list, she’d have been privy to the business of every star in modern comedy and rock and roll.

The next morning came too early once again, but Y/N was this time drawn to the bedroom window. From here she could see the team of gardeners hired to keep Heron Bay looking lush and groomed. She couldn’t help but feel that with each day that passed she was floating further and further away from what she remembered normal life to be like.

Not wanting to disturb a sleeping Eric, she made her way to the morning room that looked out to the curved courtyard. At one end of the room was a large painted screen of columns in some beautiful ancient scene. Each table surface in this room was topped with a floral arrangement, antique candlesticks, and photographs of visitors and houseguests. Decades of beautiful faces and elegant dresses, men in uniform, and posed portraits looked back at her from their frames.

What was this world? she had long wondered. Painted screens, stone pediments, beaches, house staff, tennis courts, and private ponds. Marriages, affairs, and cover-ups. Churchill, the Duke of Edinburgh, Lord and Lady Something of Somewhere Unpronounceable, and movie stars and rock n roll gods. And who was she in all of this?

From the near distance, she heard puffs of exertion and approaching steps. Michael had committed himself to continuing his disciplined daily morning jog and here he was returning.

“Ah,” he panted, “Morning.”

“Good morning. Nice run?”

“Well,” puff, “it’s not Holloway, but it’ll do.”

When he caught his breath, he noticed her uneasiness. With a smiling face and a tone he’d learned from his mother, he suggested:

“Tea?” --

It was much later that night that Y/N found herself again wandering the corridors alone. The afternoon had passed with a visit from Eric’s friend Ricky Fataar with whom he’d made The Rutles the previous year, and his wife, Heron Bay’s proprietress Penelope Tree. The couple had dropped in for what they called a “business luncheon,” and extended an invitation to the Python household out for a “business dinner.” The two Terrys and Eric accepted, (the Terrys hoping they might throw in a bit of “money talk” regarding their upcoming film budget) and by the time the day’s activities had come to a close, the outward dinner guests had yet to return.

In the rare quiet of the late-night, Y/N knocked on the door to the room where Michael was staying, and a friendly hum invited her into the room. A single lamp lit up the walls and floor, and a Michael in repose who was making edits to his well-kept journal.

“Do I recall correctly you said you’d brought a small library with you?” asked Y/N from the door.

“I did, indeed!” he responded, setting his journal on one of the nightstands next to the bed. “What’s the matter – can’t sleep?”

Y/N shook her head with an apologetic smirk.

“I see, and what sort of thing are you after?”

“Something, uh... gentle, I suppose. Something to escape.”

“Escape? From here? A tropical island and you’d like to escape – now that’s puzzling.” He drew back the thin blanket that covered his lower half, and swung his mostly bare legs over the side of the mattress.

“No, no,” she started, “Just something to, y’know, get out of my head for a bit.”

“Mm, is there something troubling you?” Michael eyed the three stacks of books casually adorning a side table, and inspected the choices of titles.

“Just feeling a little…” Y/N searched for a believable excuse, “homesick.”

He was not convinced. Putting his book task on pause he raised his eyebrows, requesting her further explanation. Y/N both appreciated and hated this look. Michael, though the gentlest and kindest of the troupe, would not let anything go unexplained or hidden for long, and his generosity and patience invited her to open up.

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here,” she confessed. “I feel like I’m just getting in the way, y’know? You’re all working hard on what I’m certain will be a brilliant film, and what am I here for?”

“You’re on holiday,” he declared with what he hoped was an assuring smile.

“A holiday from what? What do I even do?” She felt the agitation rising in her voice. “It’s like I just exist day in and day out with no purpose or point. No goals and no…”

Michael’s stare was intense and he waited for her to continue.

“…future.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper when she noticed she’d drawn his undivided attention. A quiet Michael was a rare thing, and the silence stilled the air between them.

“So, I thought... maybe a… a book might help,” she attempted, but Michael was already smoothing down the bedspread, offering a space beside him which she gratefully filled.

“Is this what it’s like being famous?” she asked heavily, taking a seat. “Always surrounded by extremely talented, important people, and constantly comparing your own worth and accomplishments?”

“I suppose it is, yes. Sometimes.” Michael was usually very good at telling the truth in a palatable way.

Nevertheless, this acknowledgement only supported her anxiety. Her face fell and she closed her eyes, sensing exhaustion was on its way. She silently prayed for one of Michael’s rambling speeches, and he intuitively delivered.

“But it doesn’t have to be,” he began. “None of this comes with the expectation that you’ve earned your right to enjoy things. You don’t need to have won a Nobel Prize or sold a million records to deserve fine cutlery. But when you’re well-known, everybody wants to know you and bring you lovely things, whether or not you think you deserve them. When that happens, I think what helps is to recognize what’s there for you, and appreciate that there are all these things you can access if you’d like to. What’s important to remember is that you have options, and lots of good ones, too.

“And as far as goals and a future, well… I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that you’re already building a future just by living. And learning, and asking questions, and thinking, and wondering, and loving, and caring.”

Y/N had stayed quiet. The past few weeks of indulgence, creativity, and celebrity drama had left her feeling in a way excluded, and far away from herself. It wasn’t something she found she could explain to Eric without seeming ungrateful.

Michael continued:

“So right now, you’re on holiday somewhere you’ve never been, and learning how the other half lives. And what am I doing? Well at the moment I’m enjoying a few weeks on a beautiful island, with marvelous weather, with my wonderful friends. Together, we’re finishing up a script for a film which, if all goes well, we’ll be making later this year. That’s my job, and it keeps me working, but I’ve got the rest of my hours and days, too, and that’s when I’m living. That’s when life happens, you see, in the in-between time.

Y/N had secured a point of focus on the floor, and found it fitting that Michael’s was one of the few rooms in the building with wooden floorboards instead of the palatial stone. In this room she could be almost anywhere in the world, and at this moment she was happy to be somewhere closer to home.

“There’s no rush,” Michael added, noting her half-daze. “Life is short, but... there’s so much of it. You can stop and start and chop and change as many times as you like. It’s all life,” he slowed his pace, carefully observing her softened expression, “and it’s all yours.”

Y/N leaned back onto her elbows and contemplated her bare knees.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” she mused. “Hm. I’ve got a lot of time to fill, haven’t I?”

Michael gave a warm hum of agreement and joined her sideways, propping his head on an elbow, attentive as ever.

“And what are you going to fill it with first?” he asked.

This prospect was suddenly overwhelming, and it showed in her eyes. She took a breath and decided to choose levity for a change.

“I could work on this tan, I guess,” she playfully suggested, kicking a leg up and indicating her knees, “What do you think?”

“Very nice,” he approved. In fact, he had long admired her knees, and was grateful to the January Barbados weather for getting them out of trousers and wool tights. The previous summer at many a pub garden evening, he’d envied Eric’s long fingers resting atop Y/N’s knees, giving an occasional squeeze, and more than once catching sight of a slow glide up a thigh, disappearing under a skirt hem.

“Looks like you’re off to a good start there,” he said, allowing himself an extra-long, fully permissible eyeing up of her legs.

“And you?” she asked, “What’s next in the in-between time?”

“Well, I thought I might see what life by the ocean is like. I don’t see it very often. They’ve got waterskiing down at the bay - I might give that a go. I doubt I’ll be any good, but at least then I can say I’ve done it. Obviously a very valuable skill in London. I can see it: there I am, shooting across the lakes of Hampstead Heath. Or better still, an aquatic commute! I could start off from Blackfriars in the morning, and be in Molesey by tea-time, how’s that?”

Y/N laughed, tired from the day but grateful for Michael’s silliness. She liked this. Why couldn’t Mike be around more often? Or could she have a mini-Mike to keep in her purse and take out for impromptu pep-talks and compliments, please?

“I wonder,” he said carefully when her laughter died down. “Rather than in the way, do you think perhaps you might be feeling a bit overlooked?”

This caught her off guard. Overlooked? She never felt ignored or unappreciated. On the contrary, Eric’s attention and gestures of love came in spades. But what was it for? What really did she have to offer? She hardly expected to stand out next to her accomplished and celebrated partner and his career, nor did she wish to dull his accomplishments or stifle him. Stability would be very nice, but so too would making a name for herself be. So what did she want – life or recognition?

“Maybe,” she finally said in a small voice, too tired now to analyze any further.

How fragile she now seemed to Michael. She had opened her heart to him, and the sense of duty and the care with which he held it felt so natural. He wished he could hold it for a little longer.

Stroking kind fingers down her forearm, he took her hand, willing her out of her trance. With a closed-eyed focus on her hand, he drew her knuckles to his lips.

“So I’ve got options,” Y/N re-stated.

“Mhmm,” sounded Michael, whose lips were still appreciating her fingers.

“And I’m building a life every day,” she continued.

"Every day,” he repeated, his thumb now taking over addressing her knuckles.

“And mine is no less important than anyone else’s?”

She knew the answer, but the question brought their eyes to meet, and he held her gaze with tenderness.

“I think anyone who meets you feels lucky that they did. I know I do.”

Y/N felt whatever was left of her distress dissolve with a heavy breath. She had been heard, and she knew with certainty that her cares were safe with him.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, and he enveloped her shoulders with a tight grip. His voice was low in her ear:

“You know, if it was a book you were after, I rather thought you’d have asked Terry.”

Y/N wasn’t going to bother mustering the energy to protest or to come up with a nonsense reason why she’d chosen to see Michael. She was here now, and she was perfectly content with it.

“I’m very glad you didn’t,” he confessed, and having exhausted all words, he began a slow exploration of her neck, starting with nuzzling the delicate space beneath her ear. Sensing no resistance, and hearing her approving sigh, he continued down to her shoulder, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses as he went.

He was kind and patient and open, Y/N remembered as she felt herself giving over to the moment’s tenderness, her curiosity duelling with her fatigue.

With restrained eagerness, he moved along the underside of her jaw before,

“Stop stop,” she hushed.

She was fighting with her enjoyment, but this was not a good time to discover feelings. All she wanted now was comfort and sleep. She looked at her kindred Michael half-apologetically, and he shifted aside, making a space for her to lie down and sleep. He reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and gently pulled the sheet up to cover their spooning bodies.

Out on the patio under the moonlight, Eric lay on a lounge chair, gazing into the sky and contemplating several things: Ricky and Penelope’s marriage, Mick and Jerry’s affair, and the concept of unfaithfulness. And the very nature of frivolity, and luxury, and everything he learned from the swinging sixties of liberation and self-indulgence. And, unexpectedly, Michael.

He wriggled in his spot, unable to relax. I need to write this, he thought. He worked most things out through writing, and now he would turn to his typewriter, get his musings out on paper, and try to make some sort of sense of his brain soup.

#cinnamon levels of spice #Mike Palin chatterbox #monty python fanfic #eric x michael x reader #eric idle fanfic #michael palin fanfic #barbados fic #jenny's writing

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lo-55 · 4 years ago

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Revel Ch. 10

Belated Birthdays

Things were peaceful, after their return from Imperia.

Even with the tightness in her ribs and the ugly taste of betrayal on her tongue Tori couldn’t deny that she was starting to enjoy her time with Katakuri. He was still a quiet man, all in all, but he didn’t avoid her anymore. Now and again he would even seek her out on his own, and take her on walks with him.

She also started taking on the administrative work. The day to day running of the chateau, and small disputes in the rest of the island as well. It was easy for her, it was what she had been raised to do after all.

Katakuri was a bit more at a loss for such things. He was a warrior, not a governer.

“So you see,” she said one day, sitting knee to knee with him in the office, “While these two farmers may be threatening to go to war over this strip of river, there’s about six other reports saying the same thing going back twenty years. So while it would be a good idea to set this to rights, it’s not an emergency, and we can set it to the back burner. Contrarily, these reports of polluted water should take absolute presidence, especially on an island of this size.”

“And the man claiming his wall doesn’t break any laws, is also unimportant,” katakuri set that file in the same pile as the farmers.

“Everyone under our protectorate is important,” she pointed out, “but yes, that’s not a priority. Besides, he’s not wrong. The code says that he can’t have a fence going higher than four feet off of the street. The five foot concrete base he poured before hand raises the street level, so his fence is really on three feet tall,” Tori had to fight a grin. She didn’t want to split her false lips, red decorated with fanciful gold roses.

It was getting harder and harder not to smile when she was around Katakuri. She liked to believe that, under that scarf, he smiled at her as well.

“You sound like you admire him for pushing the boundaries of a law.”

“Perhaps I do. I have been trapped in rules my entire life. ‘Victoria, you must wear this’, ‘Victoria, a princess stands at the correct angle.’” she rolled her eyes.

“You make a the rules now,” Katakuri pointed out.

Tori sat up, suddenly straighter. She made the rules now. She made the rule now. This was their home. Their land. She was not bound by the traditions of Imperia.

“I could wear jeans .”

When she looked back at her husband there was a definite curve to his eyes. A smile?

Business first. Business before pleasure, she turned back to the stack but her cheeks hurt from the smile pulling at her mouth.

Perhaps she could wear her jeans in full view of the court one day, and tell them all to fuck off.

As the year came to a close, with it came a day that Katakuri had almost forgotten even existed.

Victoria’s birthday.

Their life together, from one day to the next, had fallen into such a pattern that having something change didn’t feel quit right. They still slept in separate beds but they took long walks to the beach at dusk where Katakuri marvelled at her haki control. He had never seen anyone able to project haki like that before. She was a marvel in the water and the moonlight.

Their daylight hours were spent governing their lands and walking together in their home. Victoria was beautiful, she was a star in the shape of a woman and she was his bride. Her hand in his, while small, was warm and welcoming.

So, when he heard one of her ladies in waiting (who sometimes changed places with her, he’d found) mention that the birthday gifts should begin coming in, he realized that he had no idea when she was born. How old even was she?

So he listened and he looked over files that his mother had procured before they had joined their houses. It was the first time. Mama would tell him what he needed to know, and what he needed to know was that he was marrying this woman.

Tori was twenty three years old. Four years younger than him. She was born on Imperia, a summer island, in the scant winter months, on the twenty fifth of January. Her mother had fallen ill and died when she was seven years old. There wasn’t much about her. No scandals or information about her likes or dislikes. All there was was basic fact. It was one of the scantest reports he’d ever read in his life.

How could Tori, who was so interesting, have such a dull life?

She was a mystery that Katakuri was ever so desperate to unravel.

He doubted that would happen any time soon. Tori spoke to him, but even still, he struggled to form the right questions he wanted to ask her. Where was her passion, what did she love? Her own people. How different were they from his? Pirates and princesses.

What a strange story their life was going to be.

Katakuri had grown up as a pirate, and as the son of Big Mom no less. Their parties were massive and filled with food to feed their mother, mostly, but the rest of them too.

They had a feast of food and cakes as tall as regular men.

Yet, there was no part being planned for her, as far as he could see.

He didn’t understand. But he understood that he, at least, wanted to do something for it.

So he set about doing something he was good at. Something that didn’t involve fighting or skewering people on his trident.

He decided he was going to bake her a cake.

Katakuri sent the chefs out of the kitchen and chased away anyone who tried to come closer than that, a glare peaking over the edge of his scarf.

By the end of the day he had a cake made, big enough for the pair of them.

He frosted it and decorated it with careful blue swirls. It wasn’t a masterpiece but…

He didn’t know what else to get her. She seemed to have everything she could want, at least materially.

Perhaps there was something else he could do for her. Maybe one day she would tell him, what she wanted. Her dreams, her goals. What were they? She cared about people. Her people, his people, their people. She seemed to understand them so easily and know when something was important and when something was trivial. She knew everyone’s name, everyone's face, and things about their families, hobbies, and homes.

She even took him into consideration. He could still remember the warmth of her small body pressed against his from behind in the darkness of Imperia. And Brulee. She barely knew her, but she defended his younger sister.

People were important her.

And he had thought, before, that she was frivolous. But she had been delighted when she realized she could wear something as trivial as jeans.

Katakuri tried to clear his mind as he walked the way to his young wife’s room.

Finally he pushed the door open.

She was sitting at her desk, writing something in her fanciful, neat handwriting when he walked in. When she looked up at him her strange, false lips were missing and her real ones curved upwards in a smile.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, turning away from whatever she was working on to face him. Her fine dress was draped around her, hiding her from him in soft blues.

“It’s your birthday,” he said, and set the cake down on a clear space on her desk.

For a long minute Tori just stared at it. A strange smile sat upon her.

“This was so sweet of you. Pun intended. But… I can’t eat it.”

Katakuri frowned behind his mask. Was she on some sort of diet? Was that why she was so thin?

She must had seen something in his face. Something that gave his thoughts away.

“I can’t have any cake. Or bread, or ice cream, or anything fried at all. I’m allergic.”

“To cake?” he couldn't help the horror in his voice.

“To gluten,” she corrected him gently. “Wheat, barley, rye. Any of that, and it destroys me. If it gets too bad, they have to preform surgery on my internal organs.”

Katakuri’s mouth fell open. Wheat, Barley, Rye. That was in everything. Everything! On this island especially where Mama had tasked them with growing all of those things to feed her ever growing appetite. He was the minister of flour!

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. What else could he offer her? An apology? What good would that do to her allergy.

One so bad she might have to be cut open if she ate it.

“But I can have icing. As long as there’s only sugar in it, and no anti-caking ingredients. So, why don’t we share?” her smiled was sweeter than any desert. “I’ll even close my eyes, okay?”

Katakuri wanted to tell her not to. He wanted to tell her she didn’t need to. He wanted to finally give this facade up.

He wanted her to never see him.

When I was married, I had hoped that he might be blind.

If Tori had been blind, what would he have done?

“That sound nice,” he said at last, sitting down on the floor next to her. Her eyes lit up and her smile grew, unrestrained by the fanciful ones she wore regularly.

Tori went to her dresser and came back with a long scarf that she tied around her eyes, hiding them from him and him from her.

Katakuri was left in charge or splitting the icing from the cake and gathering it in a spoon for her. He was careful not to let a single crumb get into it. He got to see her smile, and listen to her laugh and talk to her.

It was the first birthday they spent together.

He hoped that by the end of the next one, he might not even have to ask her to close her eyes.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #katakuri #charlotte Katakuri #katakuri x oc #oc #victoria di Imperia

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general-du-vallon · 6 years ago

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the last one of @c-b-strike‘s prompts, I’ll just have to get some more :) Porthos has a secret admirer who writes him nice letters and lovely poetry. There are shenanigans to figure out who on earth it is. Hint: it’s Athos. [posting properly this time I’m such a dumb ass]

Porthos gets a fair amount of post, which is unusual in this day and age but between GP and other doctorly stuff, uni stuff, trying to get his name changed on everything stuff, he gets a bunch of letters. He’s got a knack of telling what’s in the envelope and most of the time he’ll just confirm he knows and chuck it on the pile in the wire basket he keeps on the kitchen counter for it all. This one is different. It’s not the handwritten envelope, stuff from the GP often comes like that. Nor is it the fancy script, contrary to stereotype his doctor has a very nice hand. Nor is it the lack of return address, he asked years and years ago that his GP office send stuff anonymized and they’ve never stopped. No, what makes this one different is that it’s in a lilac envelope and is sealed. A proper old fashioned wax seal. With an imprint of lips. It says S.W.A.L.K underneath in the same fancy hand. Porthos sits at the breakfast table and stares at it.

“What’s that, baby?” his mum says, coming in already dressed for work, yawning. She’s in court today so he’s made her coffee in a carry-out mug and a bacon butty in a greaseproof-paper bag to take with her. She spots it and smiles, kissing his hair on her way through. “You’re good to me, Porthos.”

“I dunno,” Porthos says. “I mean I know I’m good to you, you deserve to have people be good to you, I dunno what this is though.”

“Is Aramis up and out, or abed till two?” Marie-Cessette says.

She’s lived with them for the past four years, moving in after a rough patch when she’d just needed a week or two to get back to her feet. Porthos has since converted what used to be a conservatory into a bedroom and ensuit bathroom and kitchenette for her, her old bedroom now a livingroom. He has effectively persuaded her to stay forever. She’s had no choice but to get used to Aramis’s frankly very weird sleeping habits. Porthos shrugs, still examining his letter. He doesn’t want to break the seal that seems like bad luck.

“What’s swalk?” he asks his mum, instead. “Is it, like, post office code?”

“Haven’t you read Going Postal, baby?” Marie Cessette asks, tutting at him.

“When I was about thirteen. Why?” Porthos says, running through various Terry Pratchetts before he thinks he’s got the right one, looking for... “Oh, sealed with a loving kiss.”

“There’s a Terry for everything,” Marie Cessette says.

She kisses his hair again on her way out, talking to Aramis briefly in the hallway as she leaves.

“Am I late?” Porthos asks when Aramis zombies his way in, hair a nest.

“No. Coffee? Anne called, gotta take Lou to school,” Aramis says, making for the coffee machine. He lets out a distressed sound, finding no coffee there. Porthos holds up his mug (mostly full) and Aramis comes to guzzle that, slumping at the table. “You think you can call Athos about the coffee machine today?”

“He’s coming over for breakfast, sometime. Whenever he wakes up,” Porthos says.

“Academics. Tch. Why are you always up so early, if you can sleep for hours like Athos does?”

“I teach, he doesn’t. I write better in the morning, if he tried to write in the morning it’d probably end in some kind of pencil related injury, he’s worse than you are,” Porthos says, running his thumb over the letter seal.

“What’s it?” Aramis says, taking the letter from Porthos’s grip. “Hmm, cool. Advert I guess?”

He snatches up the knife Porthos was using for butter and slides it under the seal.

“No!” Porthos says, snatching it back. “It’s mine, it’s illegal to open someone else’s post! You broke it!”

Aramis picks up the seal and flicks it over his knuckles, then flips it to Porthos with a shrug. It’s intact, all one piece. Porthos sets it on the table by his plate and pulls out a sheet of paper. A bunch of pressed flowers tumble out with it, which makes him smile. He picks one up.

“Porthos, what is the letter? I’m going to stab you with a butter knife,” Aramis says, impatient as always.

Porthos looks at the letter, flushes dark and, just for the sake of it, refuses to tell Aramis a single thing. He gathers up his seal and the flowers and the letter and takes it all back to his bedroom, ignoring Aramis’s indignant cries of distress and his knocking when he follows Porthos up. Porthos slides the bolt across with a grin and sits on the bed. Being able to blush on command is the best skill he ever learnt. He opens the sheet of paper again. Last time he noticed it was a poem but not much more, this time he reads it. In neat, small letters, each carefully and painstakingly written out (Porthos can see faint, pencil lines left delineating little boxes for each letter) it says:

Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve never met anyone

Quite like you. Share my breath, take my hand,

You’ve always been my dearest friend,

Beautiful grace.

Whoever wrote the letter seems to have given up there. Porthos can see pencil marks where things have been erased, but can’t make anything out. He stares at the paper, then turns it over. There’s no signature, not even a ‘from your secret admirer’. He checks the envelope: it’s clearly marked for him. He got a secret admirer letter once, in year nine, but it had just been from Flea who felt bad he hadn’t got any valentines. Their school did a thing where you could send an anonymous rose and she’d had a whole bouquet and he’d had none. He recognised her handwriting on the note, but he never told her he knew. Or that he had received a rose, after school, given to him shyly by Jamie McNab who he played football with and who also sometimes snuck into the LGBT club things. They’d dated for a whole week. Other than that, though, most of his partners haven’t really gone in for romantic gestures. d’Artagnan, his current date-friend-person, sometimes sends him heart emojis and always buys him cake wherever they go (and when there’s going to be no cake d’Artagnan usually brings home bakes along, sometimes from his wife. d’Artagnan bakes better than Constance, though Porthos will never say so). That’s sort of romantic. Not anonymized poetry romantic, though. If that’s even what this is. Porthos has a look at the envelope again and then reads the poem. The doorbell goes and Porthos wanders down, leaving the paper and envelope on the bed.

“Hey, Athos,” Porthos says, embracing the grouchy man standing on his doorstep, engulfing him. When he emerges from Porthos’s arms he looks a tiny bit less grouchy.

“Ugh,” Athos says. “Hungover.”

Porthos heads for the kitchen to make coffee on the stovetop. Athos grumbles after him, a long string of complaints (too light, too hot, where’s Aramis? I’m cold, hug me again, why aren’t you hugging me?) trailing after him. Porthos pauses to hug Athos and then sits on the countertop. Athos stands beside him, eyes half closed.

“Good night at least?” Porthos asks.

“Ish,” Athos says. “Some of my undergrad students showed up.”

Porthos gives a dramatic shudder and presses a hand over his heart in horror. Athos shoves him off the counter for it. Porthos sits at the table and watches while Athos first downs far-too-hot coffee and then pokes his head in with the coffee machine and prods about a bit.

“Why don’t you pull it out from under the cupboards?” Porthos asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Athos straightens and bangs his head, curses at Porthos, then pulls the machine out muttering something then eventually admitting to not thinking of it. Porthos has seen Athos do amazing things, build everything from a little boat with a wind up ‘motor’ out of debris on the beach all the way to, well, the conservatory extension on the house. He teaches architecture but he’s done engineering stuff, mechanics, set design, carpentry. He’s been at the uni for three years, which is the longest Porthos has known him stick to a job.

“What’ve you done to this, babe?” Athos mutters, not really paying attention. He only calls Porthos ‘babe’ when he’s distracted.

“Dunno, blame Aramis or Mum. I usually just do it in the cafetiere or the fancy stove one,” Porthos says.

“Your mother is never to blame.”

“Aramis, then.”

“Mm. That sounds true.”

“You’ll never guess what I got in the post this morning,” Porthos says, and tells Athos about the letter.

Athos bumps his head again and swears. Creatively. In four languages.

“Uh, it was definitely posted, huh? Stamp and all?” Athos asks.

“Yeah,” Porthos says. He hadn’t looked close but he noticed the stamp. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, I had one once,” Athos says, vaguely, going back to the coffee machine. “Why aren’t you grading or something?”

“Papers are boring,” Porthos points out. “Besides, I want you to help me solve this mystery.”

Athos does not help. That’s ok, though, he’s got to finish fixing the coffee machine or pay the gambling debt he owes Porthos from the last teachers’ poker night, so Porthos has a captive audience for his thoughts. Athos manages to get his fingers slammed in a cupboard or something.

“So, Netflix and chill tomorrow?” Porthos says, when he’s done going through possibilities (not many).

“I’ve told you, that really doesn’t mean watching TV with ice cream,” Athos says. “And, no, I have a date with my sofa, we shall become one. I’m done, this should work now I’m gonna test it I want a cappuccino.”

Porthos gets the little coffee pod thing from the drawer his Mum keeps them in (he knows better than to steal Aramis’s coffee, last time he did that Aramis threatened to cut his fingers off. He was very convincing). When he gets close enough, to pass over the coffee, Athos wraps an arm around him and kisses his cheek.

“What’s this for?” Porthos asks, leaning into the hug.

“I’m affectionate sometimes,” Athos says, defensive. Then he grimaces. “Plus I may not be the most with it, today. I thought you were going in for a hug.”

“I was handing you coffee. This is nice, though,” Porthos says.

He can’t help laughing and Athos prods him in the ribs and wriggles away, making his drink and stalking off to the livingroom Porthos and Aramis share.

The next letter is ee cummings. Porthos lies on his bed the evening it arrives and presses it to his chest, shutting his eyes. He knows the poem, knows the words. Like they’re soaked through into him.

in the rain-

darkness, the sunset

being sheathed i sit and

think of you

the holy

city which is your face

your little cheeks the streets

of smiles

your eyes half-

thrush

half-angel and your drowsy

lips where float flowers of kiss

and

there is the sweet shy pirouette

your hair

and then

your dancesong

soul. rarely-beloved

a single star is

uttered,and i

think

of you

There’s a post-script taking issue with ‘rarely-beloved’. Porthos is pretty sure that’s not what ee cummings meant but he appreciates the ‘always beloved, really’ all the same. He’s not sure why but he hasn’t told anyone about these, not since telling Athos about the first one. Aramis asked questions but gave over when Porthos admitted it was an advert and he’d been winding Aramis up. Aramis had been on his way to church with Marie-Cessette at the time and in response he’d just said he’d pray for Porthos’s soul. Porthos rings Athos, now.

“Have I mentioned how much I like ee cummings recently?” Porthos says, as greeting.

“Nn,” Athos says.

“Are you hungover still, from the day before yesterday?” Porthos asks, laughing. It’s Sunday, he hasn’t seen Athos since Friday night when he’d had to literally carry him from the taxi to the bedroom after karaoke night. “You drink too much.”

“I’m a fish,” Athos says. “cummings?”

“Another anonymous note,” Porthos says, and reads it out, taking his time and making it all musical the way ee cummings does on the recordings.

“Oh fuck,” Athos says.

“What? It’s nice,” Porthos says. “I think it’s someone who knows me.”

“Because of ee cummings? Christ, Porthos, that’s such a cliche poet for love poems,” Athos says.

“Yeah, but I really like him,” Porthos says.

“No shit, I never would’ve guessed, you never ever mention him,” Athos says.

“You’re in a right mood. I was gonna invite you to Netflix and chill, I have Ben and Jerries, but I’m gonna invite my Mum instead,” Porthos says.

He hangs up before Athos can tell him, yet again, that he’s using that phrase wrong. His Mum is quite happy to watch the new Ghostbusters and eat ice cream with him, just like when he was a kid only now there are women in it. She didn’t know Leslie Jones was in it and when she comes on screen his mum cheers. Then spends most of the rest of the films letting Porthos know just how attractive she finds ‘Leslie’. Porthos is a little unsure how to feel about agreeing with that. They both enjoy watching Chris Hemsworth, too, one of, Porthos is sure, approximately three men in the world his mum finds attractive.

“You feeling alright, baby?” she asks him, over the credits.

“Mm? Yeah?”

“You’re very quiet, tonight,” she says. “You’ve never been quiet.”

Porthos’s mind flashes back to the time his Mum came charging down to the kitchen in a rage for him having a party after she’d said no parties, when she was right upstairs, and then been incredibly miffed to find it was just Porthos and Flea there. He was never the quietest, that’s true enough.

“Just thinking about poetry,” he says.

“You should do some writing again,” She says. “You write beautiful things.”

“Mum,” Porthos groans, slumping down into her sofa. “I don’t write poetry. I was an angsty teenager when I did.”

“Poetry is very cool,” she says.

“I teach it, I know this,” Porthos says. “Oh, I was teaching a class on Maya Angelou Friday. I know you love her.”

“I do. Are you taking your Athos out to dinner tomorrow? Has he asked you on a date yet?”

“Mum!”

Porthos goes upstairs and shuts his bedroom door. He can still hear her laughing.

(He can’t hold it against her, she got a call from a client today, he knows it’s a sad case, laughter is good).

The third letter ends up in his intray at work, no stamp. No one can tell him how it got there. He doesn’t ask too extensively because he doesn’t really want to draw attention to the fact that he’s receiving love poetry. He’s beginning to be a little uncertain about it. Romantic things in real life feel a tiny bit creepy. Or, another possibility that has crossed his mind, something a young person might do. God he hopes it’s not one of his students. He puts up his ‘in a meeting’ sign and flips the lock on his door and then opens the letter, spreading the paper on his desk.

The arch of your step blazes, you shine, burnishing gold.

I will press my cheek to your cheek, skin against skin,

Hold close to me I will bear the weight of you, joy with

the feel of you, of your heart beating against my palm.

Every moment soars, I soar with you, you are unquenchable,

Bright catch in my heart sheer blue skies.

I touch my lips to hold your smile to mine, your love

Against my breast I hold you there, hold you. Cannot

Hold you.

Porthos carefully folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. He can see a shadow at the door, behind the comic he has up to block the window. He’s about to go let the student in when an acerbic grumble comes and then a thump on the door.

“Porthos, let me in, are you wanking in there?”

Porthos leaps up and throws the door open, ready to drag Athos in and chew him out for saying that in front of a student, but the only other person out there is Treville, busy having hysterics. Porthos scowls at both of them. Athos looks up at him, unblinking, his eyes look red. Porthos gestures him in and points him to the chair in the corner then turns to Treville, now catching his breath.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Porthos says. Treville’s his head of department but he dated Porthos’s mother once (he assures Porthos that has nothing to do with Porthos being hired here) and Porthos has known him for decades. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” Treville says. “I was stopping by for a chat but it can wait, seeing as you’re... busy.”

Treville breezes away, cackling to himself. Porthos heads back into his office and shuts the door, leaving the ‘in a meeting’ sign up. He’s in a meeting with Athos. A meeting about why Athos’s eyes are red.

“Are you drunk?” Porthos asks.

“No.”

“Hungover?”

“No.”

“Should I be worried that I genuinely have to ask those questions in the middle of a work-day?”

“No. It’s not a problem.”

“So.”

“Would you believe hayfever?” Athos says, giving a hopeful little smile. Porthos doesn’t answer, he’s not going to bother with that. Athos drops the smile and looks at his hands, frowning. “My head of department observed my teaching this morning. The seminar didn’t go very well.”

“Oh, ok,” Porthos says. Athos usually cries after being observed, that’s ok then. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

“Ok, let’s talk about my thing, then. I’m still getting poetry in the post, unsigned. What if it’s one of my students?”

“It’s a juvenile thing, to send anonymous poetry,” Athos says, surprisingly biting. “It’s a bit pathetic if it is a grown man. Or woman. Or… enby.”

“I dunno,” Porthos says, a little taken aback by the anger in Athos’s voice.

“Truly, what kind of adult does that? It’s pitiful. Is it even good poetry? Not that it makes a difference.”

Athos has a lot more to say, ugly things pouring out of his mouth until he’s breathless, arms around himself, choking on sobs. Porthos gapes at him for long moments before shaking off the surprise and going over to soak up Athos’s tears. It’s like grief pouring out of him into Porthos’s sweater, one arm still tight over his chest the other clinging around Porthos’s waist. Porthos cries, too, helpless, having no idea why Athos is so distraught.

“It’ll be ok, it’ll be alright,” Porthos says, rocking Athos, arms around him. “I’ve got you, I’m here. We’ll be ok. We’ll be ok.”

Athos nods, shuddering. Porthos sniffs and wipes at his face, looking around for tissues. There’s a box on his desk but he doesn’t want to let go of Athos.

“It was quite a nice poem,” he whispers, instead.

“I don’t want to know,” Athos says, shivering but crying less now.

“Can I read it to you?”

“If you must.”

Porthos takes it from his pocket, unfolding it carefully, and read it out. Athos goes quiet against him, under Porthos’s hand, and sighs when Porthos is done reading.

“You make it beautiful,” Athos says.

“What do you mean?” Porthos asks.

“When you read it, it’s beautiful. I’m sorry I came in here and fell to pieces, I’m sorry I was rude.”

“That’s ok. I’m not sensitive about the odd poetry letters,” Porthos says. “Is it bad that… I quite like them. I like being thought of. I don’t know who’s sending them.”

“Would it change things?”

“I don’t know. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok.”

“We’re ok, yeah? Yes?”

Athos nods and sits up, letting Porthos go get the tissues. Porthos kneels beside him, worried by the rush of uncontainable emotion. Things going wrong and being observed when things are going wrong is stressful but that felt like it had been building a while. Porthos decides to be more insistent about Netflix and chill, in the future. Maybe he’ll take Athos to dinner. Ice cream, TV, and proper meals. That’s what Athos needs. And possibly less coffee and alcohol but that’s fairly a given with Athos.

The next letter comes soon, dropped in the letter box while he’s at work, a page torn out of a lined pad this time but the writing no less careful and neat. No more familiar. No more telling. Porthos reads the poem written on the scrap sat in the back garden.

I think I was searching for treasures or stones

in the clearest of pools

when your face …

when your face,

like the moon in a well

where I might wish …

might well wish

for the iced fire of your kiss;

only on water my lips, where your face …

where your face was reflected, lovely,

not really there when I turned

to look behind at the emptying air …

the emptying air.

Sadness settles over Porthos’s shoulders with the closing of the poem. Carol Ann Duffy, he’d know her anywhere. He can remember listening to the radio, an interview with Jackie Kay, and being astounded that she and Carol Ann Duffy were both queer. Lying on his bedroom floor, nineteen, and being struck dumb by it. He thinks of Her and Late Love by Jackie Kay, two he’s read often. Love poetry is so longing.

He’s still sat out there, staring at his love poem, when his mum gets back and comes to ask if he’s planning on making dinner. Which means he is to cook for her, so long as he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t. He puts in his headphones and calls Athos. There’s no reply so he sends a text and puts on the radio while he cooks. Athos still hasn’t texted back by the time dinner’s ready, or by the time he heads up to bed. He sends another text before falling asleep, though it’s not unusual for Athos to not text back so he doesn’t worry. When the morning passes without a reply he’s a little confused, and when Athos leaves the staff room as Porthos enters, as if seeing him coming, not even pausing to say hello, misgivings set in. By the next morning he is one hundred percent certain that Athos is giving him the silent treatment.

“What kind of grown ass man,” Porthos rants, to d’Artagnan, “gives his best friend the silent treatment? I don’t even know what I did.”

“Doesn’t seem right,” d’Artagnan agrees. He’s had a glass of wine and he doesn’t drink much so he’s now tipsy. He scooted around to Porthos’s side of the table and has laid his head on Porthos’s shoulder, knitted their fingers together. He’s not very interested in Porthos’s dilemma. “Damn shame.”

“You’re not even listening,” Porthos says.

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan says, tipping his head back on Porthos’s shoulder to look up at him then pressing a kiss to his neck. “I’m a little drunk. I can tell you’re not very happy, maybe I can cheer you up.”

“No thanks,” Porthos says, sighing.

He wouldn’t mind something… to be held, some kind of physical intimacy, but with d’Artagnan that usually comes with sex, which isn’t on Porthos’s agenda tonight. d’Artagnan sits up, yawning, and suggests they get the bill. It’s not d’Artagnan’s fault. When Porthos started dating him, Porthos made it clear that he didn’t want that kind of relationship. He didn’t want to be anyone’s emotional support, didn’t want that kind of intimacy, didn’t want that from anyone. He can’t now just expect it all to change because his best mate’s being a dick. He drives d’Artagnan home and goes to sit on the sofa in his mum’s living-room and watch TV with her.

“What sort of mothering are you after, Porthos? I’m tired,” she says.

“None,” Porthos assures.

Untruthfully. His mother’s a wonderful, amazing woman, she brought him up on her own and gave him all the love in the world. She’s always made Porthos feel like he’s the best thing to happen to her, made him feel intelligent and special and beautiful. But she’d also had her own life, her own things going on. He hadn’t always got what he needed from her. She hadn’t always had the time or inclination or patience to give him hugs, listen to his stories, give him attention. She’d made sure he had people in his life beside her, love from other people. He never lacked. She just hasn’t always mothered him, as much as she’d tried to be a mother she was getting her PhD, going to do law exams and working in a solicitors’ office until she could afford to become a barrister, working for various causes, meeting people. He remembers fondly her whirlwind romance with Anette, who had plenty of time for Porthos and motherhood. Marie-Cessette breaks into his thoughts with a sigh, arms coming around him and pulling him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” She says. “What happened, baby? I’m here.”

“Athos being childish, he’s not talking to me or something I don’t know,” Porthos says. “Bit tired.”

She tuts and assures him everything will be fine, then switches the TV to the news and carries on eating crisps, one arm around Porthos. He sits with her for a while, letting his eyes go heavy and the comfort of her closeness soothe him toward sleep. She gently chastises him for scheming to fall asleep on her sofa and reminds him that she can no longer carry him to bed. He goes up, bumping into Aramis on the stairs. Aramis embraces him absently, phone held to his ear talking to someone. He pauses, letting Porthos go and taking him in, frowning. Porthos waves him away and carries on to bed. He sleeps well and wakes up refreshed.

In the morning there’s another letter, stamped and everything. Porthos examines it, it has a seal again, a heart this time, and SWALK written across underneath. There’s something different, though. Porthos looks again, frowning, and thinks back. This one, he decides, has a stamp but also has been stamped. The others just had a stamp. No wavy black ink lines, no round post-office sign, nothing. They were probably not posted.

“Ether clever, or a little bit daft,” Porthos says. “Or both. What a waste of a good stamp.”

He’s sitting in his and Aramis’s livingroom, on his own, Brooklyn 99 on the TV but on low, he’s rewatching series three on Netflix and he’s seen it often before. He carefully removes the seal, keeping it to put with the other, and draws out the paper. It’s thin, this time, almost tissue, and there are love-heart candies that spill out with it. They all just say ‘love’ on them. He eats one while he reads.

To hold your hand on a sunny day,

Like our fingers are dipped in the sunshine,

Warmth thick across your broad shoulders,

Lighting your cheek and eyes and the beauty

That you bring everywhere you go.

You bring colour when you pass, riots

Of flowers bloom in your wake you make

Me see so much sheer beauty, you are beauty.

Pitch-perfect, rich toned, every note in place,

The music winds down, and I

Oh, I miss you. I cannot touch you, my hand

Is cold from where I am not touching you.

The heat between your shoulder blades and the way

Your shirt draws the lines of your body, I

Can’t reach out.

I am dust, you bring my earth rain and teach me

Growing things and your sunshine blooms me.

Beneath you I am blossom, breathed into wind.

But I miss you, I cannot hold you, I am

Un-courage.

Courage holds your bones strong where I shatter,

Your eyes bright with everything that matters,

Words come brave and bright and you stand,

I see you tall and unwavered, against the setting

Sun. Warrior, battle-hearted, strung with

The roar of the sea.

Porthos frowns. Then he folds the paper. This one is right. He doesn’t give up, he is like the sea. He doesn’t back down. Nor does he let people get away with being arseholes to him. Besides which, he knows exactly who calls him ‘battle-hearted’. What a stupid phrase.

“Athos de la Fere you coward!” he roars, bursting into Athos’s office.

He’s built up a good head of steam on his way in and now he’s ready for battle. Athos looks startled, eyes very wide, gaping up at Porthos. The student he’s got with him looks even more shocked. Bugger.

“Doctor Vallon,” Athos says. “Good of you to drop by. However, you have interru-”

“Yes, I can see,” Porthos says, turning to the student. “Sorry about that. Athos, you better find me when you’re done.”

“I better had,” Athos agrees.

Porthos nods firmly and leaves for his own office. He has a class to teach, he gathers his things and turns up early, setting up with the white board and projector. He has two back to back and then a meeting and when he returns to his office, Athos is there, the visitor chair drawn up to the desk so he can mark papers, a huge mug of coffee at his elbow.

“Hello,” Athos says, looking up. “Are you done with the dramatics?”

“Me?” Porthos says, outraged. “You!” Porthos can’t quite say it, he’s not sure he believes it. “You stopped talking to me, avoided me. What the hell? You’re an adult. You can’t punish me with refusing to respond. And- ”

“I know,” Athos says, holding up a hand and getting a word in edgewise. “The internet informed me. I hadn’t actually meant to give you the silent treatment. I have anxiety.”

“Athos!”

“I projected thoughts onto you and thought I was making myself as little nuisance as possible.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a reason, not an excuse. Not ‘I was right because of this’ but ‘it was me, not you’. I love you. I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose for the world, Porthos,” Athos says, very earnest.

“I didn’t eat enough food, I was hungry and tired,” Porthos says, grudgingly.

“Just … in general?” Athos asks, frowning.

“I was emotional.”

“Oh. Sorry. I brought you a chocolate bar to apologize but I sat on it and it melted. It was a bit gross.”

Porthos laughs, forgiving Athos easily in the end. He looks so bewildered and helpless about the chocolate bar. Porthos perches on the edge of his desk and huffs, shaking his head.

“You’re something else, de la Fere. What am I gonna do with you? All that poetry, my god. I’m right here, just talk to me for heaven’s sake,” Porthos says, too fond of Athos to be anything except awfully warm about it.

Athos turns around and tries to leave the office. All he manages is to walk into the door because he’s not looking where he’s going and Porthos closed it. Porthos goes to grab him and make sure he hasn’t hurt himself then hug him, laughing. Athos pushing his face against Porthos’s shoulder and his arms come up around Porthos’s back to hold onto his shirt there and probably wrinkle it.

“I am inept,” Athos says.

“Completely. In every lovely way,” Porthos assures. “Fuck me am I glad it were you and not someone creepy.”

“I am creepy.”

“Not really.”

“I was… So drunk. I forgot I sent it, that first time, until you said. I put a stamp on and just slid it in your door on my drunken meander home. I meant to sign it, I think,” Athos says. “Then, I guess I liked the idea.”

“You write terrible poetry,” Porthos says, admiringly, stroking Athos’s hair. “I adore it. I really like them.”

Athos nods, laughing a little. He huffs again, sighing, leaning into Porthos.

“I really do love you,” Athos whispers. “I can’t seem to help myself, you just engulf my entire life and all my thoughts.”

“I bloom you,” Porthos says, comfortably, incredibly pleased with himself. “Turn you all blossoms. Sounds so sexy, gonna tremble you all apart till you’re just petals, darling.”

Athos finally removes his face from Porthos’s jumper and breathes in, closing his eyes, lips against Porthos’s cheek and beard and then against his lips, careful, questioning. He thinks ‘yes’ and then Athos asks and Porthos says it aloud, and Athos’s lips are back, mouth against Porthos’s.

#Porthos #porthos/athos #fic #prompt

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starrywinters · 7 years ago

Text

missing — an ong seongwoo fic

requested by @sweetpoisonousmilkshake

genre: slight horror??? idk, mystery? thrill? yo holY this is just a mess & a flop

based off of this post by @tokyo-coffee

a/n: happy 300 to me :0 honestly, thanks guys!😫🎉💕 i don’t think i deserve these 300 followers but ((((’: and MERRY EARLY CHRISTMAS!🎄

also, legit hope you guys enjoy???? because i don’t like this,,,, no matter how many times i’ve edited this to make it sound better, it just doesnt????

“where are you guys?”

“i’m so lost

what is happening”

saturday - december 23rd

“breaking news, following after the missing cases of 9 other boys, 22 year old kang daniel has been reported missing after a 24 hour waiting period of no response.”

-zip- closing the tv, seongwoo cannot believe it.

what is happening, the missing 10 people are all his friends

who is behind this and what is their purpose.

for the past two weeks, one of his friends would be reported missing every day of the week, weekends aren’t touched,

guess every criminal needs their breaks too.

day 1 - ha sungwoon

december 11th

a group of 11 boys met up at the center of a mall. the best of friends, enjoying themselves around the mall, until…

“hey, guys, i’m going to the restroom, i’ll meet up with you guys in a bit”

“meet up at the food court when you’re done, sungwoon hyung”

“don’t clog the toilet in there HAHAH”

the day goes by and the clock hits 6pm, sungwoon still a no-show

he doesn’t pick up his phone, the boys split up to look in every restroom in the mall

still no sign of sungwoon,

-ding- seongwoo looks at his phone, it’s a message from sungwoon

“1 down, 10 more to go.”

frantically, he dials sungwoon’s number, the person on the other end picks up

“HEY WHERE’S SUNGWOON HYUNG, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT”

and the person hangs up.

day 2 - bae jinyoung

december 12th

“okay everyone, you guys need to stay safe. be on the lookout for anything suspicious,” mother yoon jisung orders

“especially you maknaes, don’t go anywhere without an adult. or walk in crowded places.”

bae jinyoung, a child of mischief, does not listen. he feels like he can protect himself as he’s taking boxing lessons from jihoon,

he leaves his house at the usual time of 4AM, an early head start to school, his only source of light are the street lamps

a white van driving at, probably, 5mph was following him closely from behind,

creeped out he starts walking faster, the van starts driving faster, at this point he’s sprinting to school,

the van zooms by and stops a yard in front of jinyoung. the door slides open and three people steps out, taking bae jinyoung with them.

-ding- “9 more”

day 3 - hwang minhyun

december 13th

“ultra fast delivery? hm” the thing that has caught hwang minhyun’s eyes is an iRobot Roomba 880. issa a vacuum cleaner

the option of it being delivered right away caught his attention as well, placing his order, he expects the vacuum to arrive in 30 mins max, but

a minute later his doorbell rings, “wow i didn’t expect ultra fast delivery to be this quick,”

opening the door, he comes face to face with a masked man, his eyes look somewhat familiar, or am i picturing things

minhyun didn’t even get a word out before the guy places a cloth over his mouth, gasping which is not a good idea minhyun pls, chloroform.

“8”

day 4 - yoon jisung

december 14th

walking home from work, enjoying the fresh air of the night, he doesn’t notice someone suspicious following him.

even though he was the one who told his friends to stay cautious

going on his phone to check up on the news of his missing friends, no luck

no one can find them, the criminals didn’t leave any clues, what smart people.

“i just want my friends back, i want life to be normal again.”

the suspicious person took this opportunity to strike and attacks jisung,

hitting him at the back of his neck i’m sorry jisung ;-; he drops to the ground, unconscious.

dragging jisung away, all that’s left is his phone with a message sent to seongwoo

“7 more”

day 5 - lai guanlin

december 15th

the stress of not being able to communicate well with others as he’s a foreigner has finally hit him.

he feels left out and wants to collect his cool before he bursts out at his friends, thinking going to the beach will satisfy him, he did just that

spending an hour max at the beach swimming and screaming to his heart’s content, has allowed him to calm down

he feels more motivated to learn korean better, to be able to have fun with his friends too.

swimming back to shore, he didn’t notice how far he swam out, stranded in the middle of the ocean he didn’t know where to go

an incoming big wave crashes into him and he drowns, but a boat passes by and saves him

however,

he never makes it home.

“6”

day 6 - park woojin

december 18th

he went to the park where he heard there was a hurdle tournament going on,

saw some online ad and wanted to participate.

he didn’t bother considering it to be a scam since all that was in his head was winning the grand prize of $1000

the event takes place at the time of 6PM and ends at 8

woojin ends up going and upon his arrival, doesn’t see anything set up for a hurdle race

“scam? i was really looking forward to this too,” kicking some nearby rocks, he pouted.

he saw an ice cream truck parked by the park and thinks why not treat himself and make his day better with ice cream?

after getting his ice cream, he turns around, takes a few steps and bumps into someone, “ah sorry”

his ice cream fell in the process, “hey it’s ok why don’t i get you another ice cream?” dragging him to some place unknown, woojin is confused as he’s walking in the opposite direction of the ice cream truck

“i know a really good ice cream place, let’s go”

woojin never gets back home and worries his dorm mates

“5, halfway there.”

day 7 - kim jaehwan

december 19th

jaehwan started out busking as his hobby which soon became his way of living.

the many years of his field of work has never had anything serious happen, sure some delinquents would try to steal his money but he’d find a way to get it back

never in his life has he ever dealt with what’s about to happen to him

a person who self-claims as a manager from a big music entertainment walks up to jaehwan, hands him a card and tells him to go audition,

looking at the information presented on the card, “YMC huh, this sounds a bit sketchy sir,” when he looks up the man had already left

“guess i’ll give it a shot” and shrugs.

after busking, he makes it a mission to go home and rest early to go audition tomorrow, but as he walks home, some guy walks up to him and knocks him out

his guitar falls to the ground and he is taken away to someplace where his other friends are presumably taken to as well.

“4”

day 8 - lee daehwi

december 20th

worried about woojin’s disappearance he went to look for him at the same park that woojin went to,

he unknowingly meets the same guy who took woojin and asks if he’s seen a boy about “yay tall and sounds like a dolphin when he screams”

the guy doesn’t respond and keeps staring at him, wth this guy is so creepy????

“ah i’m guessing you haven’t i’ll take my leave now, thank you for your time.” turning around to leave, he feels a hand take hold of his wrist

“i know where he is,”

“AH REALLY? CAN YOU TAKE ME TO HIM, PLEASE MISTER”

the guy smiles mysteriously, leads daehwi to where woojin is supposedly at and daehwi never ever came back either

“3”

day 9 - park jihoon

december 21st

tired after his boxing competition in london, he packs his bags and waits for his manager to finish whatever he’s doing.

knowing how long this manager usually takes, he finds a place to sit in the lobby of the hotel he resided in, and closes his eyes for a small little nap

a black figure slowly creeps up to him and is about two seats away, reaching out

“hey jihoon-ssi, hey, wake up.” waking up to someone tapping his shoulders, he sees his manager in front of him, “let’s go we’re almost late for our flight”

the black figure has hid behind a newspaper so he wouldn’t get caught,

heading out and arriving at the airport, the manager leaves to go check in for them first, letting jihoon take his time walking

lost in the crowd of people, the same black figure was following jihoon, feeling something was suspicious he walks faster and looks for a restroom to wash his face and clear his mind, thinking he was imagining the feeling

walking into the restroom he unexpectedly gets jumped and gets knocked out by a chloroform cloth, the same black figure getting up and cleaning the ‘dust’ off his hands and pants,

“2”

day 10 - kang daniel

december 24th

coming back from his b-boy practices, he feels a little hungry, going to the convenience store down the street from his house, he buys a few snacks and drinks

walking out of the store with his phone in hand dialing seongwoo’s number, to check in on him and to just chat, he almost crashes into a guy

taking the faster way home, he walks by an alleyway right as seongwoo picks up, and gets dragged inside,

struggling to be set free, he turns and sees the face of his kidnapper,

and finds out who it is as his eyes widens, dropping his phone and his bag of snacks,

“You- mmph”

“hello? daniel? are you there?”

and he hears a muffled voice speak into the phone,

“1”

seongwoo feels frantic, all his friends have gone missing

what will he do now, what if something happens to them, is this all a dream?

is this a christmas prank? this is a cruel prank then

seongwoo, not knowing what to do, wants to cry. not being able to sleep two nights in a row in worry of his friends’ safety.

day 11 - ong seongwoo

december 25th, christmas day

getting up out of his bed, he heads to his living room,

his house looking like a caveman ransacked his place in search for food, he grieves over his friends’ disappearance,

he receives a letter from an unknown person; inside it, in cutout letters from magazines, was spelled out

“0, you are next.”

thanks for reading!♡ omg plus, winter break is almost here, bless. im ready to watch the downfall of my grades throughout this week, ugh finals week im ready to fail every test given to me ((’:

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brajeshupadhyay · 4 years ago

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From plush duvets to chandeliers, camping on the Devon coast is as sweet as toasted marshmallows

As the sun sets beneath Start Bay, with a pinkness to match the first glass of rosé — and, yes, marshmallows toasting over an open fire — I finally feel that all is well with the world.

Never has a short break felt sweeter than the few days we have just spent ‘camping’ on the south Devon coast, cocooned in a world where we never gave a moment’s thought to social distancing.

That’s because the next-door tent is scarcely within shouting distance, let alone two metres. Not that this is your average tent.

A Feather Down Farms safari-style canvas lodge. They can be found in quiet corners of bona fide working farms

We booked via Feather Down Farms, the ‘glamping’ experts who have made life under canvas about as civilised as possible, without losing the magic of frying your own breakfast in the middle of nowhere.

The Feather Down formula involves erecting spacious, safari-style canvas lodges in quiet corners of bona fide working farms.

We had plumped for a setting every bit as delightful as its name suggests: Fountain Violet Farm — which sounds like something out of a Thomas Hardy novel. It is the Jones family’s 110-acre mixed livestock farm, which slopes right down to the sea and is a short walk from the village of Kingswear, at the mouth of the River Dart.

At Fountain Violet, you don’t look out on another soul — except those in passing boats. There are four Canvas Frills Lodges, as Feather Down calls them, spread far apart around a six-acre field.

Built on wooden decks (which keep everything dry in all weathers), these each have a large veranda with a picnic table facing acres of grass and out to sea.

Robert and his family stayed at Fountain Violet Farm, which slopes right down to the sea and is a short walk from the village of Kingswear, at the mouth of the River Dart, pictured

Inside, each tent has a large living area with a dining table, sofa and candle-powered chandelier built around a wood-burning stove, plus kitchen cupboards and a sink.

Behind is a double bedroom, a bunk bedroom and — best of all as far as our children were concerned — a Feather Down ‘cupboard bed’. This is a raised double bed with wood-slat double doors above a huge storage area. With thick duvets and pillows supplied as standard, it’s proper snug-as-a-bug stuff.

Each night, after supper, our three (aged 13, 11 and eight) can’t wait to put on their pyjamas and pile in under the duvet, doors closed, to watch a film on the iPad. ‘It’s our cinema,’ they cry. ‘No adults allowed.’

In my view, the best thing is the ensuite bathroom with flushing loo and a decent shower, providing masses of hot water courtesy of a gas canister hidden around the back of the tent.

There is also a gas-powered camping cooker outside (for those who don’t want to wait for the stove to heat up before breakfast) and a barbecue.

Robert and his family took the ferry to Dartmouth, pictured, where they enjoyed fudge and ice cream

Purists might argue that this is not real camping, but who cares? It’s camping as it should be.

It also means that every lodge is completely self-sufficient; no shared loos, taps or eating areas — handy in the new Covid-19 era.

The only shared facility, tucked away in a fold in the hill, is a hut with an honesty shop for basic supplies, electric charging points and a freezer full of free ice packs for refilling the cold box fridge in the tent.

Every day, the farmer, Edward Jones, and his family drop by with extra wood for the stove and help with any questions. All we need are directions to the best beach.

A 20-minute walk via a couple of fields and a public footpath brings us to near-deserted Mill Bay Cove, an enchanting part-sand, part-shingle beach with luminously blue water.

One day, my lot go in with wetsuits (advisable for longer swims round to a mysterious cave), the next without.

Away from the beach, we walk down to Kingswear and take the ferry over to Dartmouth for fudge and ice creams.

Robert with his family. He says Fountain Violet Farm was every bit as delightful as its name suggests

TRAVEL FACTS

Feather Down Farms (featherdown.co.uk, 01420 80804) offers family-sized canvas lodges (all have toilets, some have showers) for two nights from £199.

October half-term bookings receive a complimentary ‘stew pot weekend’ food basket.

Another day, we drive a few miles to Agatha Christie’s splendid home, Greenway, now run by the National Trust. Though the house itself is still closed, it has fabulously atmospheric grounds, with paths through extensive woods to the walled garden, the tennis court and the riverside boathouse (where the queen of crime set the murder in Dead Man’s Folly).

We walk down to a nearby quayside and ring the bell for the ferry across the Dart to the little village of Dittisham. The popular Anchorstone Cafe is fully booked, so we order takeaway fish and chips (some of the best I can recall) and, naturally, eat them sitting on the sea wall.

So much of our adventure feels like something out of a novel from yesteryear.

Every now and then, we hear the toot of a train on the Dartmouth Steam Railway, chuffing its way up the beautiful Dart valley from Kingswear to Paignton (via Churston, where Dame Agatha bumped off another victim in The ABC Murders).

Had we another day, we would jump aboard for a visit to see the big cats and giant tortoises at Paignton’s famous zoo. Next time, perhaps.

In fact, the children liked nothing more than simply messing around back at Fountain Violet Farm until the last of the marshmallows had melted, and it was time for bed.

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vacationsoup · 7 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://vacationsoup.com/family-days-out-in-the-uk/

21 Inspiring Ideas for Family Days Out in the UK

Summer’s already here, the weather is glorious and the school year is almost at an end. But who says you have to go abroad to have fun?

You won’t have passports, airport queues, currency exchange or jet lag to worry about. And with some fantastic large family-friendly holiday homes available in some of the UK’s most beautiful areas, you’re guaranteed the holiday of a lifetime, right here at home.

However, keeping the kids amused can often be a job in itself. Luckily, no matter which part of the UK you visit, you’re sure to find plenty of fun days out for all the family to enjoy, even if it’s raining.

If you’re not sure where to start, here are 21 inspiring ideas for family days out in the UK that will make your staycation all the more special.

1. Jorvik Viking Centre, York

The beautiful and historic city of York has a wealth of attractions to keep all ages entertained, and is one of the best cities in the UK to visit with family. The newly re-furbished Jorvik Viking Centre will transport you back to AD960. Interactive cutting-edge technology and the hop-on ride experience give you a fascinating insight into the life and times of the Vikings.

2. Chocolate Story, York

Fans of Willy Wonka will love York’s Chocolate Story. Learn about the history of chocolate and have a go at making some yourselves. You can watch the expert chocolatiers at work and try lots of scrumptious samples. It’s finger-licking good!

3. Castle and Prison Museum, York

Soak up the atmosphere of Victorian Britain along the recreated streets of Kirkgate at York Castle Museum. Then listen to the gruesome prisoner stories at the Castle Prison, and come face to face with highwayman Dick Turpin.

Holly Cottage is a relaxing and comfortable holiday home, perfect for families and only a 10-minute walk from York city centre.

4. Take a Steam Train Ride in North Yorkshire

Travel back in time and enjoy a delightful steam train ride along 18 miles of the beautiful North York Moors National Park, stopping at some lovely villages along the way. One of the stops, Goathland, featured as Hogsmeade in the film version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Finish off your day with fish and chips along the coast at Whitby. Foldyard House near Beverley is the perfect base for exploring the Yorkshire coast and moorland.

5. Cycling in the Lake District

Whinlatter Forest, England’s only mountain forest, is the perfect playground for the active family. Grab your mountain bikes and enjoy a fun day out riding the Quercus Trail, suitable for all abilities, with stunning views over the northern fells. Bikes are also available to hire.

6. Scottish Sea Life Sanctuary, Oban

If you’re holidaying in Argyll, don’t miss this fascinating marine conservation experience on the shores of Loch Creran. Take a thrilling boat trip to see the seals and explore the stunning scenery, or get up close and feed the resident seals.

Blaven House in Oban, has a pool table and outdoor children’s play area, and is the perfect holiday home for large families.

7. Edinburgh Treasure Trail

A great way to see the city and entertain the kids at the same time is to follow the Edinburgh Treasure Trail. Work together to find clues, solve puzzles and learn about the fascinating history of Edinburgh. The 1.75-mile trail is easy to follow and brimming with clues to help you locate the long lost treasure.

Dean Street Mews offers comfortable and quiet accommodation within easy reach of the city centre.

8. Warwick Castle

Myth, magic and adventure are ready to greet you at the UK’s most exciting and family-friendly castle. The thousand-year-old Warwick Castle is brought to life through re-enactments and costumed characters. Climb the princess tower, be a knight for the day or explore the castle dungeons if you dare.

9. Drayton Manor Theme Park

If you’ve got kids of all ages, Drayton Manor theme park in Staffordshire is the perfect day out for everyone. It’s compact enough to get around easily and has plenty of rides for all ages including Thomas Land for the little ones and exhilarating rides such as the Accelerator and Apocalypse for older kids. The tranquil zoo completes the perfect, traditional family day out.

10. Explore a Miniature Cotswold Village

After enjoying a leisurely lunch in the beautiful pub gardens of the Old New Inn, Bourton-on-the-Water, explore the delightful model village – an exact replica of the quaint Cotswold village. Kids will love wandering through the miniature stone houses and seeing the exhibition of miniature scenes and room sets.

11. Dartmouth Castle

Explore the guns, cannons and secret passageways of Dartmouth Castle, situated on the Dart Estuary. The castle offers spectacular views across Dartmouth, beautiful coastal walks and ferry rides to enjoy views of the castle from the water.

Beach End is the perfect family escape with its own beach and only a short boat ride away from Dartmouth.

12. Splashdown Waterpark, Poole

Enjoy some water fun this summer, whatever the weather. Splashdown Waterpark offers 13 thrilling indoor and outdoor flume rides and three under-5 zones for the little ones. Older kids can enjoy the terrifying twists and turns of rides such as Black Thunder and Infinity. Younger kids and toddlers can snorkel safely in Ricky’s Reef or enjoy buckets of fun in the interactive water area.

The Town House in nearby Bournemouth is the perfect base for large family groups to enjoy the delights of the South West and is only a short drive from Poole.

13. Heatherton World of Activities, Tenby

If you’re planning a family holiday with a large group, you’ll need lots to keep them entertained. Heatherton has something for everyone. From paint balling and archery to tree top climbing and go-karting, it’s an adrenaline packed adventure day that everyone will love.

Heatherton is free admission so you only pay for the activities you want to do. From adrenaline-pumped teenagers to toddlers, there’s something to suit everyone. The centre is divided into adrenaline, family, play, and golf and bowling zones. In the play zone, younger kids can try the Landrover Experience or roll, bounce and jump on the giant jumping pillows. Mum and Dad can have a bounce too!

Waterwynch House, situated on the water’s edge in Pembrokeshire National Park near Tenby, is a big enough to hold even the largest family groups, sleeping up to 28 people. It’s the perfect place for large family gatherings and is ideal for exploring the stunning Pembrokeshire coastline.

14. White Water Rafting, River Tees

Adrenaline-junkie families love the invigorating thrills of riding the rapids at Tees Barrage International White Water Centre. Families with older kids (12+) will enjoy this fun soaked wild water adventure, whatever their abilities. There are special family sessions so kids will get the chance to soak mum and dad. And if that doesn’t tire you out, try the exhilarating high-speed powerboat ride along the River Tees.

15. Safari in Scotland

Spot deer, grouse and golden eagles in the spectacular, wild, rugged Scottish highlands with a Mountain Safari adventure. The safari will take you through forests, mountains and moors where you can learn about the history, culture and nature of this stunning wilderness.

Or take a boat trip safari on Loch Tay and learn about the fascinating folklore and mysteries surrounding the largest loch in Perthshire.

Enjoy the breathtaking views across Loch Tay from your very own hunting lodge, complete with a roaring fire and four-poster beds.

16. Isle of Bute

Take a ferry ride out to the beautiful Isle of Bute. Here you can observe seal colonies from the spectacular red-sanded beach of Scalpsie Bay, before heading to the tearooms at nearby Ettrick Bay for delicious homemade cakes and tea.

The beautiful collection of artworks at Mount Stuart house is also worth a visit. Then the kids can let off steam in 300 acres of gardens and woodlands, before wandering down to the shoreline beach, a great place for a family picnic.

Balvonie House is the perfect base for exploring the islands and castles of Western Scotland.

17. A Boat Ride on the Thames

Cruising along England’s historic River Thames is a wonderful way for the family to enjoy a summer’s day. Hire a self-drive boat and take turns being the skipper, or sit back and relax on a river cruise and enjoy the beautiful countryside and villages as you’re given a guided tour of the area by an experienced skipper.

Chimney Corner is the perfect holiday home for a relaxing and comfortable stay near Henley-on-Thames.

18. Harry Potter World, Leavesden

The ideal day out for Potterheads of all ages, you can visit some of the most iconic sets used in the making of Harry Potter. Step into the Great Hall, stroll down Diagon Alley or jump on board the Knight Bus. You can even ride a broomstick!

Exterior sets such as Number 4 Privet Drive and the Hogwart’s Bridge can be found at the Backlot where you can sip on Butterbeer, a frothy, non-alcoholic concoction tasting of shortbread and butterscotch.

From this year you can break the Hogwart rules and follow the footsteps of Harry, Ron and Hermione into the Forbidden Forest where you’ll encounter a full-sized model of Buckbeak.

19. Hampton Court Palace, Kingston-on-Thames

This magnificent and majestic royal palace on the River Thames will give you a fascinating insight into the court life of Tudor England. Satisfy your sweet tooth in the Chocolate Kitchen, see how cooks prepared banquets in the Tudor Kitchen, or follow the Ghostly Children’s Trail. There are re-enactments performed by colourful costumed characters. You may even get to meet Henry himself! Outside you can try tackling the famous 18th century maze or discover secret grottos and mysterious beasts in the Magic Garden.

20. Tower of London

The oldest fortress and prison in Europe is home to the Crown Jewels, not to mention the odd headless ghost or two! Explore the towers and grounds, see where royal queens lost their heads, and marvel at stories told by the Yeoman Warders. For older kids, the gruesome torture exhibition displaying replicas of torture instruments used at the Tower is too good to miss. Not for the faint-hearted!

For the younger kids, there are interactive adventures and activity trails to follow or they can help defend the Tower in a live-historical re-enactment.

21. A Day Out at the Beach

If the warm summer days continue, it’s time to head to the beach. The UK is blessed with some stunning beaches, with sand so white and waters so crystal clear, they could make you think you’re in the Caribbean. Some family favourites include:

With perfect surfing conditions and golden sands, Fistral beach in Newquay, Cornwall is a favourite with surfers and families alike.

Blue Flag beach West Wittering in Sussex has impeccable water quality, fine, golden sand and an abundance of wildlife in the surrounding area of outstanding natural beauty.

Weymouth Beach, Dorset is said to have the best sand in Britain for building sandcastles. There is even a featured sand sculptor whose work is displayed on the beach. The beach has a lifeguard patrol and a lost child point.

Blackpool Sands, Dorset offers something for everyone. There’s a play area and designated sand pits for the little ones, a bathing raft for teenagers and a fabulous seafood restaurant where mum and dad can try local seafood while sipping on a chilled glass of wine. The beach is cleaned every day and is patrolled by lifeguards.

House Parties offers a range of spacious, comfortable and family-friendly luxury homes throughout the UK, designed to make your staycation extra special. To enquire about a booking for your family or group of friends, or to discuss the best location for your family holiday, contact us today.

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#day out #family activities #family holidays #group holiday #kid-friendly getaway #uk #weekends #where to go

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