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slowd1ving · 7 months ago

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I. THAT'S WHAT ALL THE PEOPLE SAY ･ﾟ FRANCIS MOSSES

"Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. There's a reason you stuck with this shitty diner job: routine. So, why the hell does that keep changing for you? warnings + general: amab!reader, nsfw, depression, smoking + unhealthy habits, diner au, trauma, military background (made up unit for doppelgangers) so canon divergence, obsession lowkey

MISC. MASTERLIST

THAT'S LIFE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART・

‘That’s life (that’s life), that’s what all the people say.’

Tinny, crackling music permeates the small diner. Sound waves echo against the chequered tiles bathed azure in the blue hour, and return to the record player in an endless cycle. Rinse and repeat. Devour yourself and be devoured in exchange. Ouroboros.

Is there particular meaning to be found in musing over such philosophy? Maybe, maybe not – the only witnesses to tell you otherwise are the winking lampposts stationed outside the building. Thus, these thoughts keep you company on such cold days; there’s no one to tell you otherwise, after all.

There’s not much else to do here. You’d change the record, but the only vinyl left behind by the old owner is the old ‘66 Sinatra. You’d clean up, but that’s all you really do. You’d talk to someone, but this hour before sunset isn’t the time slot of any of the usual regulars.

Day in, day out, they come at their methodical intervals: Mr Henryk Jameson at quarter to five, a new woman on his arm each time; Mr Steven Rudboys at six, desperately rushing home with two takeout boxes for himself and his retired father; and Miss Mia Stone at half-past twelve, who talks a big deal about her students while she tucks into her onion rings and beef burger on her lunch break.

There are others, of course, but these are the ones who remain most salient in these changing times.

Here, there’s never a rush. It’s a languid sort of pace, one that allows you to be one of only two workers that run this place. The quarterly margin for the books is awful narrow; it dances on the line between profit and loss, and occasionally plays jump-rope with it. But you’re not here at the edge of town to make money.

You like the quiet life.

You leave making money to the businessmen in the city, with their pinstriped suits and powdered foreheads. They’re regulars at lunch: hands gingerly poised to avoid greasing their harsh charcoal three-pieces, mouths pursed like an asshole sphincter as they sip their scalding instant brew, and eyes constantly honed in on other businessmen hawkishly.

Some things just never change, just like this diner. It was the same three years back: same red retro bar stools, same fluorescent neon graphics, same polished black counters that left behind countless fingerprints.

Still no customers.

You slip a pack of Old Gold from your apron, lighting the last stick with the stovetop. At least you have the courtesy to step outside while you smoke, unlike some of your uncouth patrons. Some people just won’t understand basic manners, and that’s fine (it's not fine).

The heady nicotine rush soothes you. At times like this, it reminds you of the field ration pack new recruits received on a weekly basis.

Doppelgänger Detection Department: Special Extermination Unit. Honourable discharge, May 7th, 1973. Humanity’s adapted to its challenges well.

You breathe the smoke out; it trails grey against the blue fog of the sky. The taste lingers: slightly nutty, moderately sweet.

You know this flavour well.

It preludes the adrenaline of battle.

‘You’re riding high in April, shot down in May.’

Why does the Special Extermination Unit want its cadets high on the rush while they fight? The answer’s surprisingly simple.

Forget fear.

It’s drilled into each new recruit. Fear clouds your mind. Fear leads to irrationality. Fear tears apart that which must remain compartmentalised.

Better have cadets slightly out of the loop of the mind than pissing their pants in the face of a doppelgänger. Or faces (plural). Or lack of one.

On the quiet road, a small van emerges from the mist. It’s nothing special; a white standard model awash with the indigo haze of dusk. You take a drag whilst observing it; when it pulls up into the diner driveway, its wheels crunch on the gravel with a sound that suspiciously resembles a breaking ribcage.

This is new.

Your universe has been slightly tilted on its axis of rotation.

When he takes a step towards the fluorescent light blinking from the joint, his breath comes out in neon puffs. Just like you – except, you know, your lung damage is significantly worse.

You’ve never seen him before. Methodically, you observe him in your scrupulous capacity: a habit from your regiment that you’re hard-pressed to let go of. He’s of shorter stature than you, just an inch or two. Dark brown hair is slicked back neatly under a cap that blatantly reads ‘MILKMAN’ in bold letters. While his white shirt and dark trousers have been ironed, there are slight wrinkles in the fabric that betray his hard labour.

While you observe him, he observes you. Those tired eyes gleam brick-red when you jostle the stick of nicotine in your fingers, and you don’t doubt the gleam in your own. He moves closer, and you can see the pronounced eye bags under his eyes and the gentle arch of his nose. Closer still, and your eyes can pick up his lashes, while your olfactory senses notice the milky, powdery scent that breaks through the smoke.

Wordlessly, he moves past you. The heavy glass door swings shut behind him, and you swear quietly as you step on your still-lit cigarette to snuff it out.

He’s waiting when you go in; his hands roughly loosen his bow-tie as he stands at the counter. No, he leans against it with his hip: tiredness more pronounced in the harsh neon incandescence.

Your routine has been broken for the first time in three years.

“Hard day?”

“Mm,” he acknowledges laconically with a hum, not a word more of affirmation. You give up in your meagre attempts to further crash and burn this aforementioned routine.

“What will it be for you, then?” The end of your question is markedly more flat. Boredom has seeped in once again.

“House special.” His voice is low when he replies, vibrating at a frequency that sticks into your own sternum. “And a coffee to-go.”

“It’ll be ready in five or so minutes, sir.” You rip the small receipt from the pager and hand it to him – that marks the end of your conversation.

Whilst the onion and beef cooks on the griddle, you take the time to watch him. He’s a singularity – an anomaly – in your Frank Sinatra-hazed day. Though, despite his strange role in your life as an unexpected variable, he seems painfully ordinary. His head’s tipped back against the cherry-red leather booth: eyes shut in a way that relaxes his face and makes him look at peace rather than exhausted. No, scratch that. Who are you kidding? He looks even more exhausted like this – hands unfurled on his lap, shoulders loose in their sockets as he slumps.

Even his hat looks exhausted, deflating slightly on the seat beside him. His hair loses its slick quality; it’s messy in a way that pushes you to add an extra shot of espresso to his cup. He deserves it more than those stick businessmen in their suits, you think.

You turn down the volume dial of the record player. Just a bit, until the vocals and instruments blend together as a singular ode to swing. It creaks from disuse – you don’t think it’s ever been turned.

When you walk to his table, you do so soundlessly. Doppelgänger senses extend further and better than human ones; you know from ample experience. In the welcome video for new cadets, the crackling voice mentions such every few minutes. Even with your boots that squeak on newly-mopped floors, you manage the walk silently.

Just as softly, you place his order down on the table and take that instantaneous moment before the aroma reaches him to observe once more.

His face is serene. Soot-black lashes flutter as he finally registers the source of warmth and the caramelised aroma of the dish, and you take a step back.

“Mm,” his hum is quieter this time – sleep-tinged. “Thanks.”

That short exchange is nothing less than your galaxy finally exploding.

You don’t know his name. But you’ve got a great memory, and he’s currently the crowning supernova in the middle of it.

‘But I know I’m gonna change that tune, when I’m back on top, back on top in June.’

The unexpected variable turns into an expected one.

You haven’t seen him for a week, but he shows up during your shift seven days later – eerily at the same time he had previously. He looks the same – you’d know the signs of a doppelgänger, of all people – and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Wait.

Why would you care?

You thoughtfully thumb the plastic of the pack in your apron pocket as you deliberate the question. You’re not one to get attached to people – you’ve blown through the brains of faces that looked almost identical to your comrades-in-arms, with nothing more than indifference.

So, why?

You really shouldn’t have started the philosophical thoughts at this time. It appears you’ve Pavlov’ed yourself into introspecting when dusk begins.

He sits in the same booth he did last time, half-pressed against a window on the left side. His hair is mussed once more, while his bow-tie is strewn haphazardly on his cap. It almost feels like a routine is beginning. Except it’s not, since he’s awake this time.

He looks at you with those dark brown eyes, and you don’t look back.

And you’re determined to stick to your pessimistic and mundane world-view, so once you place his food down, you head into the azure realm to light a stick once more.

You watch his white van, parked neatly in between those two pale lines while a stray cat circles around the warm tires. He watches you in turn. You can feel those pinpricks of pupils, boring straight into your back as you breath the menthol in, and out, and in, and out. Those instincts and reflexes of yours have been honed to a furious degree, after all. This much is child’s play.

Are you a deviation from his routine, as much as he is to yours?

You’re not sure what to think.

‘I said that’s life (that’s life) and as funny as it may seem, some people get their kicks, stomping on a dream.’

It’s the third time meeting him that you learn his name. It’s not like you learn it on purpose, but you’ve finally got a name to put to your blue-tinged anomaly.

“Your usual, sir?” Your voice is polite, yet anyone could sense your exhaustion clear in your cadence. It’s been a long day, filled with numerous Miss Mia Stones after she brought her colleagues over – an exponential increase of imaginary students to talk about. Ever since he began eating here, there seem to be more deviations to your peaceful boredom.

“Francis Mosses,” he replies without a hum for the first time. You pause in pre-filling the pager. The world grinds to a halt for a brief, starry moment.

“Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to.

But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars.

“Yes, please.” He maintains eye contact this time. Perhaps it’s the fatigue that’s trained his gaze on you. Perhaps he’s slightly delirious. Perhaps it’s neither.

Regardless, you can feel a slight shift in attitude, and you don’t like it.

It’s different when the Businessmen in Pinstripe Suits come by. They’re very Important, they proclaim, so don’t mess up their Coffee and get it done Pronto. They don’t give names, only business cards. They don’t give names, only leave smoke from their Marlboros behind. They don’t give names. That’s how you like it.

Their seats remain fixed – prime positions to glare at each other while simultaneously flaunting their contracts and suits and new watches. These constellations remain constant. That’s the rule of nature you’ve noticed. It shouldn’t diverge.

It shouldn’t.

It can’t.

You won’t get close to anyone. This is fact.

‘But I don’t let it, let it get me down.’

The typical reasons for joining the Doppelgänger Detection Department: Special Extermination Unit, colloquially dubbed “Execution Squad”, are one of three: a strong sense of patriotism, a keen desire for revenge, or a death wish.

You are not a patriot, and you’re definitely unenthused at putting yourself through hell simply to die at the hands of a doppelgänger. Really, there are easier and quicker methods at killing yourself that don't involve this infernal training regime.

Those invasive pests had broken apart your family. You pick up the weight of the gun to return the favour, losing a bit of your humanity in exchange.

You take the dangerous jobs – risk is nothing with the nicotine and fury bubbling through your veins. You raid the abandoned warehouses, negotiate and exterminate the intelligent doppelgängers, and cull the ones impersonating animals.

With each mission, you lose part of yourself.

You shoot people who look like your friends, fellow humans like yourself. Children. Elderly. It’s exceedingly difficult to remind yourself it’s not human blood coagulating on your hands.

Your sacrifice serves you well. Your anger bolsters your righteous path as Captain. It doesn't quite feel like revenge when it’s paved with gold and a heavy salary, but what do you know?

All stars burn bright before they die, right?

‘Cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin’ around.’

It’s been a little over two months, and the supernova has become part of your galaxy.

He orders, he sits, he takes a short rest. While he eats, he watches you smoke. You think that’s the end of that, but it’s not.

Mr Francis Mosses stops coming weekly. Rather, he’s begun coming nightly.

Just as the clouds begin turning that alizarin blue, he parks his compact van in the driveway. You hear him before you see him – senses enhanced by your years in this country’s pseudo-military, muscle and sinew tensed in anticipation. Each gravel crunch is a signal, each careful step a firework. You can hear the engine hum as though it was by your ear.

You don’t know when the anticipation started. You don’t particularly like it.

“Mm,” his voice has become slightly rougher. Those dark shadows beneath his eyes look particularly deep tonight, when the dusk coalesces faster. “What do you recommend?”

This is new. This is uncharted territory, but your supernova always throws out the map regardless.

You blink, thoroughly perturbed by his sudden question. Self-consciously, your fingers thread through your apron ties.

“I don’t know.” You’re carefully neutral, to the point where you’re even boring yourself. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

You really haven’t. It’s not like you particularly care about what you eat; smoke distorts your perception of hunger, and you just pick whatever’s closest to you.

“Pick something for me, then, anything at all,” he offers. You stare at him like he’s grown another eyeball. This, you think, is the most words you’ve heard in a row from him. It’s slightly disturbing. “I think I’ll like whatever you choose.”

You stay silent, with neon lights dancing on your impassive face as a response.

When you make his strawberry milkshake and chicken club sandwich, he’s not closed his eyes. Rather, he watches while you work, much like you’d watched him when he first came to the diner. And rather than his usual booth, he sits right on the cherry-red stools at the bar counter, right in front of the kitchen station.

It’s unnerving.

The streetlamps create halos around him. He’s a cerulean angel, you realise, one that’s tired and exhausted from the divine lifestyle.

For the first time in three years, you can hear something other than the vinyl. If you stop to think about it, you think it’s your pulse drumming impatiently in your ears. But that would be absurd.

Everyone knows that when you die, your heart shrivels cold and hard.

You've died several times over. A pulse is impossible.

‘I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.’

From the very beginning in the Execution Squad, you’re taught two fundamental rules. The first is that though these creatures may appear human, you should extricate any and all pity you may have for them.

The second fundamental is that doppelgängers work alone. Amongst apex predators like these, they hunt alone and live alone. These truths were observed when they first arrived, and you don’t question them. As a Captain, you’ve repeated the same tenets to your subordinates dozens of times, and they have served you well.

That is the ‘routine’ you’ve created. Nothing good comes from its mutations.

Don’t feel pity for these creatures. They’ll take your weakness and slit your throat with it.

It’s supposed to be a simple operation.

Use their lack of cooperation amongst themselves against them. A natural rivalry is present in the species.

You’ve grown complacent. It seems you don’t remember the most pivotal tenet of them all.

But don’t expect this species to remain constant.

You’ve already sent your Lieutenant back to base on your foolish assumption that this is just a simple extermination job.

“Two confirmed doppelgängers in the vicinity, may be more in hiding,” you mutter. Your pistol is strapped to your thigh, whilst your shotgun rests heavy against your back. It’s a comforting weight.

It’s also a false security.

No one can deny your experience. You know your subordinates inside and out; you’ve eliminated their doppelgängers countless times. You shoot their faces. You watch the viscera drip from your sleeve. You tuck away your weapon.

The bile stops rising eventually when you use enough bullets.

That’s enough reminiscing.

When you light the stick, you’re under the eaves of a crumbling factory. Rain drizzles from forlorn clouds – it’s winter, and you’re starved for warmth. Anything will do, even if it’s the hot blood congealing off your body in dense rivulets.

It’s sickening, but you’re sick in the head and have been for a long time now.

It’s not bloodthirst, but a cold detachment. Even without the nicotine, you think you could stay compartmentalised enough to face hordes of doppelgängers.

Slightly nutty, moderately sweet. A note of sourness, you appreciate.

You can sense several figures moving around in the factory. Even though they appear closer to each other than usual, you don’t think anything of it.

After all, this is your ‘routine’.

When you stub the smoke out into the soaked pavement, you know it’s time to move. Though there’s some unease lingering in the back of your throat, you dismiss it.

You shoot the lock open. Your dark coat whirls behind you as the door clicks inwards.

Several pairs of eyes swing towards you, and you freeze.

How could you not?

These aren’t the people you’ve spent each day with for the past few years. These are your parents, your siblings, your cousins.

No one warned you about this.

This wasn’t in the manuals you read.

When they say your name, you crumple like the building you’re in. Your tears cascade like the rain outside.

You know their faces. They’re real, breathing mementos of long-gone humans. You want to believe; you can feel your precious tenets disintegrating with each step you take towards your family.

Your family.

Through blurred eyes, you can’t examine them in detail. They croon towards you – hushed murmurings of love and comfort – and you cannot help but give in. The gun at your thigh, the gun at your back; they’re there because of them, your family.

Those compartments in your mind. They’re gone, burst open as though they were floodgates.

You’re held for the first time in a decade. Human warmth envelopes you, before it starts suffocating you.

Give in, it says.

You want to. You want to, damn it, more than anything.

You lied when you said you didn’t want death.

You crave it the most.

“I’m sorry,” you plead. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” they coo, and for a minute it feels wrong to imagine otherwise. It feels like betrayal to think of them as anything other than kin.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat through sobs. Your guns are drawn, and you aim at the faces you wanted to see again more than anything.

This is love, you think. You bear this pain because you love your family. You love them, to the point where you shoot them so they can finally rest beyond the veil. You love them, to the point where you point your gun at yourself and drop it wretchedly when it’s out of bullets.

You love them, to the point where you’d rip your heart out of your chest to quell their sadness.

“I’m sorry.”

Salty tears drip from your face as you shoot for the last time in your career.

When your Lieutenant finds you, you’re drowning. You’re curled up inside the abandoned factory, bodies strewn around you as you clutch your mother’s face for the last time. It’s not a pretty sight – brain matter and blood drips from you in oceans. They bled like me. They bled like my parents.

You’re choking on the waves. You’ve gotten your revenge.

You’ve gotten your warmth – the blood and tears and rain scald you. Devils burn when exposed to such liquids, after all; you’re too impure to carry on living.

Your cries strangle you. Even when you gasp and heave, no oxygen enters your desperate mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. Over and over, over and over, over and over, over and over, over and over, you repeat the same syllables. Even when the tears stop, your eyes are curiously blank and you continue the mantra.

The lack of tears doesn’t matter anymore. The sky cries for you; weeks after the incident leave the area with relentless downpour that doesn’t cease even long after you’re taken away.

I’m sorry.

Revenge wasn’t meant to be like this. You had clear expectations; the doppelgänger was never meant to be family. You’d imagined a faceless creature. You hadn’t imagined this at all.

I’m sorry.

Episodes like this happen to even the most experienced within the unit. No one can shoulder this burden forever.

I’m sorry.

You’re honourably discharged. As of May 7th, 1973, you’re no longer part of the Execution Squad.

“Go,” they say. “You’re free.”

No one says anything when you tumble in from hell into a small town on the edge of the city. There, you’ve been given a blank slate. They’ve scrubbed clean the blood from it – it smells like bleach and a myriad of cleaning chemicals.

You’re allowed to keep your pistol. Though you’re not a part of the Execution Squad any longer, your badge allows you to keep it for self-defence against doppelgängers as a former Captain. It’s less work for the D.D.D – you take on the vigilant role, while they don’t need to put you on the payroll. It’s a pity for them, however.

You don’t plan on touching it ever again.

When you sign the job contract for a shitty diner that only plays the same record on repeat, you savour it. Though your looping letters still come out bloody, it’s from beef patties rather than doppelgängers.

It’s a fresh start.

Here, you’ll create your painfully ordinary, mundane ‘routine’.

It can’t mutate again.

Please. You plead with fate. Not again.

You don’t plan on feeling hurt ever again.

‘I’ve been up and down and over and out and I know one thing.’

“My name?”

“Mm,” Mr Francis Mosses hums. His eyes lazily trace you, and you know he can see the name tag pinned neatly on your chest. You say as much, with as little emotion as possible.

This is dangerous. Your stomach churns in what could only be nervousness.

“I’d like to hear it from you,” he comments neutrally. Or not. If you’re not mistaken, the earlier impassivity of his has melted slightly into amicability. You hope you’re mistaken.

Even so, your name leaves your lips like a promise.

I hate myself.

If he notices the hidden loathing, he doesn’t say anything.

‘Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.’

It happens on the eve of ‘77. Snow softly powders the welkin and the earth, yet everything is still blue. There appears to be no purity where you reside; just a sorrowful, mournful despondency trailing behind you like a grave shroud fluttering on the funeral pyre.

You’re about to light your second cigarette when you hear that familiar hum of machinery. It sings to you, breaks your blood vessels and rebuilds them once more.

You hadn’t expected him to come today – it’s a day that should be spent with family, not at some diner where even the most rambunctious couldn’t be found today.

The stick is left between your lips like a kiss.

When he gets out of his van, he doesn’t move past you. You, the Cerebus of the underworld. You, the mad dog who can do nothing but guard. You, who couldn’t do even that, and failed in your duty. Your honourable discharge is anything but. You’re a disgrace.

No, he doesn’t move past you.

His jacket slips off his shoulders and wraps around you. You blink in surprise, sturdy muscles poised to act to this unknown danger. What is this?

He still doesn’t move past you – his nose is slowly turning red in the below zero Celsius weather, while his breath comes out in silvery plumes. It’s unfathomable.

When he pulls out a lighter, you almost go into anaphylactic shock.

But you don’t, because your body is a traitor who can’t even die properly.

You bend obediently at the waist to receive the flame instead.

This is new.

It seems like your supernova was able to reach past his limits.

This gravitational pull – it has to be a black hole.

Your galaxies need a thorough reshaping once more, it seems.

“Go, Mr Francis Mosses,” you mumble. “It’s too cold out here for you.”

When he enters the warm diner with a small hum, you miss the small smile on his tired face.

The heavy glass doors swing shut. You’re alone in the blue world, drinking in the menthol and tobacco and tar and all the flavours that exist on this pitiful planet. Yes, you’re a speck on the planet, and Mr Francis Mosses is at the centre of the orbit. It all comes down to him. He’s the sudden singularity that continuously tilts the axis of motion.

You don’t think the belt of stars can ever be the same.

When was the last time you felt like this?

He’s not in his usual space by the counter when you shoulder open the door. Instead, he sits at the booth closest to the record player – Sinatra’s mellow tenor can be heard clearest at the point where the sound waves reach their zero order. It’s a good spot, especially for the eve of the next year; it’s in direct sight of the digital clock that currently reads a quarter to ten.

You step silently towards him, but there’s no use in that. He’s watching each pace, after all.

You don’t know what he’s thinking. All this time spent among doppelgängers, and you’ve lost the ability to read humans in return.

He’s unusual.

What’s he scheming?

“What would you like, Mr Francis Mosses?” you ask instead. It’ll be an easier answer for you to bear, you think.

This corner is particularly dim, lit only by the back glow of fluorescence from the reflective walls. You can easily pick up the dilation of his eyes as you move closer; with your sharp eyes, you can even pick up the reflection of you and that coat in his irises.

He should’ve moved to a brighter spot, you think. You’re not particularly discerning when it comes to these matters.

“I’d like to share a meal with you for New Years’,” his voice is husky-low with exhaustion. You pity him, having to work to the bone each day. “You can decide what we have.”

“Go home, Mr Mosses,” you reply.

Maybe he’s like you. Alone, without a supernova to shift his axis.

“I can’t,” he tiredly remarks. “You’re good company.”

This time when you cook, he keeps his eyes closed with the jacket covering him like a blanket. You’re damn sure it smells like any pack of Old Gold, yet he’s conked out like a baby nonetheless.

You frown.

What’s with this guy?

He’s out for quite a bit – you watch the minutes drag out until it’s half to eleven. By then, you’ve painstakingly made waffles, generously topped with strawberries. There’s other dishes too from the diner menu: burgers dripping with onions and beef fat, fries coated in powdered spices, and a bottle of cognac you were planning on drinking on the steps tonight.

It’s New Years’ Eve, after all.

Your hand reaches out to shake him awake, but you freeze just before collision.

What’s with this feeling?

Your stomach feels tight, but before you can react, your hand’s already clasped around his deltoid. It’s startling how warm it is; you can feel each steady thrum of his heart, each gasp of lifeblood as it oxygenates and pulses through his cells.

“Mr Francis Mosses,” you rasp, low and just barely above the strains of swing music. The crackle of the record player seems to be louder than your hushed cadence, but the man awakes quickly regardless of your volume. He takes a moment to register his surroundings, before stiffening slightly upon spotting your hand still on his shoulder.

You quickly retract it as though burnt.

For the first time in a while, you can taste the food. It doesn’t go up in smoke, and it doesn’t go anywhere save your stomach.

When you drink the cognac, Mr Francis Mosses drinks with you. His flushed face is something to behold, something that makes your solar plexus tighter and tighter.

There’s a burning sensation that claws from your chest. You can’t be sure, but you don’t think it’s the alcohol.

“Mr Mosses,” you say, glancing at the sky beyond the windows. It’s no longer blue – rather, the black firmament reflects nothing but neon motifs. You step outside, lighting a fresh stick as he follows behind you in a tizzy.

“It’s midnight,” you exhale.

“It is.” It is, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that. Eyes crinkled at the edges, teeth slightly on display. Your breath catches, and the cigarette in your fingers twirls, forgotten in that moment.

“Happy New Year, Mr Mosses.”

Everything is supercharged.

For the first time, you truly don’t know what the future will bring.

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letters-from-dekarios · 9 months ago

Note

{ After he was met with his affliction, Gale withdrew himself into his tower for a year. With only Tara for company, and bless her - she tried her best, the wizard drowned in guilt and shame. After the first few weeks, the incessant sending spells died down, after some months, colleagues stopped coming by, safe for only a few friends and his mother. Around that time he stopped checking for mail too. It didn't matter anymore.

Safe to say, Gale was unprepared when the sky suddenly darkened and before he could react, he was plucked right from the ground and taken by the nautilod. But his unexpected adventure served to be quite enlightening and he returned to Waterdeep as a happier and healthier man. He comes back to his home to find his mailbox absolutely flooded. He's got some mucking out to do.

Beneath all the letters of concerned, confused and even some angered colleagues and acquaintances, as well as archmage business, he finds a rather surprising set of letters penned by an old friend from his time at the Blackstaff Academy : Theofiel Rivershade.

A timid but sociable half-elf. The two of them lived parallel to each other in the first few years there, same friends and mentors but somehow never crossing paths. Until they began nursing a quiant friendship after Gale needed help in hunting down a set of very rare and old books by an author that was as sound of mind as he was known : barely.

But after a while of idle comradery, Theofiel, who was quite studious and hardworking, a trait Gale admired as he was more of the sleep-in-class-but-ace-the-test kind of guy, became.. unmotivated and sluggish. And as he attended the Academy less and less until completely dropping out, Gale never truly knew what had become of his formerly bright and curious friend apart from rumors that he had fallen on quite hard times with his health.

And now, four letters lay before the wizard on the coffee table. He brewed himself some tea in the meantime as he opens the first letter. The date was about five months after he'd secluded himself from the world. The second letter was sent eight months in. The thrid was nine months and the last just recently, about a few weeks ago when he was still in the midst of his quest to safe Faerun.}

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

1st letter : Warm greetings, Gale Dekarios

Or Gale of Waterdeep, if you prefer it. It's a quite imposing and deserved title, after all.

I know you haven't heard of me in a long time, and I hope you'll forgive me for it. But I have heard of you in the meantime. And while what I usually hear fills me with a content warmth in my chest, it has recently begun to feel colder and tense.

I do wish you well with what has been ailing you. You should know that I'll always be an open ear, like in good old times.

~ Best of wishes, Theofiel Rivershade

2nd letter : Greetings Gale Dekarios,

I know my concern might be of little comfort or significance to you, I admit it's been a while and in our brief friendship I don't think we ever talked about the plights that weighed on our souls. I know I never did. Perhaps I should have, and then we could have ended up more closely acquainted and I would have come to visit instead of sending letters.

But alas, I can't help being concerned, I always am. And if I learned one thing back then, it's that it's always worth trying. So I hope you're taking care of yourself, Gale. I hope you have someone with you.

~ Be well, Theofiel Rivershade

3rd letter : judging by the slightly skewed writing and the spelling mistakes, it must've been written either in the late hours of the night, while drunk, or both.

Greatings Gale Dekraiu

Theres an very uneasy feeling that has been playging me for a while now because the longer yur silence stretchs, the harder it bites down in me somewere. Like a fly trap but more big. I don't know what is hapening to you but I keep thinking about how similar it is to when I dropped out of the Acadeny. They say it's like you steppd into the shadows, or you are just drowning yourselv in research. But I have a bad feeling, I don't know. When I shut away it was because I was tired. Everyting was exsohsting. I felt a fire in me dying out. I felt like I was rotting slowly away and something eating me from inside. So I hid away to rot in peace. I was ashamed. But you were never exhasting to me, you know? It was easy with yu. But learning wasn't. I'm sorry. I'm not asking you to reply, it's still not my plase to do so. This is my last letter, I don't want to bofher you anymore. I hope you are okey.

At the bottom of the page was a sentence scribbled out, but he could still make out the words : "You've always been someone special to me, even after all these years."

~ Theo

4th letter : Warm greetings, Gale Dekarios

You've always been a common topic in my circles but now you're a topic everywhere it seems. I can't express to you how relieved I was when I heard you reappeared, be it quite far from here, and that you were with company. Fighting for the greater good.

I assume you are doing better. I hope so.

I apologize for my previous letters. There's nothing I can really say for myself except that I have a bad case of 'being a worrywart'. You may discard them if you so please. I think that's for the best.

I'm wishing you lots of luck for your quest and with yourself. All of Waterdeep has faith in you. Me as well. Keep your new friends close, they'll be good for you.

All I want is for you to be okay, happy if I dare say so. This letter is actually my last, I promise.

~ Sincerely, Theo Rivershade

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

( I'm so glad this blog exists. I've been very nervous about writing here but finally got over myself xD

I imagine the relationship between Gale and Theofiel never got explicitly romantic, but they did have moments that sometimes felt like it would become more, but neither of them acted on it. They got along, but never deeply knew each other but it still felt weird to go from a pleasant friendship to complete silence from Theo's side. But it happens.

I hope this wasn't too long though, I'm sorry °~°)

Dearest Theo,

I apologize for not writing you sooner. Time has gotten the best of my mind, even now but more upon the initial sending of your letters. As I sort through the piles of untouched words from friends much like you, it is only then I see how much I truly missed out on. As you may have deduced, I spent little time outside my tower for some time. I will admit to my isolation, but there is far more to it than that simple word.

Regardless, I’d like to address everything in each letter you sent me. As busy as my mind is, I cannot shake the feeling of losing out on something by not taking it all in. You must know how I recognize every letter you planted into these pages, or I fear my mind may give out.

It’s common knowledge that yes, again, I had isolated myself for a while. A year, to be exact. Given your standing as a friend, I’ll be honest in also admitting that I was not doing well. I’m not quite sure how far the grapevine went, but I was shunned by Mystra for… well, I’m not sure where I stand with her now despite it all, but it was a while. A long while. I was selfish and stupid, qualities I am not proud of holstering at that time. But, alas, young minds and a desire for greatness are not always the best combination. Thankfully, though I was not taking the greatest care of myself, I had my Tressym, Tara. You may remember her, do you? I’m sure if I mentioned your name she would have plenty to say.

Worry naught! After a year of sulking and withering away, Tara found the solution to my needs. And, now, those needs are gone. Replaced with ones that are much more fulfilling to the soul, I can happily say I am an entirely new man! As you also may have heard, being infected with tadpoles and nearly transforming into a Mindflayer does change a person.

Theo, dear Theo… I’m not sure where to begin with your third letter. Your drunken worry brings a feeling to the heart I cannot begin to name. While I try to keep this letter more lighthearted, I cannot help but feel akin to what you described. Just the same, I locked myself away with the intent to… pass away, silently. I’m not sure why. I had everything, yet nothing at all- isn’t that odd? I often reminisced on my relationships with people of my past, you included. I knew that if I just asked, you’d extend your hand to help. Shit, you wrote to me all that time. I feel a fool for not replying sooner- for not easing your concern sooner. Now I ramble here, hoping for an answer to the questions I had back then. I don’t wish to put this on you, as aforementioned I’d like to keep it light.

But, Theo, you were special to me, too. I believe you still are.

I can reassure you now, though. I am doing significantly better than I had been. Please, do not apologize for your former concern. You had every right. It is I who should be apologizing for leaving you to worry in silence. I promise to do as you ask, it’s certainly part of my plan for the future.

I’m not sure where you consider me, after all this time of silence, but I hope I can still be considered a friend. I still think of you as one, truly.

Perhaps we can meet sometime to reminisce over the past and catch up on what we’ve each missed. I’d enjoy that. Though, the trip to Waterdeep is a long one. Perhaps our correspondence can make up that time for now.

Tell me, Theo, how are you? Are you taking care of yourself? I hope you are. How are your studies nowadays? I never had the heart to ask how you were after you left, for fear of rubbing my success in your face. I hope you don’t hate me for that.

I’d hate to kill the pigeon who carries this letter from the weight of my words, so I shall end it here.

Thank you, for all of it. It calms my mind to know that I am surrounded by those who care. I used to believe I didn’t have anyone, but that just isn’t true.

Your friend,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

oh my god I absolutely loved this!!! I literally squealed reading this for the first time. This is so so cute! never ever apologize for writing long, this makes me so happy. I’m still kicking my feet as I write my little a.n cause this is just so [ chefs kiss ] ~ kore

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 1 month ago

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Christmas Reruns 2024–Day 29: New York Christmas Serenade (3/4)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t! One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia. A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns. So here you go! Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 1816

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 30 31

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CS Genre: Canon Divergence (missing year between 3a and 3b)

“Mom! Wake up!” Henry said, shaking her shoulder. “It’s Christmas morning!”

Emma groaned as she woke up. It was early. Way too early. By the look of the sky from her bedroom window, it would still be Christmas morning for another several hours yet. It could barely even be called dawn.

“Alright, Kid, I’m up,” she said on a yawn, reaching for her robe and slippers. “I know you’re all about opening the rest of your presents, but you’re going to have to wait for the coffee to brew. You know I’m not awake before I’ve had my first two cups.”

“Don’t worry about that!” Henry said, “Killian already made coffee. Now he’s working on breakfast.”

Emma froze. Killian. How had she forgotten the handsome stranger was still there?

Not long after Henry opened his gifts, Emma had glanced out the window to see it snowing with a vengeance. Turning on the TV, she quickly found out why. They were in the opening stages of a monster blizzard.

Emma shot Killian a concerned look. “You have a place to stay?” she asked. “Your home close?”

“I’m afraid not, love,” Killian said. “I’ve yet to secure lodgings for myself. It’s no matter, though. I’ve weathered many a storm.”

The thought of turning him out into the blizzard had seemed beyond heartless. Who let a guest of theirs go out and freeze to death in a blizzard? Particularly one her son seemed to have an inexplicable bond with—especially after getting that storybook? Particularly one she felt such a tie to.

“Look,” she’d said stiffly. “It’s nasty out there. If you want, you can crash on our couch. Can’t guarantee it’s the most comfortable bed you’ll ever sleep on, but it’s bound to be better than wandering around on the streets of New York in the middle of a blizzard, right?”

His eyes had lit up as though she’d offered him the best gift of his life. “It would be an honor to sleep on your couch, Swan,” he’d said in wonder. “You’ve no idea how much it means to me that you’ve offered.”

Now, in the (still barely there) light of day, Emma began to second guess her magnanimous gesture. What did she even know about this Killian guy really? What kind of a mother lets a strange guy—who could be a serial killer for all she knew—crash on her couch with her son in the apartment.

You’re safe with him. He’d never harm you.

Now where had that thought come from? It made no sense that she’d know that, but somehow she could feel the truth of the statement all the way to her bones. Killian Jones was no threat to her or to Henry.

(Well…except perhaps to her heart. Only one night in the man’s company—one very platonic night—and she could already feel herself falling for him. What was with her? Emma Swan did not get crushes like that! She had her heart locked up as tightly as Fort Knox. No way she lets feelings in!)

Emma took a tentative step from her bedroom and couldn’t help the groan of appreciation that escaped her. It smelled amazing out there. Coffee—strong coffee from the scent of it—percolating, bacon sizzling, pancakes on the griddle. She took it back. Not only was Killian no threat to her, she may have to just invite him to live with the two of them.

“Morning love,” He called with a cheery smile—how did he look that chipper after only getting a few hours of sleep on a lumpy sofa? “I trust you slept well?”

“What little amount of time the kid let me sleep,” she said on a yawn. “He’s lucky it’s Christmas or no way I’d let him get away with waking me up at the butt crack of dawn.”

Killian chuckled. “No I suppose not. I know full well a man is taking his life in his hands when he wakes you. There was one morning on Never…er…I mean…you look like someone who enjoys her sleep.”

“Nice recovery,” Henry said under his breath. “Making her think you’re crazy is definitely not how you make headway with Operation Captain Swan.”

“Never? Operation Captain Swan?” Emma asked in bewilderment. “What are the two of you talking about? How do you know my sleeping habits? And when did you and Henry suddenly become best friends? ”

“Not to worry, Swan,” Killian said, scratching away at that spot on his neck again. “This morning the lad merely told me that the way to your heart is through your stomach.”

“The way to my…Are you…are you saying you want to get to my heart?” No way she was telling him that very organ was pounding so hard at the very notion she was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

In a blink Killian’s embarrassment faded away to be replaced by pure flirtatious mischief. “Oh darling. You have no idea,” he purred.

She held his gaze for as long as she could (which…ended up being less than five seconds), and then she hid behind her favorite defense—sarcasm. “Yeah, well, you gonna take that bacon out of the pan or just let it burn while you act like an idiot?”

He shot her a wounded look. “Of course I had no intention of burning your victuals, Swan! It took me quite some time to determine the proper way to utilize your cooking box, and now that I have, I have no intention of ruining a perfectly good breakfast.”

“It’s called a stove, Hook,” Henry muttered under his breath.

Seriously, when did the two of them become all buddy-buddy? And where was this guy from that he didn’t even know what a stove was?

She had no further time to ponder the big questions of her life, though, as Killian slid a plate of food and a mug of coffee in her direction. At the first bite, Emma moaned in ecstasy. The man could cook.

Looking up, she caught the positively sinful look in Killian’s eye. “I quite like that sound Darling. Perhaps I might endeavor to elicit it once more…sometime when we’re alone.”

“La, la, la,” Henry said, sticking his fingers in his ears. “Kid in the room guys!”

Emma felt her face flame, so she did the only reasonable thing, she turned a withering glare at the idiot in leather currently seated at the head of the table. “In your dreams Jones.”

“You have no idea.”

Emma glared again, expecting to see the same sinful look in his eyes, but what she found instead floored her. Pure, unvarnished longing. It was the look of a man desperately in love. One who feared he’d never have a chance with the girl of his dreams.

The look called to her, and she suddenly had the insane urge to reach over, grab his hand and reassure him that he would find happiness one day.

Fortunately her hand closest to Killian was currently occupied shoveling as much food as possible into her mouth.

Breakfast was a short affair, eaten hastily. While Henry was normally a pretty patient kid, waiting to open presents on Christmas morning would test the patience of any kid.

“Why don’t you go get your presents organized,” Emma said, getting to her feet. “I’ll just take care of these dishes and I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Nonsense, Swan,” Killian said with a hand to her arm…a soft pat that felt almost like a caress. “Go have Christmas morning with your son. I’m perfectly capable of righting the galley.”

“You sure? I hate to have you cook breakfast and then stick you with dishes too.”

“Aye,” he said with a tender smile. “Believe me when I say your happiness…yours and your lad’s…ensure my happiness.”

She smiled, impulsively reaching over and squeezing his hand. “Thanks.”

“You are most welcome.”

The following hour passed in a veritable blur, Henry moving from present to present. She supposed maybe she spoiled him with all the Christmas gifts she’d gotten him, but he was such a good kid and so genuinely grateful for everything he got. And then, of course, there was always that little lost girl inside of her that would never forget what it was like to wake up on Christmas morning to a bare tree and a lack of family. If it made her go a little overboard with her kid…that was just the way it was.

Just as the last gift—a brand new journal and gel pen (the kid liked to write)—was unwrapped, the couch seat beside her sagged, and Emma looked over to see Killian by her side. Not only by by her side, but close enough she could feel the heat of his body against her. It was…distracting to say the least.

“Um…” she said, clearing her throat and trying not to sound like a complete fool, “I guess that’s it. The gifts are all unwrapped.”

“Not quite, Swan,” he said in a low, caressing voice. “I’ve one yet to bestow on you.”

“Me?” she asked. “You got me a gift?”

“Aye,” he said with a nod, turning away to rummage through his satchel once again. I saw this and thought of you.”

“Th…thank you,” she said, taking the long, thin velvet-covered box he held out to her. Opening it, she found a diamond and opal pendant in the shape of a swan attached to a fine, silver chain. It was gorgeous.

“I know you don’t remember, love,” he said softly, “but this pendant reminds me of our first adventure…one of the most satisfying adventures of my life, and it belongs with no one but you.”

“The beanstalk!:” Henry said from his place on the floor, still surrounded by his Christmas loot. “It reminds you of the beanstalk.”

“Aye,” Killian said. “That it does indeed.”

It should have been completely nonsensical this conversation her son was having with her…pirate (No! Not her pirate!), but somehow it simply wasn’t. Something deep within her wanted to nod along and agree with them.

Before she could second guess herself, Emma leaned over and impulsively hugged Killian. “Thanks! I love it. And…I mean, it’s still snowing out there. If you, you know, want to keep crashing on the couch for the next few days, I’m okay with that.”

Notes: I wanted to give Emma’s perspective on the things going on, but unfortunately, that didn’t give me an opportunity to show any post-memory gain conversations between Henry and Killian—or explain what Henry meant by “Operation Captain Swan”. Don’t worry, all will be revealed in the fourth (and last) section of this little story.

–Up next: We learn what kind of plots Emma’s boys have hatched to help her remember—and whether or not they’re successful. As New Year’s Eve arrives, Henry tells Killian about a certain midnight-on-New-Year’s-Eve tradition in the Land Without Magic.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#cs fanfiction #cs christmas reruns 2024 #my fanfiction #new york christmas serenade

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nemo-of-house-hamartia · 1 year ago

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Hiyo! Evening everyone!

Do you remember that Aesthetic game that I did for my characters a while back? well, I had these moodboards lying around from when I first started to draft this AU, so I decided to share them the same way I did my previous moodboard! so, here you have Dorothea, Colette and Lucia as their counterparts in my "The Witches of Månenshavn" story! Enjoy! <3

⭐DOROTHEA MORGENSTERN🔮

MOODBOARD

"Dorothea is a Lunar/Cosmic Witch. She is connected to the Night Sky, The Moon, the Stars, and the Celestial Bodies. She is mostly up at night, her head literally among the clouds, and works with crystals, compasses, and armillary spheres, studying the lunar Phases and the Planetary movement, being in deep contact with the Vault of Heaven and all the stars above. She has Seer powers, and her magick is connected to dreams and the future, and she leaves stardust as a trail behind her. Her familiar is a Raven that goes by the name of Belial. To her, it's connected the Element of Air, and hers are the Winds."

PLAYLIST:

"Caribbean Blue" - Enya "The Mystic's Dream" - Loreena McKennitt "Follow Me" - Celtic Women "The Arcana: Memory" - Keith Holden

QUOTES :

"If all you told was turned to gold If all you dreamed was new Imagine sky-high above In Caribbean blue" ― Enya, Caribbean Blue

“In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities.” ― Janos Arany

“Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning. ” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

🌹COLETTE DE BEAUMONT🐈‍⬛

MOODBOARD

"Colette is a Hearth/Green Witch. She is the literal Heart of the house in Månenshavn, and she generally can be found either in her garden tending to the herbs she needs for her potions or in the kitchen, brewing all sorts of concoctions, oil, and balms, along with protective and cleansing spells. Her magick is connected to plants and nature, and her potions are known to be incredibly powerful. Her familiar is a Snake named Girouette. To her, it's connected the Element of the Earth."

PLAYLIST:

"The Arcana: Magic Hour" - Neil Cross "My Girlfriend is a Witch" - October Country "Mother Earth" - Within Temptation "Élan" - Nightwish

QUOTES :

“Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen.” ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“Witches were a bit like cats. They didn’t much like one another’s company, but they did like to know where all the other witches were, just in case they needed them.” ― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

“Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.” ― Joanne Harris, Chocolat

📜 LUCIA BARBARIGO💀

MOODBOARD

"Lucia is the mischievous one, and she is a Death/Chaos Witch. She is the one that is most attuned with the Spirit world, and she is also the House Medium and the one that practices Divination through tea reading, runes, and tarot reading. She is also the one responsible to create an antidote to poisons, and she is generally found in the kitchen side by side with Colette, often bickering because of the dangerous ingredients Lucia uses. She is the most mysterious of the three, and has quite the impish sense of humor, if a little morbid. Her familiar is an owl named Vieri. She also has a normal cat, Martino, who is always up to bother Dorothea's Belial. To her, it's connected the Element of Fire."

PLAYLIST:

"The Dark Ones" - Karliene "Ballo in F♯ Minore" - Angelo Branduardi "The Circle" - Blackmore's Night "Savage Daughter" - Ekaterina Shehelova

QUOTES :

"Sono io la morte e porto corona Io son di tutti voi signora e padrona E davanti alla mia falce il capo tu dovrai chinare E dell 'oscura morte al passo andare"

― Angelo Branduardi, "Ballo in F♯ Minore"

“Even death has a heart.” ― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“To die will be an awfully big adventure.” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

#The Witches of Månenshavn #Dorothea Morgenstern #Colette De Beaumont #Lucia Barbarigo #my ocs #my writing #moodboards #witches #Witch!AU

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leviabeat · 2 years ago

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07.25.2023 | Big Sky Brewing Co | Missoula | Montana

Via Volbeat's Instagram story

#big sky brewing company #missoula #montana #volbeat #kaspar boye larsen #flemming c lund #michael poulsen #lola montez #volbeat live #servant of the road world tour #2023

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youlikefanficdontyousquidward · 1 year ago

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Teeth for hire

Part one! Next

Summary: Jack's enjoying his time off at the cabin with an old friend and a new one but troubles brewing! A half vampire is at their door and looking for help.

Jack x Vampire!Reader

Kinda a continuation of this but you don't have to have read that

The months past in bliss. Jack was enjoying his time away from hunting at a little cabin he kept. Deep in the pacific northwest forests under cover of dense pines and low hanging clouds. It was nestled in a shady reserve off the beaten paths, far from any prying eyes.

There he was free to enjoy Ted's company without fear of pitchforks and torches. All the while still close enough to towns that he could pick up sushi and coffee for his big friend.

"Come on Ted! I want to get this set up before sunset." Jack called over the clearing. The back of the cabin lead into a small pine needle littered space. Far enough back from the trees that a fire pit had been dug out years earlier. Now Jack had had it set up with log chairs and warm fairy lights.

"Oh because they'll certainly fall head over heals once they've had a s'more right?" Ted grumbled back. Jack spun on his heals, almost dropping his supplies. His mouth bobbled open and closed a few time whilst his face grew uncomfortably hot.

Ted had a point, he'd been smitten since meeting their vampire friend. He'd jumped at every chance to dote on them, spoiling them with anything they'd missed out on. Turns out they were a hunter too, an old clan of vampires set on making sure their kind behaved. That being said you'd not had much time for fun and were relishing in it now.

The sun tipped bellow the hills and trees, casting a last dim light through the forest. The night sky was awake and stars began to twinkle over head. The cabin door opened and you shuffled your way out into the crisp night.

You were thrilled by the sight ahead. Fairy lights lit, a bonfire and your new friends roasting marshmallows. The sleep shook off you quickly as you made your way to them. You grinned widely as you took a seat by Jack. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't grown especially fond of your werewolf.

He'd been hesitant to allow you to help but after the first months escape you'd proven useful. Since then you'd been on watch for him during the full moons. Spending those nights by his cage and the next mornings helping him whilst it'd weakened him.

He was amazing, kind, thoughtful, just all around the kind of company you'd been craving. He didn't even wince away when your smile revealed more fang than intended. Just warming your heart again with another goofy grin.

Ted grumbled amused ahead of you. Despite your time together it hadn't helped you learn to understand him. Though you'd greatly improved at understanding the tone of his speech.

"What?" You laughed with him, wondering what had him so amused.

"Oh it's nothing." Jack interjected, coughing. You frowned at him before taking your flaming marshmallow from the fire.

"Oh come on! You actually get to understand him! Least you can do is share?" You nudged a shoulder into Jack. Ted laughed again shifting his hand to gesture at Jack.

"No, no, he's just making fun of me!" Jack huffed. You laughed nudging against him again, Jack smiled and knocked you back.

"Well I'm sure it was very funny. You know one of these days I going to figure it out too." You boasted. Ted grumbled appreciatively and you went about setting your marshmallow on fire again.

The night wore on and you'd made your way through most of the bag. You didn't really need to eat anymore but it was nice to try and fun to play with them. Ted had set up his old record player and was now playing some old swing music.

"Wait how old is Ted?" You asked Jack. He hummed raising his head from his s'more.

"Oh he was born in the 60s I think? Why?" He smiled. You jumped to your feet rushing over to Ted. He turned to you as you gripped both of his hands.

"I'm older than you!!" You cheered as you excitedly jumped ahead of him. Ted grumbled something that sounded like a jab and his clawed hand took yours. He spun you before pulling you back. It'd been a long time since you'd danced but you were enthusiastic. You leapt and twirled like you remembered seeing in dance halls, laughing wildly.

Ted's claws let you go and you went flying, landing in a crouch. He looked away into the woods distracted so you turned to Jack. You gave a mock curtsy before extending him a hand. He chuckled but rose from his chair to come to you.

At that moment you caught a scent in the air, spinning back to where Ted still stared out into the gloom. Jack joined you at your shoulder and sniffed the air.

"Strange... it smells almost like..." Jack was cut off when you shoved him to the ground. A silver blade now embedded itself in the dirt where he'd stood. Jack scrambled into a low stance, preparing to fend off this attacker.

The man strode out of the darkness, katana sheathed and cloaked in darkness. Jack made to move but your arm whipped out in front of him. Confused he looked to you but your face was calm. The man kept coming forward, sunglasses perched on a handsome face and leather coat billowing in the breeze.

You stepped forward placing a gentle hand on Ted's arm to calm him. Your old acquaintance reached the edge of the fire light, face stern but without the air of threat you'd seen on him.

"Evening Blade."

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

Jack didn't like this. He didn't like this guy in his living room, didn't like the way he touched his things, didn't like his dirty boots on his rugs. Worst he didn't like the way he looked at you.

At least Ted seemed equally put off by this man. Choosing to stay rooted in the corner, following him with piercing red eyes. It wasn't exactly friendly the way he looked at you. More like he was sizing you up for something. If you noticed you didn't care instead making yourself comfortable in the living room.

"So what do we owe the pleasure to Eric?" You asked. Eric rounded the room finally settling in the opposite sofa to yours. Jack stayed leaning against the door. This guy smelt like a vampire too but off somehow.

"This a nice place Y/n, you retiring?" He said.

"More like taking a break." You answered. "Not that I don't love your company but please? What is this about?" You probed. Jack suppressed a curl in his lip, he didn't like this guys tone. Nor the way he could smell anxiety begin to roll off of you.

"Your sire s' been spotted, thought you'd be keen to take him down." Blade said, keeping his eyes fixated on you. Jack didn't miss the way you'd suddenly tensed, the anxiety spiking immediately.

A sire? Sure he was aware of how vampires operated or at least the gist of it. Vampire bites you, you turn, well unless your already something else. Sire was just the term for who made you. So why was your sire so troubling to you.

"Need your help on this one Y/n." Blade sighed. You chuckled lightly at this, dropping your head before meeting his eyes again.

"No you don't." You smirked.

"No, I don't." Blade grinned back at you. "Still I like my chances better with you." He admitted. You groaned rubbing your forehead. Jack came forward, moving to stand just over your shoulder. He kept his eyes on the other man dipping to speak to just you.

"You wouldn't be alone, cariño..." Jack whispered.

"I can't ask you to come." You turned your head suddenly, meeting his eyes just inches from you. Jack flushed at the proximity but stayed in place.

"You don't have to." He breathed. A slap of leather on leather startled you both back. Jack jumped away as Blade rose from his chair and headed towards the door.

"I'll meet you in town." He said before pausing in front of Ted and pointing up at him. "He can't come."

#jack russell x reader #werewolf by night #my fics #blade #ted

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uchidachi · 6 months ago

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The Veilguard Mixtape: Harding

A fanmix based on pure vibes, while we wait for the game to release

➴ Strange Magic - Electric Light Orchestra ➴ Nights in White Satin - The Moody Blues ➴ Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones ➴ Purple Haze - Jimi Hendrix ➴ Wooden Ships - Crosby, Stills & Nash ➴ Layla - Derek & The Dominos ➴ Ripple - Grateful Dead ➴ The Air that I Breathe - The Hollies ➴ Cherish - The Association ➴ What Is Life - George Harrison ➴ Crazy Love - Van Morrison ➴ Piece of My Heart - Big Brother & The Holding Company ➴ The Weight - The Band ft. The Staple Singers ➴ Journey through the Past - Neil Young ➴ Kashmir - Led Zeppelin ➴ A Whiter Shade of Pale - Procol Harum ➴ Blue Sky - Allman Brothers Band ➴ Is This Love - Bob Marley & The Wailers ➴ Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood - The Animals ➴ Touch Me - The Doors ➴ Handle With Care - Traveling Wilburys ➴ Season of the Witch - Donovan ➴ Strange Brew - Cream ➴ Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival ➴ Time - The Alan Parsons Project

#dragon age the veilguard #lace harding #scout harding #dragon age fanmix #fanmix #orange mixtapes #music

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voraciousvore · 1 year ago

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The Giant (13/16)

------Chapter 13------

The next spell I attempted was the growth spell. To be frank, I wanted to do certain things with my boyfriend that I couldn't accomplish at my current size. However, thus far I had only been able to grow double or triple my size, and only for a couple of minutes at the most. For perspective, that meant even with the spell at its most potent I was still smaller than Chester's hand.

Disappointed, I moved on to manifesting portals, with equally limited success. Lightning spells were harder for me to use, and worked better during a storm or near electrical devices. Initially, no portals appeared at all, just little balls of electricity shedding cobalt sparks. With practice, I made tiny portals appear, keyholes to another world that I could peek through. I could see little snippets of the human world, but I felt farther away from home than ever. I kept making more portals, this time the size of windows. I managed to keep them stable long enough for me to be able to pass through, but I didn't want to travel there yet, until my spells were more reliable. I didn't want to unintentionally strand myself without any way to get back to Chester.

One afternoon, there was another lightning storm brewing, so I decided to try and make a portal outside. Chester came out with me to keep me company. He sat on the porch steps behind me, watching me practice. I made a good-sized portal that was remarkably well-casted. From this side I could see my parent's farmhouse.

"Should I go through this time?" I asked Chester.

"You might as well," he replied. "I think you've practiced enough that you should be able to come back. I'm sure your folks are very worried about you." He picked me up in his hand and gave me a kiss. "I'll be waiting for you here. Take as long as you need."

As Chester made a motion to put me back on the ground, a bolt of bright blue lightning shot out of the sky and struck the portal. The portal exploded outward in a huge wave and showered us in blue sparks. In a flash, the portal expanded exponentially and sucked up Chester, with me still in his hand. It all happened so quickly, neither of us fully comprehended what happened.

Chester toppled out of the portal and fell with a tremendous crash on his rear end in an open field. I tumbled out of his hand a short distance and landed on the ground in between his legs. The portal, after spitting us out, fizzled with a stream of sparks and vanished. I stood up, dusted off my pants, and surveyed our surroundings. My parent's house wasn't far from us; I needed to rush over there and explain to them what was going on before they saw the giant in their backyard and freaked out. I had no doubt Chester shook the whole house when he fell on the ground with his huge bulk.

"H-hey..." Chester spoke up. I looked up at his face. He looked completely bewildered to the point of almost fear. "What just happened? Why... everything is so small!" He coiled his fingers around a nearby tree, which did indeed look diminutive next to his giant hand. I recognized how confused he must be, since he had never been in a human-sized world before. I recalled how difficult it had been for me to adjust to the Land of Giants, where everything was so big.

"Chester," I explained slowly, "this is the human realm." I pointed toward the house. "My parents live in there. They are going to panic if they see you." The house probably wouldn't even come up to his knees if he stood up. "Just... stay here for a minute. Don't get up."

Chester had a look of increasing alarm in his eyes but nodded at my words. He absently ran his fingers through the field of corn next to him, like a regular person might run his hand through grass. I didn't have time to reassure him; I needed to get to the house. I started to run in that direction, but I was too late. My dad had already come out with a big shotgun, with my mom following close behind. I waved my hands above my head to get their attention.

"Dad! Mom! Everything is okay!" I yelled in an effort to deescalate the situation.

"Jackie!" they shouted in unison. A rush of emotions cycled over their faces, but I noticed fear was dominant. "Over here! Hurry, run!" My father rushed towards me with urgency, brandishing his weapon towards Chester. He raised the gun to his eye to aim, and put his finger on the trigger.

"No, Dad! Don't shoot!" I screamed at him. My mother embraced me and forced me behind her, as if she by herself could protect me from the immense giant in front of us. Seeing Chester from their perspective, I could understand how terrified they were. In response to my words, my dad cautiously lowered his weapon, not taking his eyes off the giant. I heard aggressive barks and growls and saw their two pet dogs had joined us too.

"He's friendly," I clarified. "He wouldn't hurt anyone. He saved my life." My parents looked at me in shock, then back at Chester. The dogs continued to charge towards him, barking fearlessly. The giant carefully reached out to the dogs, palm up, and let them smell his hand. The dogs sniffed, wagged their tails, barked, and ran circles excitedly around him. Seeing that their dogs weren't crushed to a pulp or swiped up and eaten, my parents lowered their guard slightly, but were still on high alert.

"Jackie, where have you been all this time? You've been missing for weeks. We thought you were..." My mom couldn't bring herself to finish. I gave her a hug and she cried. My dad wrapped his arm around both of us, but still held the shotgun in his other hand, ready to use it if needed.

"It's a long story," I said. "Anyways... I guess I should introduce you to my boyfriend. This is Chester." My parents stared at me, and then at Chester, and then back at me, incredulous. Chester sat motionless, a light blush spreading on his cheeks. He was still baffled by his miniscule surroundings and hadn't yet recovered.

"You can't be serious," my mom cried, gaping. My dad furrowed his brow and glared at the giant. This impromptu introduction was not going well at all. Chester still hadn't said anything.

"Chester!" I called. "I wanted to introduce you to my parents, Gerald and Wendy."

When I called his name, Chester finally snapped out of his daze. "Um... h-hello," he greeted them nervously, running his hand through his hair. Of course he knew they were terrified of him, and he was a bit ruffled himself. "It's nice to meet you both." We were standing at an awkwardly far distance away from the giant, but he didn't want to frighten my folks by coming closer. I gripped their hands in mine and encouraged them to move forward. Initially, they both remained rooted to the spot. The dogs ran over to us, wagging their tails, then ran back over to Chester. One of them jumped up on his shoe and began gnawing on his shoelace. The other dog allowed Chester to pet him with his finger. Seeing their dogs act without fear, my parents reluctantly stepped toward the giant.

"Now, listen here, you," my dad lectured, raising a finger in the air, "if what Jackie says is true, you better treat her with nothing but the upmost respect, you understand me?" Despite his aggressive words, and his attempt to project confidence, I could tell my dad was still terribly frightened. He was painfully aware that the giant man could squash him like an insect if angered. His hand at his side was clenched around his gun so tight his knuckles were turning white, and his legs were shaking like jello. Chester must have noticed too, but my dad's effort to act normal put him more at ease.

"Of course, sir," Chester responded, tilting his head in respectful acknowledgement. There was an uncomfortable pause as nobody really knew what to say.

To break the tension, I cleared my throat and spoke up. "Chester has been wonderful to me Dad, you don't have to worry about that." I walked up to him and sat in his palm. He lifted me up to his knee and cradled me securely in his hands. My parents couldn't help staring in wonderment at his incredible size.

"Um... I'd invite you inside, but I d-don't think you'd fit in the h-house," my mom piped up, a tremor in her voice.

"It's alright, it's a nice day today anyways." Unlike the storm we left behind in the Land of Giants, the weather here was warm and sunny. Chester looked down at my mom and smiled. She was hesitant but timidly smiled back. My dad loosened his death grip on his gun. The moment was interrupted by Chester's stomach growling, which caused both my parents to jump in terror. Chester placed his hand on his belly with a pained expression on his face.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

"Aw, are you hungry sweetie? I'll fix you something right up," my mother quickly interjected. She looked at me with worry. "What does he eat?"

"He'll eat anything Mom, don't fret," I answered. "Although, we really ought to be going if he's hungry. I doubt you'd have enough food in the whole house to prepare him a meal. He could probably eat the entire refrigerator." I laughed. My parents were intimidated by the thought of the giant's appetite, and could only manage to titter nervously.

"Before you go, can we speak to you Jackie? In the house?" my dad asked. I nodded, and Chester lowered his huge hand to the ground so I could dismount. My parents and I walked to the house, and the dogs paraded over when they saw us leaving together. Once we got inside, my parents both exhaled shakily and wiped the sweat from their foreheads. I knew they had been afraid at first, but I hadn't realized just how stressed they had been around Chester.

"Is everything okay Jackie? You're not hurt? He's not holding you against your will is he?" The questions poured from their lips like a flood. "Where did he come from? Why did it take you so long to get here? Where were you? And how is he your boyfriend?!"

I took a deep breath, and began the tedious process of explaining to them everything that had transpired. Well, not everything. I didn't tell them about all the times I had been gobbled up, or the little arrangement I had with Chester to control his appetite. I didn't tell them the gruesome details of my kidnapping, and how scared I had been around other giants, or all the dangers I still faced in the Land of Giants. I didn't tell them that giants do in reality eat people, just like in the fairy tales. In fact, I left out so much of the story that I hardly told them anything.

However, I did express to them how caring and gentle Chester had been to me, how he had rescued me from a potentially horrible fate the first night I had found myself amongst giants. I told them about my ability to use magic, and how all this time I had been learning so I could come back and visit them. And, of course, I told them about how my love for Chester had naturally blossomed, and my plans to stay with him in his world, the Land of Giants.

This last point did not sit well with my folks at all, but they knew they couldn't stop me from making my own decisions, and wished me the best. We hugged and said our farewells. My parents gave me a knapsack full of items I would find useful for living in a giant world, including human-sized plates, bowls, and silverware, which I was very grateful for. My mother, despite my protests, also insisted on at least feeding the hungry giant an apple pie she had baked, even though it would barely be more than a crumb to him due to his size.

She brought the pie out to him, along with some leftover roast chicken. She was still frightened of Chester, but her motherly compassion for an empty belly won out. Chester was charmed by the tiny food and tried his best not to scare her. He allowed her to place the roast chicken on the tip of his finger and lapped it up with delight. He carefully plucked the pie from her hands with his thumb and finger and placed it on his tongue, making sure not to accidentally swallow the pie tin with the pie.

"Mmmmm, delicious! My compliments to the chef," Chester remarked, returning to her the empty pie tin. My mother twisted her apron in her hand apprehensively and looked down at her feet.

"Thank you," she answered softly. I gave her a kiss on the cheek, proud of her for being so brave. I kissed my dad too, who had been standing at her side defensively.

"Well, I suppose we ought to be going," I stated. "Love you guys, I'll visit again soon."

"Love you too," my parents affirmed. They looked a bit sad to see me go.

I focused my energy on manifesting another portal and imagined Chester's cottage in my mind's eye. A ball of cobalt sparks appeared and inflated into a portal. I continued to expand the gateway, larger and larger. My parent watched with amazement. The thought occurred to me that I had never on my own created a portal big enough for a giant to pass through. The previous portal had been struck by lightning and became unstable due to the infusion of so much extra electricity. Pushing those concerns aside, I forced more magic into the portal. It had grown large enough for Chester's head to fit through, but not the rest of his body. I started to sweat and struggle. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't get the opening any bigger. The portal flickered and died. I cringed.

We had a serious problem on our hands. I was out of magic now, and might not be capable of making a large enough portal to transport Chester home, even at my full capacity. Chester was hungry, not having eaten a sufficient meal since breakfast. He was a voracious giant, with an empty belly, surrounded by his natural prey, humans. I just hoped he could hold himself in check long enough for us to get back without eating anyone. I made my best attempt to keep calm and act like the issue was only a minor inconvenience.

"Well, I ran out of magic. I'm going to have to rest up and... try again tomorrow. Would it be too much of an imposition for us to stay the night?"

My parents looked up at the huge giant uneasily. "He'll have to sleep outside obviously. It's a good thing we live out in the middle of nowhere," my dad grumbled.

Chester knitted his brow, clearly concerned. He put his hand on his belly and winced slightly. His stomach whined again for food. He looked at me with urgency in his eyes, and I could only frown and shrug my shoulders helplessly. I felt more and more alarmed at the impending crisis that could potentially unfold if I was unsuccessful in casting a giant-sized portal, but I couldn't show it. I didn't want to scare my folks any more than I already had today. Why did Chester always need to eat so damn much?

"Hey, is it okay if I eat one of those?" Chester asked my parents, pointing to a herd of cattle a ways off. They were fenced off in an adjacent field, blissfully unaware of the giant predator nearby as they munched on some hay.

"Uh, sure? I suppose we could slaughter one for you-"

Chester had other plans. Before my mother could finish speaking, the giant stood up to his full height, quelling her into silence. My parents hadn't seen him on his feet yet, and they quaked when they comprehended just how colossal he truly was. He took a single step, making sure not to crush the fence under his boot, and crouched down near the herd. He reached down and snatched up one of the cows in his hand. The cow bellowed in terror, but the giant swiftly put it out of its misery by snapping its neck with his teeth, decapitating the poor creature in the process. He cracked the skull with his molars like a human would crack the shell of a sunflower seed. Next, he tossed the carcass into his mouth and swallowed it, not even bothering to chew.

All the humans present gaped, flabbergasted. Even I was amazed to see him gulp down an entire cow, and I had seen him inhale plenty of meals. Oblivious to how rattled we all were, Chester returned to us and crouched down.

"That'll tide me over for a little while," he announced, licking his lips with satisfaction. My parents could only nod dumbly.

By now, the sun was beginning to set, bathing the farm in a twilight glow. My parents, eager for an excuse to get away from the scary giant, bid us goodnight and retired to their home. They offered me a bed to sleep in indoors, but I declined, opting to stay outside with Chester and keep him company. Luckily, with the summer season, the night was warm, and the stars were bright. Chester bedded down in the open field left fallow, and I settled down in my usual spot on his chest.

Once we were alone and more free to speak, Chester voiced his concerns. "Jackie, do you think you'll be able to cast a portal large enough to transport me?"

"I-I don't know," I confessed. "I hope so."

Chester hesitated before finally choking out, "I'm scared Jackie. I don't want to lose control again. I'm trying to hold it back, but it's a lot harder when I'm hungry."

I rubbed his chest with my hand. "I know Chester. Stay strong, okay? We'll just have to pray for tomorrow. Don't fret." After a pause, I asked him, "why do you always need to eat so much anyways? It's like you can't go without a single meal."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Chester had to laugh. "Have you seen the size of me, woman? It takes a lot of food to fill someone as big as me. My body needs a lot of fuel to survive." He had a point.

I laid my head over Chester's huge heart and gradually drifted off.

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

#g/t fearplay #g/t angst #g/t #giant #giant/tiny #tiny #g/t writing #giant tiny #size difference #g/t fluff #the giant #giant men #macro/micro #macro micro #gt writing #gt fluff

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enchantinglyjade · 1 year ago

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Rise of the Titans

Prologue

OC! x Loki

Masterlist | Next

Another quiet night falls on the kingdom in the sky. Life on the planet is on high alert. Even the grass seems to understand the tension that flows through the air, standing stiff and sharp against the moonlight. All is still.

The Goddess Mother stands alone in a temple. A baby, no more than a few days old, in her hands, supported over a bath of golden nectar. The baby’s cries echo through the maze of columns within the building, as it grasps out for anything to hold.

“I, your mother, Gaia, grant you the power of creation. Upon my death, my own abilities shall also be passed down for you to possess. I, Gaia, grant you the power of divinity and immortality. My daughter, Arali, you are now reborn as ‘Goddess of Fertility’.”

The woman lowers the baby into the liquid, letting the nectar all but consume the child. Bubbles rise to the surface of the liquid until the muffled tears subside into a silence. After a moment of submerging, Gaia lifts the child back into the air with an eager smile. A soft golden hue emits from the baby, as nectar drips from its form and its loud cries once again bounce off the walls.

Gaia had created her child as a last minute resort in hope that the baby could one day restore peace to their kingdom. She had seen the chaos brewing beneath the surface of Mount Olympus and knew the fate that would soon fall on her and her family. With her husband dead and their corrupted son now on the throne, she had but one choice. She used the last bits of her dying magic to create a life within the confines of her stomach that would soon blossom into her predecessor. Perhaps this daughter could protect the life that resided on their Earth once her mother finally withered away.

Arali was born with a head full of orange spirals, similar in color to the autumn leaves that would fall from the trees when Persephone would descend back to the Underworld. She has forest green eyes, and warm honey skin that was a few shades lighter than that of her mother’s. She was small for a Titan, the obvious runt of the family. It seems as though she was born to stand out, an odd child she is indeed. She is strong and determined, but also so pure. She is caring and full of emotion, a weakness among the court. She is reserved, doesn’t spend much time around her elder siblings, and instead would seek company from animals, drawn mostly towards those of prey. From her few years living amongst the gods she had gained the nickname ‘mikró elafína’ or ‘little doe’, which was not exactly a compliment towards the young princess.

The child grew up within the palace walls, happy and naive to the death and rebellion that was slowly rising outside. Gaia did her best to shelter her elafína from danger, keeping her hidden from the other gods, and even more from the rest of Olympia.

She was close to her big brother Hyperion, and big sister, Rhea. Hyperion is always happy and will often accompany Arali while she roams the castle. Rhea will teach her about their shared nature based powers while their mother rests. Both hope to protect the young one from the wars happening just outside her room, each knowing how important her role is to the safety of their people.

However, before Arali was born, things weren’t always so innocent and happy for the Goddess Mother. Ouranos, Gaia’s now dead husband, once wise and humane, grew into a crew and gruesome leader. He’d punish his own people for upsetting him in the slightest of ways, and even went as far as banishing some of his own children to the depths of Tartarus. Gaia, appalled by his behavior, figured there was only one option left to stop him, and met with her remaining children to plan Ouranos’ murder. Cronus, their youngest son, was determined to show his bravery to his family and was eager to help in her plan. However, her other children were not, for they feared their father’s power. Cronus eventually managed to convince his siblings and they reluctantly joined his fight, successfully murdering their father and freeing their people of his reign. But as his son held a dagger to his heart, Ouranos warned Cronus, “You will be cursed my same fate.”

They threw the dead king’s body into the ocean. Little did they know, a young Aphrodite would emerge from the magic that wept from his corpse and be found by the soon to be Olympians.

Cronus quickly settled into his life as the new King ruling by his mother’s side, but was still haunted by Ouranos. Heeding his father’s last words, Cronus had cast out his own children, demanding to have them killed far away from the kingdom, in fear that they would overthrow him much like how he did his own father. Unbeknownst to him, Gaia and Rhea had helped the children to safety. They were raised among the mortals of Olympia, and were highly admired by them, so much that they often viewed them as their real leaders and protectors. The Titans may be ruling their people through a golden age, but it was no doubt that one day the Olympians would discover their truth and come for Cronus’ head.

In the meantime, the Titans were working on strengthening their more intergalactic alliances, specifically that with their most trustworthy ally, the Asgardians. Gaia is close to Odin and Frigga, the king and queen of Asgard, who much prefer doing business with her compared to her son, Cronus. Gaia is always compassionate, but knows when to be stern. She is a caring leader, looked up to by the people of Olympia, whereas her son tends to be more cutthroat and rules with fear and insecurity.

Gaia introduced Frigga to her youngest daughter, while Frigga shared news about her own newest addition to their family. Frigga had visited Mount Olympus often, and had even assisted Gaia in caring for Arali, for she knew Gaia’s life was quickly draining. Frigga would share many stories and songs with the young one. Arali was nearly as Asgardian as she was Olympian.

Frigga and Gaia had promised their children to each other from the day they were born, or in Frigga’s case, from the day her son was brought to Asgard. Once the two children had met, they knew they were born to be powerful leaders together. However, things never go as planned.

#loki marvel #loki god of mischief #loki odinson #loki #black fanfiction #oc fanfiction #marvel #mcu #rise of the titans

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chiffon-and-spice · 9 months ago

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Connie Taylor short drabble

A/N: simply just a small little muse to help me get back into my writing groove. Very small. Concept: Connie Taylor ponders over the choice to go away for college while drinking coffee on a quiet early morning. Content: fluff, one-shot, inner struggle, decisions, lots of pondering Source: Texas Chainsaw Massacre Game

The warm morning air is light, soft, as Connie settles down quietly on a hay bale in the barn. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, casting a faint orange and purple hue across the sky. It’s quiet, not even the cows stirring from their slumber. The tangerine haired woman had always been a bit of an early riser.

She squints her eyes a bit, staring out like it’ll somehow aid in her vision. If she focused hard enough, she could focus on the world that lay beyond the quiet golden pastures of the farm house. Life outside of her humble rustic settlement. Not that she was entirely isolated.

Connie went to school the same as other kids, found enjoyment in the quaint social gatherings, as that’s all they were. No solid connections, often feeling more bonded with the farm animals than people her own age. Most of her time was dedicated on the farm anyway, feeling like her work here prioritized the chance to catch a movie at the drive in about an hour away or visit the latest game to watch a couple of people chase around after a ball.

It all felt mundane, unrewarding, unlike work on the farm. She slowly leaned back, scrunching her nose, as she held the ceramic coffee cup in her hands.

There’s a faint smile on her face, finding comfort in the smell of the freshly roasted espresso beans. The hint of lavender. The ginger was always trying new things with her brews, experimenting with flavor potentials. This had gradually become a newfound favorite to her, mixed with a splash of honey.

Not that Connie couldn’t drink it plain. She drank more for the benefit than the taste. With so little individuality outside of work on the farm however, Connie felt like she found a bit of identity in the minor experimentations.

Connie sipped along quietly, crossing her legs and watching a few strings of loose hay slip out. Trivial really. Staring at it though, Connie can’t help but read into the little action.

Maybe the years of isolation, growing up with no one her own age, made her go out of her way to find little meanings in things such as a bit of fallen hay. It wasn’t like she could entirely talk to her parents about this and express the struggle in her mind. They’d be supportive, encouraging her to go regardless. The ginger couldn’t tell for sure, her soft green eyes peering at the mess.

Like it somehow held secrets, could give her the answers she sought, if she just looked hard enough. Something was there, the little action had to have meaning. Much to Connie’s dismay however, the only thing the hay brought was a scowl, a feeling of discontent settling in the woman’s stomach. Her grip tightened a little around the small coffee cup, sighing.

Is this really all that’s meant for me?

Not that Connie was dissatisfied… that wasn’t quite the word she was looking for. Work on the farm was rewarding and enjoyable. There was a comfort, a sense of peace, in harvesting the fruits of your own labor and enjoying your own solitude. Connie found company in the animals she tended to here. They were typically a lot more enjoyable to be around than most people. Quieter too.

Connie had never been too much of a people person to begin with, often preferring a quiet night curled up reading a bit of Sallinger or scribbling down her thoughts.

Though she always wondered what if…? What if she was only content because this was all she knew. What if Connie was really missing out on something really big, because she settled for just being… content?

Her eyes wandered down to the college application, unfilled out, quietly whispering her name. Texas wasn’t too drastic of a change… but it was just enough…

Connie chewed her bottom lip, taking another sip of her coffee and turning to look back at the sky. The sun was starting to become a bit more present now, meaning Connie’s leisurely morning would be winding down to an end.

Her shoulders tensed a little, tossing the idea around her mind like a baseball. Before she can ponder the thought too much however, something small jumps in her lap, startling her. Connie’s coffee spills a little on the application, dotting it in dark brown droplets. She frowns at the new stains, cheeks flushed a little. All frustration melts away however when her eyes connect with the soft amber eyes of her kitten mewling quietly for her attention.

A fluffy little thing, white almost all over, except for its paws and its left ear being a dark charcoal.

Her rosy hand lightly runs over the cat's back, as it lets out soft purrs of content. Connie smiles sweetly at the thing, finding comfort in the way it feels against her fingers. How warm the cat is, staring up at her as if she’s got all the answers in the world.

“Hmm… What do you think, Sienna? Think mom and dad can get by without me?”

The cat stares up at her with blank blue eyes, stretching a bit, and letting out another quiet meow in response, before leaping off of her lap and scurrying off. Probably to go catch a mouse or something.

“I guess you’ll get by just fine…” Connie jested quietly to herself, smiling.

Her gaze returned to the college application, picking it up carefully in her hands. No way could she turn it in now, not when it was in the condition it was in. The dark coffee stains stood out against the soft white paper. The thought of them thinking Connie unprofessional or even worse, slobbish made her stomach turn.

Maybe she had found her answer in that. Connie frowned softly, folding the paper in half and stuffing it into the front pocket of her overalls. She wasn’t entirely fond of the answer she had gotten.

Eyes remained trained on the sunset though she let out a soft gasp as the wind blew, drifting the stray pieces of hay across the ground.

Connie smiled, watching them float away, reminding her of a bird that needs to stretch its wings. Maybe it was time for her to leave the nest… Or maybe it was time for her to stop looking to the so-called universe for answers, when Connie knew the choice was hers entirely.

#connie taylor #tcm fanfic #tcm game #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre game

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kpopimagi · 1 year ago

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A Flower Under The Rain [Part 7]

Characters: Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Kang Gyuri (OC) Genre: Angst, Romance Au: Hanahaki!Au Type: Series Word count: 7,433

It all began with a cough and then, a subtle sting in her chest. Kang Gyuri cried, knowing that in a matter of months, she would be another figure in the death toll of the most dangerous and cruelest outbreak in human history.

Gyuri opened her eyes and stared at the droplets of rain falling from the edge of the rooftop tiles. She closed her eyes again. Then she realized that the setting wasn’t familiar. Looking around, she finally recognized the wooden handrails floors. Finally more awakened, she felt a cushion under her head and a very particular scent all around her. It took her a couple of seconds to realize she had a coat draped over.

“How long have I been asleep?” She asked, sitting up and as seamlessly as she could, fixed her hair, “Did I snore?”

“You looked tired,” Kyungsoo said with a chuckle as he observed her.

He didn’t say much after that, and pretending she wasn’t aware of his attention on her, she nodded and rubbed the tiredness off her eyes.

“Here,” Kyungsoo called her as he placed a newly brewed cup of tea on the table, "Drink this. It's getting cold."

Gyuri looked around. The rain began to dim, and suddenly conscious of how cold she was, she moved closer to hold the small porcelain cup between her hands.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” She said, letting the steam and perfume from the tea go from her numb nose to the core of her chest, “Promise me we will come again.”

He nodded with a small smile. Feeling a bit self-conscious of his strangely comforting gaze, Gyuri diverted his attention to any other subject other than herself. She asked about the tea ceremony, and he obliged. That way, they spent a considerable time talking about it as Kyungsoo explained the process to her while digging into the assortment of overly sweet desserts. Eventually, it stopped raining. The sky cleared, and all Gyuri could see was a beautiful sea of countless tiny stars that twinkle brightly all across the night vault. That astonishing sight brought her back to reality, and Gyuri grabbed her phone to discover it was dead. She had been out all day and knew her parents would be worried about her.

“I think it’s time for me to go home.” She said, ready to remove the coat from her legs when it dawned on her.

Almost panicking, she held the coat up with both hands and apologized for having such an expensive piece of clothing all over the floor. Without a single trace of annoyance on his expression, Kyungsoo assured her it was alright. As much as she enjoyed his company and found peace in his presence, Gyuri had to go back to her life, even if she didn’t want to. She ignored everything that kept bubbling in her chest and every argument her brain brought up to convince her to stay there and tried to stand up, but her legs refused to work.

“I’m driving you home.” He said, noticing her struggle.

Even though he didn’t comment on her current predicament, the embarrassment was too much for Gyuri to handle. She locked her eyes on the leftovers of the overly sweet desserts she realized became her favorites and tried to ignore everything else.

“Here.” She heard Kyungsoo say and saw him offering his hands to help.

Gyuri accepted the help, and if she wanted to describe them, she would say they were gentle. His hands weren’t too big or too small, and not even too rough or too delicate. They were just big and manly enough for him to hold her tiny hands perfectly within his and make her feel safe just by a single gesture such as holding her hand. The hold felt so strong and so steady, Gyuri stared at him when he pulled her up. She must have gasped in surprise because her body felt stiff whenever she tried, but when he helped her up, maybe he miscalculated his strength. Perhaps she wasn’t as heavy as he expected because the momentum did its work, and Gyuri couldn’t stop her body from moving until she fell into him.

She was suddenly fully awake and somehow confused because nothing was stinging inside her chest, and her throat wasn’t acting out. Those two symptoms would have been the signs of her bafflement and the blaring alarm that she was way too close to the writer. Her shyness should have kicked in. Practically chest to chest, his hands immediately let her go and went to her waist, holding her up. Gyuri couldn’t tell for a moment if her legs didn’t work due to exhaustion or the closeness. She was too shy to pretend she was cool about it, so she looked away. She tried to find a fixed point around them that could be more interesting than the handsome writer that kept looking at her with an intense expression. She didn't want to think about what could make her cheeks feel burning as hot as she felt them then. Seemingly taking the hint, Kyungsoo let her go little by little as if making sure she was strong enough to stay upright. Even though he looked like he was willing to help her walk back to the car, she dismissed it and stepped away from him and the warmth of his entire body irradiated. Pretending she was alright but just a bit sleepy, she tried to stretch her limbs. All of her bones cracked when she did. She wasn’t sure if he heard, but when she discovered him staring at her with his eyes uncommonly wide open in surprise, all she could do was chuckle.

The chuckles didn’t work. Kyungsoo didn’t laugh or smile like the other times she managed to make him emote. Still, Gyuri smiled again, trying to downplay what happened. The last thing she wanted was to Kyungsoo to worry anymore, but nothing seemed to work. Too embarrassed to look at him and as if she had done something wrong, Gyuri grabbed her stuff and left the private booth. The writer followed her closely, and without exchanging a word, they got into the car.

As soon as Kyungsoo started driving, Gyuri fell asleep once again, almost immediately, lulled by the mellow music and the movement of his soothing driving. It felt like she just closed her eyes because Kyungsoo woke her up, and although his voice was as gentle as ever, she detected the edge in his tone. It only took her a look over his shoulder to know what could make him sound that way. As if compelled strangely, Gyuri snapped out of it and got out of the car. Moved by a fight or flight response, she wanted to hide at first, but then, the anger dripping off that particular voice paralyzed her.

“Kang Gyuri!” Baekhyun said, her name coming out of his throat with so much raw emotion, she had to step back. “Why on earth aren’t you answering your phone!?”

“It’s dead,” she explained in a tiny voice, “My phone is dead.”

That same instinct that made her feel so small before Baekhyun, went away when Kyungsoo appeared right by her side. Almost as if his mere presence infused courage into her body, she realized she did not owe him an explanation of any kind. Gyuri ignored Baekhyun and walked around him while Kyungsoo also walked between them, blocking the view with his body.

“It's alright.” She said to the writer.

“Why the fuck wouldn't be alright?” Baekhyun demanded to know, following them close by and his tone beyond offended by Kyungsoo's interference, "Why are you even here?"

“Gyuri, what's going on?” Her father asked.

She felt her heart sink. Her legs faltered a little when she saw her parents coming out of the house, probably wondering what was happening outside. It wouldn’t be the first time they witnessed the chaos and racket that was Baekhyun, especially if he was drunk. They knew what to expect of a situation like that but for some weird reason, Gyuri felt shy about them seeing him making such a fuzz and completely sober. It simply made everything worse and she just wanted to disappear.

“Nothing.” She muttered, feeling her cheeks burning in mortification, and turned to the writer who looked a lot more composed than how she felt, “Kyungsoo, it's fine. I can deal with this.”

“Are you sure?”

The question was loaded with genuine concern, although she recognized it wasn't condescending at all. Kyungsoo genuinely wanted to know if she was ready to handle the situation on her own. The look in his eyes felt oddly fortifying, so she nodded.

“Don’t fight back.” Kyungsoo whispered, as softly and discreetly as he could, “Remember to let it flow through you.”

That simple gesture resonated like a rumble of thunder. The writer didn't just give her an innocent piece of advice. She didn't realize it at first, but the moment everyone around her called her name in different tones, she understood why. He had leaned closer to her to whisper those words. Panicking for a split second, she looked at her parents with the leftovers of a smile. Aware of how that looked like, she acted as if Kyungsoo’s closeness was nothing out of the ordinary.

“It’s nothing.” She said, trying to assure them, “Baekhyun is just leaving.”

“No, I’m not.” Her best friend said with a scoff, “Whatever his name is, can leave.”

“He’s leaving already,” Gyuri pointed out and did her best to seemingly walk the remaining distance to the gate, “so it’s time for you to leave as well.”

“I’m staying for dinner, Gyuri.” Baekhyun added with a condescending tone that made Gyuri give him a look, “Don’t look at me like that, I’m practically family.”

“But you are not.” She said under her breath, controlling the urge she had to yell her frustration at him.

“Kang Gyuri.” She heard her father snarl.

She didn’t even dare to look at him. Gyuri knew the sternly frowning she would find at her display of annoyance. He saw how she rolled her eyes and her frustration-filled tone in which she grunted at Baekhyun, and he would never, ever let her be rude to anyone. Not even to Baekhyun.

“I’m just tired.” She mumbled, feeling weak all of a sudden.

The ground beneath her feet shifted, and the first thing she did was to reach the closest person near her. Gyuri held onto Kyungsoo with the little strength she had left and reminded herself not to fight it back. Blinking the dizziness of her eyes, she let her father grab her as she listened to her mother send Baekhyun off behind her. Slowly, her sight focused again, and her feet felt stable enough to stand by herself when she was suddenly aware of the silence. Gyuri looked around to find her parents just staring at her as if she had grown a second head, but as soon as Kyungsoo let her go, she gathered her thoughts straight.

“This is Kyungsoo.” Gyuri said, “He works at the bookshop.”

“Well, he was also leaving, right?” Her father asked.

Kyungsoo instantly chuckled, his entire face blushing, and Gyuri couldn't help herself but smile when her mother chuckled as well. Then, the awkwardness filled the atmosphere when she hit her father on the arm and pulled him inside the house as she stole curious glances at the writer.

“No wonder she goes to the bookshop every week, she likes the book boy.” Her mother whispered to her father. “Can’t blame her, he is so handsome.”

Gyuri had to cover her face due to the mortification and waited for the teasing. However, it never arrived. She peaked through her fingers to see if Kyungsoo was waiting for the exact moment but realized that he seemed lost in his thoughts.

“Why did you lie to them?” He said, as serious as ever.

“I promised you I would keep the secret.” She replied as if it was the easiest thing to do. “Prepare yourself though, they might invite you to dinner one day.”

For what it looked like, Kyungsoo found the idea mortifying because his entire face blushed, and seemingly embarrassed, he lowered his head, hiding in the shadows of the night.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, although Gyuri suspected there was more behind his words, “and try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

***

Just like Kyungsoo said, and as if his words were a command, Gyuri slept for almost two days straight. Her parents were ready to call someone for help when she just sat up in her bed and let out the deepest and longest yawn she could remember. She felt alright. It was a strange feeling to have when she could also feel that thing inside her body, apparently dormant and waiting to act up. She stayed there, taking in everything about herself and wondering what to do about it when her cellphone buzzed with a notification.

The date on the screen made her heart skip a beat, and jumping out of her bed, Gyuri fell straight into the floor with a loud thud. She whimpered out loud, rubbing her knees and feeling all of her limbs as stiff and aching as if she was eighty years old. However, she didn’t have the time to dwell too much into it, and pushing herself off the floor, she ran to her office and got to work. Hours later, after sending emails, arranging documents, and printing the rest of the pamphlets she needed, Gyuri came downstairs with the bundle of papers pressed against her chest. She found her parents having a snack in the kitchen and looked at her with a clear sign of relief, but their faces changed quite dramatically.

“Can we talk?” She asked.

They didn’t respond, and bracing the papers closer to her chest, Gyuri went to the living room. She sat down on the floor and waited for them to get to their places on the couch. The silence was heavy, and she went over and over again on the appropriate words to bring up the subject in the best possible way and when she couldn’t find it, she just went straight to the point.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” She said as soon as they sat down as well, “but this is what I’ve been working on these past few days.”

Gyuri placed the papers over the table and wasn’t strong enough to see her parent’s expressions twisting in pain. She knew she would break into tears if she did, so she focused on the task, but her father’s voice struggled to stay steady.

“You shouldn’t have done it alone.” He said.

“I’m not doing this.” Her mother mumbled as her voice broke as well, ready to leave the room.

“It’s going to happen, mum.” Gyuri said with a sigh and not affected by the reaction, “Sooner rather than later.”

“The doctor said six months…”

“I can....” Gyuri interrupted her, placing a hand over her chest, “...feel it, right under my skin.”

Things had changed. The curse wasn’t a simple buzz that acted out every once in a while anymore. It was real and tangible. If she pressed her fingers into her flesh, she knew it wouldn't be bones but roots she could feel slowly moving through her. Gyuri got used to the feeling, but it was still there.

“I’ll make tea, then.” Her mother said.

Neither Gyuri nor her father stopped her as they both knew she needed the small break to compose herself. Even if no one wanted to admit it, they all needed a breather before tackling such a depressing subject.

“I could’ve gone with you.” Her father whispered after a while as he rubbed his eyes.

“I know, but I didn’t want you to worry,” Gyuri said with a small smile.

She meant to say a joke after that to lighten the mood when her mother came back with a tray of treats and cups of tea for everyone, and she was glad at least her mother was willingly considering to talk about the situation.

“First of all, I didn’t want to spend all my time working, so I resigned.” Gyuri started, pulling a paper from the first folder and with the same tone she would at a work meeting, “I still have a shit-ton of days off.”

“Watch your language,” Her father said, but beyond that, he just grabbed the paper and read it with care.

The quick nag made Gyuri snort, which made her mother chuckle as she kept serving the cups with tea. For a split second, she was glad they could have that conversation with the best spirits.

“Anyway, that means I’ll still get paid for the next three months.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Her father said, still reading, “You can’t have that many days off. Unused vacation days get forfeit after six months.”

“What are you talking about? My daughter is a model employee,” Her mother nagged, with an offended expression that made Gyuri smile.

“That’s settled with the company, and so is everything concerning my bank accounts.” Gyuri went for the next folder, “I’m leaving it to my mom if you don’t mind dad.”

Whatever good spirits her mother had, they left her body right that instant. She just stared at the bank booklet in front of her when Gyuri insisted, giving it to her, but her mother refused to open it. She was expecting that kind of reaction.

“I was thinking you could go to Taiwan,” Gyuri said.

“And what am I supposed to do there by myself?” Her mother asked, a tear finally falling down her face.

“Remember that variety show we like so much. You know we wanted to try the... wonton noodles.” She explained.

“The wonton noodles.” Her mother said as another set of tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Maybe you can finally steal the recipe on my behalf.”

“I will.” Her mother replied with a smile Gyuri knew took an inhumane effort to display.

“I also settled everything for the car as well, dad.” She continued, keeping her tears at bay with all her might. “You just have to sign the papers.”

With a muted voice, her father agreed. Gyuri looked at her parents for a moment and smiled at them. Glad that they were taking the matter better than she ever expected. She felt like hugging them, but at the same time, she knew that would break the tiny bits of control and composure they all had, including her. She had just one more issue to settle and the hardest one so far.

“There are no options for someone like me,” She started, bringing out the last folder, “I have to be cremated.”

From the moment she got the diagnosis, she started her own research and began to formulate a plan of action. It wasn’t an easy task, especially when she felt beyond hopeless. But all the options, as limited as they were, always led to the same solution, and all she could do was to stare at the picture of the young and handsome doctor.

“What is it?” Her father asked, breaking her chain of thoughts.

“I can’t donate my organs.” Gyuri started, and she struggled to control her voice. “But there’s a program…research...”

“Absolutely not,” her mother said, standing up, “I’m not letting you get dissected.”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Gyuri mumbled, feeling her composure finally crumbling into pieces, “I may not even be eligible for the program.”

“And why is that?”

“I have to be tested first,” She said with a small voice as she pushed the pamphlet with the doctor’s picture and his contact details, “Here are the numbers. This is the only thing the funeral house doesn’t cover, so you would have to do it yourselves.”

Then it happened, in a blink of an eye, the graveness of the situation toppled over her. By saying those words, Gyuri realized just how little control she had, how limited her options were, and how flimsy her entire existence was.

“I can’t even choose if I can be of use or not.” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes to prevent the tears from falling.

“If this is what you want, pumpkin,” Her father said, reaching for her hand, “We will make the call.”

Gyuri nodded, glad that her father was on board with her wishes. She knew her mother would take a lot more to convince and observed her trying to stay collected.

“Everything is in here,” Gyuri said, closing all the folders and piling them up altogether.

“If you won’t be working anymore,” Her mother said, still holding back her tears, “Then you can be useful and help me carry the groceries.”

That last remark made her father break into a chuckle and then into a burst of laughter. Her mother had always been like that. She always masked her feelings by doing housework, and this time, it wasn't the exception. Still, in brand with her character, she even nagged her father for making fun of her. Suddenly, Gyuri couldn’t help but smile as she watched the adorable banter between her parents as they left for the kitchen.

After that difficult conversation, everything finally settled down at home. Gyuri would get up early every morning to help her mother prepare breakfast. She would join her running errands and always regretted whenever her mother started to brag to all the neighbors how much of an excellent daughter she was. As much as she hated the embarrassment she felt when it happened, Gyuri enjoyed every second she spent with her. One day, just like she had been doing lately, Gyuri spent the evening with her father. She was watching tv with him when her cellphone started ringing over the table, and her first thought was Baekhyun. After the argument outside her house, he practically ghosted her. Not even a text, nothing. The thought alone of Baekhyun finally calling her made her jump off the couch to grab the phone. She was ready to accept the call when the name she saw on the screen made her stop altogether, even her brain.

“Who is it?” Her mother asked, joining them.

“It’s Kyungsoo,” Gyuri whispered as she stared at the device in her hand.

He had never called her. Kyugsoo was as good a texter as he was with conversations, short and simple. He had barely answered any of her texts before, let alone call her over the phone. Gyuri tried to think of a reason for him to call, but nothing came to mind.

“Well, answer!” Her mother nudged her, “Why aren’t you answering?”

“Hi!” Gyuri chirped a bit too animatedly when she finally did.

“I’m back.” He said, and for a moment, Gyuri didn’t know what that meant. “You told me to call you when…”

“When you are back!” Gyuri ended the sentence, suddenly remembering that embarrassing moment of weakness, “Right! How was it?”

“Can we meet?” He said instead.

"Yes!" She practically yelled and covered her mouth immediately afterward, "Yes, I would like that."

Gyuri managed to say the last part more calmly, but everything in her was too ecstatic to stay still. She went straight to her room, leaving her parents stunned while Kyungsoo gave her the details.

“I’m going out!” She yelled from her room when she hung up.

“I’ll drive you there.” Her father said.

"Nonsense." Her mother added.

Gyuri had to chuckle when she heard her mother nagging him, and the bicker between them did not end while she got ready, but she was too excited to care. She could only think about taking a shower and being out of her house as soon as possible. She was looking at herself in the mirror when she had to pause for a second. She had nightmare-free nights and was sleeping well. However, her skin still looked a bit too unwell for her liking even if she had been using more moisturizer than usual. In a sudden urge, she practically bathed herself in products once again. She rubbed and spread the cream all over her body from head to toe until she felt as soft as possible, hoping to get a bit more of a healthy color on her skin. At the same time, she nagged herself for all the time lost and basically jumped down the stairs when she finished. Gyuri ignored the sulk in her father’s posture and ran out of her house to the subway station.

The bus stop was closer, but the train would take her faster to her destination, and she found herself bobbing her head to the rhythm of the music playing on her headphones. She even closed her eyes and took a deep breath, making her lungs feel open and her chest light. Gyuri knew the signs of harmony when everything felt alright with the universe and had no plans of ruining such a good feeling. She was so excited that the twenty-minute ride felt like an eternity, and she kept looking at her phone in case Kyungsoo texted her to call their meeting off. He never did. His only text was to reassure her that he would be waiting. She practically ran up the stairs of the train station and looked around for Kyungsoo and just as he said, he was there, waiting for her with his characteristically small smile.

“You look much better.” He said after his silent greeting.

“I feel better.” Gyuri could only agree, “Today is a good day.”

Kyungsoo said something else with a smile that showed his teeth, and Gyuri halted for a second, watching him. He looked soft. Everything about him was so soft, from his face to his hair and his cheeks. His cheeks in particular seemed soft for kisses, and when she caught herself thinking that, she looked away. Gyuri didn’t even catch on to what he said and was too embarrassed to ask, so she just followed him. Just as quietly as most of their interactions have been, they started walking in comfortable silence. Although, she wanted to talk. She wished to ask him how his trip was. She wanted to know if he had a good time with his grandmother and if he was planning on leaving again. Looking around to distract herself from her curious mind, she started to wonder what the objective of meeting him was. Not that she was complaining. Gyuri enjoyed his company. She liked it when he asked questions and even more, how much attention he paid to her answers. However, if she wanted an answer, she forgot about the question soon after as they kept walking around. Time just flew by so fast as they walked by one store after the other or when they made a quick stop for Kyungsoo to treat her something to eat from a food stand. Most of that time, they would just ignore everything else around them as they chatted, exchanging questions until her knees started to feel stiff. Gyuri kept looking at him for an answer, but he seemed lost in their surroundings.

"What are we doing here?" She finally asked while finishing her fish-shaped bread.

Gyuri had to ask when her heels started to crack a little with every step, and not even the quick snack worked to refuel her energy. The question finally made Kyungsoo stop, but he looked around as if searching for something.

"You wanted to get designer's clothes," he said, still looking everywhere else except her, "so we're shopping."

"We are?"

"Have you seen anything you like?" Kyungsoo said, finally looking at her.

Baffled and amused, Gyuri blinked at him, wondering if he was joking, and nothing in his expression gave the impression that he was until it dawned on her. She realized what he was talking about, and she couldn’t believe he remembered something as small as that. She smiled, her tiredness suddenly forgotten, and a new influx of excitement ran through her body. Letting out a tiny squeal, she nodded, and Kyungsoo followed her around as they went back on their tracks to a fancy clothing store that caught her eyes. She saw one particular dress on display, and it was her favorite color, but also she imagined it felt like a dream to wear. Never in her wildest dreams did she picture herself wearing it, but she wanted to try. She dreamed to dress up like a celebrity for once.

Gyuri came into the store and froze in an instant. Kyungsoo by her side stayed just as still, and she looked around, wondering what to do next. She saw an employee noticing their presence and making a beeline to them. Gyuri panicked and walked to the racks of clothes in the search of the dress that promised to make her look like a star. It was hard to miss when the bright yellowish-green was on display inside the store and right up front of all the new arrivals of what looked like a wonderfully colorful new collection. Gyuri saw the bright pinks, the deep purples, and vibrant yellows of all the garments and stopped in full wonder at how pretty every dress was.

"The green one?" Kyungsoo said, observing the dress with interest.

Gyuri grabbed the garment, and just as she thought, the fabric was more than exquisite. She looked around for a piece her size when she saw the white label with black capital letters, and a chill ran across her body. Of course, she would like something as fancy and expensive as a Valentino. She brought the tag out and chuckled when she saw the price.

"Do you have enough?" Kyungsoo asked as he witnessed her reaction.

"I do," She said. "I won't take any of it with me, so might as well spend it."

Saying it out loud did something to Gyuri, and she wasn't expecting to feel so alright with it because it was one thing to talk about her will with her parents and another completely different, to open up to Kyungsoo about it. Especially how easily it came to her to admit it.

"I settled all of my belongings last week." She explained.

The writer limited himself to nod. Gyuri wasn't sure if she wanted him to say anything. She didn't even know why she said it out loud, and knowing that she made the atmosphere awkward, Gyuri grabbed the dress. On her way to the changing rooms, another dress caught her attention. She basically halted in the middle of the store as if hypnotized by the garment. Even if it wasn't as colorful and elegant as the Valentino she had in her hands, she grabbed the dress and resumed her way to try them on. In the hassle of being in a place she wasn't familiar with, Gyuri ran over a girl and almost made her drop the dresses she had in her arms. Gyuri apologized, and mortified to no end, locked herself inside the first booth she could find. Not wanting to dwell too much in that incident, she tried the green dress first, and the fit was simply perfect. The fabric felt delicious over her skin, and it made her feel slim, tall, and sophisticated. But the moment Gyuri looked at herself in the mirror, every single insecurity she ever had, came out stronger than ever. The dress was still beautiful, but she felt out of place in it.

"You're not there yet, Gyuri." She mumbled to herself.

She slipped off the fancy dress and hung it aside to grab the other one. Gyuri didn't recognize the brand, but by the price in the tag, it was expensive enough to be worn only by the rich. She stared at the navy blue tulle dress, covered with clusters of golden glitter, and started to wonder if it was even worth it trying on. As soon as the thought came into her mind, she rejected it. She wouldn't be doing it if it was easy, so she tried the dress on without any more hesitation, and the difference was staggering. Gyuri stared at the reflection and couldn't believe her eyes. She loved that the dress fit her like a second skin and above her knees which made her feel pretty and sexy at the same time. Then, she almost gasped in delight when she twirled around, and the skirt moved, making the fabric sparkle like the night sky covered with thousand tiny stars. She had to remind herself to look away from the mirror and decide what to do other than dance around the tiny changing room.

Gyuri opened the door, and the first thing she saw was the girl she ran over trying out a yellow floral dress. She couldn't help but observe the girl as she looked at every angle in the full-body mirror and the unmistakable look of disdain on her face. However, she couldn't see anything ugly on the scene playing in front of her. The dress fit her well, it looked good with her skin tone, and in all honesty, Gyuri quite envied her body shape to fill up the garment so well. But as if giving up, the girl let a sigh out, and her entire posture fell apart in defeat at whatever she was looking at in the mirror, and Gyuri saw herself staring. The girl turned around, realizing someone was watching her. When they looked at each other, both girls gasped, caught up in the moment of embarrassment, and hid in their respective changing rooms.

Back in the safety of her booth, Gyuri stared at her reflection and knew the feeling way too well. She had felt it so many times before it was painful even to think about it and started to wonder if she looked just as scared and uneasy as that girl did. That was all it took the intrusive thought to root in her mind, and too shy to ask Kyungsoo like she first thought, she brought her cellphone out and snapped a couple of mirror pictures for her mother. Her reflection kept looking at her with a scornful look as if judging her, and Gyuri made her mind. She changed back into her clothes and came out, decided like never before. She just wanted to be kind to somebody, just as Kyungsoo was to her that terrible day. That simple action kept on changing her life entirely, and she wanted to do the same. Maybe not as dramatically as the situation she was currently in, but she had to start somewhere.

“I found the one,” Gyuri said, meeting Kyungsoo back in the lounge of the store.

"Are you done?" Kyungsoo asked.

"Shoes." She mumbled, looking at the changing rooms, "I need shoes."

Seemingly not catching on to her hesitation, Kyungsoo agreed and pointed out the shoe section, inviting her to follow him. She did, always looking over her shoulder in the hopes to see the girl show up and go that extra mile. However, she never did. Gyuri started trying out one pair of shoes after the other, stalling as much as she could to wait for her to the point of getting worried. Maybe she missed her chance to give that little extra boost of confidence to someone that looked like really needed it.

Giving up, Gyuri picked a pair of blue low-heel shoes and followed Kyungsoo to the checkout. She stalled, however, still hoping to see the other girl. She was so anxious about what she wanted to do that the total of her purchase was barely registered in her mind until she finally came out. Gyuri observed her pretend she was looking at other garments when she put the dress back in the rack. She had seen that hesitation and anxiousness before, and she knew she couldn’t let her go without saying it out loud. She would have loved to have someone do that for her. Putting her wallet back into her purse and thanking the cashier, Gyuri took a deep breath before securing her bags in her hands and went for it.

“You looked very pretty in the yellow dress,” Gyuri said, hopefully, loud enough for the girl to hear.

Everything happened so fast the poor girl looked at her as if someone smacked her in the face. But it happened, Gyuri saw the biggest and most beautiful smile spreading across the girl's face before she covered it with her hands. The girl thanked her nonetheless, doing a full-bow, and even though she couldn't see her face, Gyuri could hear her little giggles. Feeling satisfied with herself, she smiled back and pretty much rushed out of the store as she dragged Kyungsoo along with her.

“That was nerve-wracking,” Gyuri said.

She ignored the trembles in her body as they walked away as fast as they could, and Kyungsoo offered his hand in support. He couldn’t help himself but laugh when Gyuri grabbed his entire arm instead and laid her head on his shoulder, leaning on him.

“I’m tired.” She mumbled with her eyes closed as he drove them through the sidewalk.

“Should we stop for something to drink then?” He asked, and she just nodded in response, “What do you want?”

Gyuri didn’t have a chance to answer when she almost lost her footing by Kyungsoo halting all of a sudden. She looked at him, weirded out by the sudden stop, and found him standing in front of the window display of a store. She joined him, looked at the clothes, and got beyond confused. Without saying anything, Kyungsoo went into the store. Gyuri followed him but stared at him in disbelief when he approached the discount racks. She observed him looking through hangers in an absolute state of concentration, and she almost gasped in horror when he finally brought out a pair of khaki pants, and as silent as ever, he went straight to the changing rooms. Gyuri looked around the place, which seemed more like a storehouse, with every single corner filled to the rim with off-brand clothes and the handwritten signs announcing their incredible sales. For a moment, she felt out of place holding her snobby high-fashion shopping bags. In a couple of minutes, Kyungsoo came out, and to her absolute disbelief, he grabbed another two pairs of pants of the three for two sale section. Gyuri watched him go to the checkout and wondered if she missed something. As far as she knew, Kyungsoo was disgustingly rich. Granted, he never flaunted his fortune it was easy to tell that he was more than well off and him, buying clothes on sale, was something she was not expecting at all.

“You’re cheap,” Gyuri said.

Kyungsoo put his wallet away with an amused nod before he left the store, carrying the plastic bags with his khaki pants inside. Gyuri had to go after him, wondering if what happened was real or not, but forgot about the subject when they arrived at the coffee shop and her energy plunked to the floor. The moment she sat down, she felt everything hurt. The pain in her back was killing her. Her legs almost yelled at her in relief, and she just closed her eyes while Kyungsoo ordered, and all she could think of was about getting home and laying down.

“You did it,” He said, sitting down in front of her, “Was it number seven?”

Gyuri might have been dozing off and sat up straight, taken aback not only at the writer suddenly showing up but confused at whatever he said. She stared at him, lost on what he meant, and she wondered if she missed what he was telling her. She was debating on asking him to repeat himself or not when he seemed to catch on her confusion.

“Wish number seven of your list.” He said with a chuckle, giving her a pen with the coffee shop's brand on it, "Your bucket list, do you have it with you?"

Suddenly awake, everything finally made sense, and Gyuri rummaged through her purse. Completely blown away that she left it sitting there forgotten, she brought it out and spread it open over the table between them. She scanned the paper, looking for the wish he just mentioned, and he was right.

7. Compliment a stranger

“You ought to cross a couple out,” Kyungsoo said, pointing to the first couple of wishes. “How many of these have you done already?”

Gyuri was still too out of it to respond and just stared at the piece of paper in disbelief. She shook her head. Instead of agreeing with her, Kyungsoo grabbed the pen out of her hand and flicked her head with it. Although it was very gentle, she could only stare at him completely flabbergasted.

“You kept me awake the whole night the other day, and that was number one.”

1. Talk all night on the phone

Gyuri read the wish, and she suddenly remembered the night in which she discovered who he was. She felt her cheeks heating up at the memory of how comfortable she felt listening to him and how well she slept that night. In an urge to distract herself from the feeling, she grabbed the pen again and crossed that wish out as well. Then the one that brought them there in the first place, and wondered how on earth did he remember that one out of her ten wishes.

2. Get a designer's dress and shoes

“What’s number nine?” He asked, absently staring at the list, “Tell my biggest secret to someone I trust.”

“I’m not telling you.” She said, and Kyungsoo gave her an unamused look, “That’s why it’s called a secret.”

"Does Baekhyun know?" He asked.

Gyuri stared at the writer as his eyes focused on the paper as if there was a lot more in it than it seemed at first glance. He looked too preoccupied with the subject, thinking to himself deeply.

"He would laugh at me," Gyuri confessed with a pout. "I'd say he would even nag me about it because it's stupid."

Kyungsoo stayed quiet for a while, and she waited for him to say something but to her surprise, he did something she had never seen him do before. He leaned over the table, bringing one hand to his mouth. His fingers fiddled with her fingernails as he bit the other one in a nervous fidget.

“Who do you trust more than him?” He asked carefully.

“It’s not about that. It wouldn’t be there if it was something easy to achieve.” Gyuri explained, “If I'm ever drunk, I might tell you.”

“That must not be that hard to do,” Kyungsoo chuckled, “If it’s wish number five.”

Gyuri deflated on her seat, feeling lame. Kyungsoo was right, once again. Getting her drunk wouldn’t be hard at all, and she felt compelled to explain why.

“It’s embarrassing to be drunk in front of my parents,” She said, fiddling with the pen in her hands, “And I wouldn’t trust myself to be like that with Baekhyun. Who knows what I might do?”

But Gyuri had the images in her mind already. She could see it vividly, throwing herself at her best friend, her arms around him and kissing him. In her imagination, she would touch every part of him, and he would do the same. In her fantasy, he wanted her just as much.

“What are you thinking about that is making you blush this much?” He asked, a tiny smirk showing on his face.

“Oh, shut up.” She whined, covering her face in embarrassment, but that made him chuckle.

“What is it?” He insisted.

“Get flowers from a secret admirer.” She mumbled, feeling her face blushing. “That’s it. That is wish number nine.”

"That's..." He began but hesitated.

"Lame?" Gyuri finished the sentence for him.

Their order showed up on the screen, stopping Kyungsoo from saying whatever he had in mind. He just gave her a meaningful look before standing up to pick up their drinks, but he was back in no time, and Gyuri noticed the difference in his face. His eyes seemed to sparkle, and a small smile kept on creeping across his expression. He placed a drink and a dessert in front of her and moved his phone out of the way. Suddenly, he looked beyond focused, and Gyuri couldn't be sure why she noticed it. Maybe it was because he leaned over the table as if he was about to tell her a secret.

“I thought of a way to do some of these in one go,” he said, looking her in the eye, and Gyuri felt a wave of excitement rushing over her, “and I have a plan.”

#AFUTR #Baekhyun #Kyungsoo #EXO #EXO Fanfic #EXO Fanfiction #Hanahaki #Hanahaki Disease #Romance #Angst #Fanfic #Fanfiction

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