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halloweenhoneylover · 5 years ago

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the star puzzle

summary: based on 5x13 (bc long hair reid rights) in which emily tells a funny little story and spencer is the sweetest know-it-all :’) (spencer x fem!reader)

word count: 1.7k

author’s note: i haven’t written for fun in the hottest second and im embarrassed so pls don’t roast!!! also trying my hand at romance is scary ahahaha how do yall do this

Emily’s nose wrinkled slightly.

Damn puzzle.

She fidgeted with two wooden pieces, and the sounds of them dully clinking against each other drew the attention of a certain doctor. With squinted eyes, he observed her fumbling for a moment before muttering a quick, “What is that?”

“It’s called a star puzzle. It’s basically impossible to figure out.” The resignation was clear in her tone. She’d been trying to put together this unbelievably frustrating puzzle for the past fifteen minutes, and she felt further from figuring it out than when she began. Utterly infuriating. “You have to put all of the pieces back together to form a perfect star. But the origin of it is kinda a romantic tale.”

Your ear perked up a bit, your interest thoroughly piqued. Always a sucker for a little romance, a small grin tugged at your lips as you quietly tucked the corner of your page down and shut your book. Ms. Austen could wait a little longer. Perhaps love stories were for the naive, but who were you to deny yourself the small rush of joy of hearing about two people fall in love? Your eyes flickered towards Spencer for the briefest of moments, and your smile widened ever so slightly. I wouldn’t mind falling in love with him. As if that process wasn’t already well underway. So you settled further in your seat on the couch to listen to Emily.

“There was this young prince who wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land.”

At this, Spencer’s heart skipped, and he spared a fleeting glance to his right at the girl on the couch who had the most endearing smile on her face as she intently watched Emily. The fairest maiden in all the land, he thought as his cheeks flushed slightly. He was quite familiar with the prince’s endeavors.

“So he climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom, and he caught a falling star for her. Unfortunately, he was so excited, that he dropped it, and it smashed into all of these pieces. So he frantically put it back together to prove his undying love to her, and he succeeded, and they lived happily ever after.”

A moment of silence and a furrowed brow.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Emily narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t catch a falling star. It would burn up in the atmosphere.” You could almost hear the cogs in the poor boy’s head turning as he tried to grasp the meaning of her words. Amusement danced across Rossi’s features as he shared a knowing look with Emily.

“Yeah, but it’s not literal, Reid. It’s a fable.”

“But there’s no moral. Fables have morals.” You ducked your head in an attempt to suppress the laugh bubbling in your chest and the blush painting your cheeks. As always, you were fascinated by the mechanisms of Dr. Reid’s mind. And by the look of confusion on his face, a look that only made you more smitten which you had thought was an impossible task by now.

“Okay so it’s just a romantic little story—the point is it’s basically impossible to do because you have to take all of those pieces and fit them together exactly….” She trailed off, watching him easily fit together the pieces she’d been agonizing over for far too long. His nimble fingers were purposeful in their task and within seconds, produced the desired star. Emily’s jaw dropped. That little son of a—

For a moment, he looked at the star, reveling in his success with a somewhat smug smirk (he loved solving puzzles), before a thought popped into his head. Turning his gaze to the right, he caught your eye as you gawked at the puzzle. He gave you that signature tight-lipped smile that made your heart swell and wordlessly offered you the star.

Your breath caught, and for some reason, you couldn’t look away, and neither could he. So you both sat there in this little moment of stillness on the edge of revelation. This felt so much bigger than one friend offering another a look at a stupid little puzzle, but there was that underlying current of fear, of ‘we both want this so, so much, but neither of us can say that this means more because what if they don’t feel the same way.’ Hesitation had locked you in place, but screw it. A little breathless and a lot of warmth buzzing in your chest, you finally recovered your expression from your previous look of utter amazement and took the star.

You took the star.

Spencer thought he could still hear the air humming from that second-long moment that felt like a freaking hour, and his fingers were buzzing from where yours had brushed his for the most minuscule of moments, he couldn’t stop the smile that split his face wide open. He didn’t know if you took it to look at his handiwork, or to give your approval, or to accept this profession of his undying love for you, but whatever it meant, you took the star, and that was enough for now.

Staring down at the wooden puzzle in your hands, you focused so intensely because you needed a moment to recover from whatever the hell just happened. Maybe you blacked out for a minute and were in heaven for the entirety of three seconds, or maybe you’ve watched When Harry Met Sally too many times to not have a skewed perception of romance and friendship, but he had to have felt that, right? There was no way he didn’t have his world turned upside down by that incredibly small interaction—or maybe you’re just way too in love with him to be judging things correctly. Either way, you’re somewhat surprised the star hasn’t completely burst into flames under the intensity of your stare, and you try to grapple with what just happened and what comes next.

“Not too shabby, Dr. Reid.” It comes out as the ghost of a whisper because you’re not sure you could have managed any more than that. The smoldering remains of your previous grin haunt your lips as you finally summon the courage to meet his eyes again.

He’s beaming.

“Why, thank you, Miss (Y/L/N).”

And you can’t help but mirror him.

Wide eyes and the most knowing smirks you’ve ever seen are silently flying around the jet as the others look at each other to confirm, are you seeing this? It’s been extremely apparent, the burgeoning crushes between the two youngest members, and this is just the icing on the freaking cake. Dear Morgan is just bursting at the seams, knowing that the next moment he gets the good doctor alone, he will be teasing him to the highest heaven. Maybe Reid’s new nickname will be ‘young prince.’ Morgan is sure he will love that (he won’t). And poor, poor Garcia, gripping her knitting needles so tightly that they might be pulverized, cannot even slightly suppress the glowing of her heart as she watches her two most favorite people fall even more in love, and by God, if she’s not going to do something about it. What she’s going to do, she’s not quite sure, but she has the rest of this plane ride to figure it out, and when she does know, it’s gonna be good, and they’re going to get together and be together forever. Simple, really.

Yet, Emily might be the most pleased of them all. This was absolutely not her intention when she had told the story of the prince and the maiden, but by no means was she opposed to the outcome. Her grin was contagious as she locked eyes with Rossi and JJ and even Hotch, breaking his ever-so-stoic demeanor. She could not wait to claim responsibility for their inevitable relationship, and boy, what a story she’d have for their wedding because of course, marriage is inevitable too. At least for these two, it seems.

When finally the silence stretched on too long and the team’s gaze weighed too heavy on the young almost-lovers, they startled out of their reverie with nervous chuckles and burning cheeks. You handed the star back to Emily, “Neat little thing!”

“Sure is,” she replied with the most frustratingly canny smirk. You avoided her eyes; it was clear what they were insinuating.

Spencer stared down at the book in his lap, trying to resist the painfully strong urge to watch you for a little while longer as you tried to steer the conversation to easier topics. He was a little afraid of how enamored he was because it was a lot. A lot a lot. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and let the tension from his shoulders fall as he carefully fingered the binding of Pride and Prejudice. He’d only really picked it up because you suggested it. ‘I know you’re not very into romance,’ you had said. ‘But I’ll still think you’ll enjoy it. Mrs. Bennet never fails to make me smile, so at the very least, I think you’ll get a laugh out of it.’ He thought it was funny the way you buffered your suggestion, as if he wouldn’t do anything you asked him. And it was true. Mrs. Bennet made him laugh too, but he found himself more and more enthralled by the relationship unfolding between Miss Bennett and Mr. Darcy. He was going soft, and he had a sneaking suspicion as to why (or a very clear reason that was just really hard to come to terms with) (ie., his overwhelming love for you). He gave in to his urges and glanced back up.

He was met by your perpetual grin as you chatted softly with Emily. As your eyebrows raised or your nose scrunched, he let the butterflies in his stomach roam free. They were uncomfortable in the best way possible. Satisfied with one last look at you, he reopened the book and tried to keep reading, but his thoughts ran rampant. He’d given you a little star puzzle, a star to represent his undying love for you. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He knew he couldn’t catch a falling star, but he’d find a way if that’s what you wanted. A faint smile graced his lips as he thought, I’d do anything. If she wanted it, I’d give her anything. I’d give her every star in the sky.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid

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pyreo · 4 years ago

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deltarune megapost

I wanted to make a Deltarune post about the lore and the things that aren’t obvious. And once I do that I wanna focus on why Mettaton is incredibly important to this setting

And also why he poses a problem

Why did Toriel and Asgore get divorced?

Without the setting of Undertale, Asgore and Toriel’s marriage still broke up after they had Asriel. There needs to be a reason though. In UT it was Asgore’s ‘worst of both worlds’ decision regarding killing anybody that fell from the human world, including children. We saw how close they were before this happened. Only something deep and serious caused that rift. In Deltarune, what on earth did Asgore do?

What happened to Dess?

Mentioned a handful of times by Noelle, Dess was her older sister and is mentioned In Undertale.... in that Xbox exclusing casino thing. The way Noelle talks about her, the conspicuous way Noelle gets locked out of her big house - it implies Dess is gone or deceased. Berdly recalls a spelling bee when he and Noelle were younger where she, despite being smarter than him, misspelled ‘December’, allowing him to win.

In the two-player spelling puzzle, it also spells out ‘December’ as Noelle recalls the past and her silhouette regresses to a child while she does so. Being distracted by her sister’s disappearance, rather than pure shyness, could account for her misspelling her name on stage, and it clearly left a big psychological mark for her to have this visual regression in the Dark World.

However, there’s a graveyard in Hometown with no Dess. I heard another theory that she has been missing for years, because where each character’s personal room is made by Queen to reflect their tastes via their search results, Noelle has a calendar where every day is December 25th. This could imply that Noelle continually searches the internet for ‘December Holiday’, her sister’s name, to see if there are clues to her disappearance, but of course the only result you would get is the date of Christmas.

Who is the Knight?

It’s now implied to be Kris, who has been forcibly removing the player’s influence to act on their own. By all accounts the Knight is the game’s main antagonist. Spade King and Queen both mention the Knight as someone who influenced their position - they brought Spade King to absolute power, and showed Queen that creation of new worlds was possible.

We’re led to believe that Kris was doing this, because they’ve been acting outside of the player’s control. Eating the entire pie between chapter 1 and 2 might have been a red herring to cover that they also went to the library and used that knife to slash open a dark fountain there.

However. This has issues. How would they even manage to shuffle slowly all the way to the library and get in the computer lab? The Knight is also the one creating the hidden bosses. They talked to Jevil until he realised he was in a game and he lost his mind; they ruined Spamton’s life by elevating him to success and then crushing him. Whatever the Knight is doing seems to be deliberately planned with key players in mind.

Kris opening the fountain at home at the end of ch.2 can be explained in that you just figured out in Cyber World that anyone determined enough can do this, and so, Kris decided to. So a better question might even be...

What does Kris want?

We have no idea. They are capable of removing the SOUL, ‘us’, temporarily, and putting things in motion we cannot influence. But they also keep putting us back in control afterward. This is hinted at right when ch.2 starts, where if you inspect the cage in Kris’s bedroom they threw us into, the description says it’s inescapable. Meaning Kris came back and took us out, willingly.

They allow us to pilot them through the game. Why? Because they cannot live without the SOUL for long for some reason? Because they’re bad at bullet hell? Why did they slash Toriel’s tyres before opening the fountain, making sure nobody could drive away?? Why did they specifically open the door?

You can find out details about Kris through the creepy way you interact with the townsfolk, who think you are Kris. They play the piano at the hospital waiting room - better than you. They used to go to church just to get the special church juice. It’s all normal, relatable things, not like someone who’s trying to plunge the world into darkness. Judging by their search history portrayed in their Queen’s castle room, they really want to see their brother again. However the castle has a room based on Asriel’s search history too, and Kris (not you) closes their eyes and won’t look at it.

What is Ralsei?

His name is an anagram of Asriel. Is he an extension of Asriel? The slightly flirtier dialogue in ch.2 would point to no. Is he an extension of Kris themselves, given the link between Kris’s childhood habit of wearing a headband with red horns on it, to pretend to be a monster like their family?

Ralsei knows exactly where the Dark World in the school is located, and unlike regular Darkners, knows the world is folded up inside the ‘real world’. There’s a certain whiplash to Ralsei telling you to hop out of his reality into yours and go down the hallway to retrieve all the board game items.

How does he jump from one Dark World to another, without assistance? How does he not get petrified like Lancer and Rouxls? Is this a power level thing because he’s a prince or something else? We definitely do not know enough about Ralsei.

He also says this incredibly suspicious thing after you spare Spamton NEO. Susie was also curious but accepts that maybe it ‘didn’t mean anything’, which is a sure tell that these optional bosses do mean something.

Someone is orchestrating what’s happening, opening fountains, manipulating the rulers, and influencing NPCs to become the optional bosses. Why? I suspect Ralsei for both knowing too much, and pretending something doesn’t matter when it clearly does. Until Asriel actually comes home from college I’m going to suspect he’s involved in this too.

How much does Seam know?

Seam on the other hand knows a lot about what’s going on but is openly withholding information while helping you. He’s nihilistic. He says things like:

One day soon... You too, will begin to realize the futility of your actions. Ha ha ha... At that time, feel free to come back here. I'll make you tea... And we can toast... to the end of the world!

Either this ‘end of the world’ is a reference to The Roaring, where opening too many dark fountains dooms the Dark World and the real one... or, I can’t get out of my head the idea that Deltarune takes place in a fake, or weird reconstruction of Undertale where things don’t match up, and eventually it will have to disappear. After all, powers of determination and creating and manipulating universes are Undertale’s basic bread and butter. How can we look at an Alternate Universe containing the characters we already know and not suspect that? Seam also uses Gaster’s key words, ‘darker, yet darker’, seemingly to clue us in that he’s not off track here.

Why haven’t we seen Papyrus?

This is a bright neon flashing ‘something’s not right’ sign. It’s not like Papyrus’s voice actor was too busy or anything. His absence is noticable and for a reason. Nice of Sans to promise we could meet him despite being aware we’re piloting a child’s body around, though, even if he didn’t follow through.

What locations in town could be used for dark fountains in the next 4 chapters?

If the sequence continues, we have chapter 1 in the school games room, chapter 2 in a computer lab, and chapter 3 in front of Kris’s television, where the aesthetic of each setting influences the world, characters, and enemies in the Dark World created there. Future possibilities include the church, the hospital, sans’s grocery store, Noelle’s house, and the closed bunker.

What the hell’s in the closed bunker

This one’s too obvious, honestly. I think it’ll open for no reason in chapter 7 and a little white dog will bounce out and steal one of your key items and nothing else happens.

Why does Asgore have these

Unlike the bunker feeling like a joke teaser, I gotta believe this is foreshadowing something weird. For example, what does opening a dark fountain in here with the seven flowers do? Does it just take you into Undertale?

Each chapter will have a hidden boss with a ‘soul mode’ from Undertale

Chapter 1 let you stay red, but I think each subsequent chapter is going to change your soul mode to one of the seven colours and design the encounter around that. Purple, yellow, green and blue were used in Undertale, leaving the light blue and orange modes yet to be revealed.

How does Spamton emulate Mettaton Neo’s name, body, and incorporate his battle theme, and the ‘Dummy!’ theme, with no actual connection between them ingame?

This is a really fun one that’s explained over in this post here. Swatch is the Dark World creation from the paint program on the library computers, so he’s able to explain that a Lightner made the robot body decaying in the castle basement that way.

Mettaton went to the library and drew his ideal form, Mettaton NEO, in MS Paint, and the Dark World formed that into a puppet body which Spamton was able to hijack temporarily. So by doing that Spamton was able to channel Mettaton’s appearance, attacks, music, and SOUL mode for the fight.

This might mean that the future hidden bosses, each with their own SOUL mode, might be based on the associated character for that mode (Muffet, Undyne, and Sans or Papyrus), and the boss will take on some aspect of them from their world to leech their fight mechanics.

The Problem With Mettaton

We don’t exactly know what Deltarune is about. It’s an alternate universe where the characters from Undertale already live on the surface, have completely normal lives, but diverge from the storyline of Undertale and, crucially, have not lived through the changes Frisk brought to their lives.

Remember how Undertale had a dozen different ending routes depending on who you befriended? The constant reinforcement in Undertale was that your choices mattered. Through Frisk, you chose to bring Alphys closure about her mistakes, you chose to befriend papyrus instead of attacking him, you chose to help Alphys and Undyne realise their feelings for each other and it’s only doing that that leads to the golden ending and escape to the surface.

Deltarune is the opposite, your choices do not matter. The only thing you can do to force the route of the game to change is to force Noelle into a No Mercy run, which is indirect, and also, a total desperation to mess with an otherwise set course. This version of the characters have not been helped by Frisk - Undyne and Alphys are not together, Papyrus has no friends, Asgore cannot get over himself, and they’re clearly the worse for it, but potentially, you COULD still do these things. In fact it’s hinted that you already are.

But there’s Mettaton.

He’s still a ghost and does not leave his house. In Frisk’s world, Gaster deleted himself, promoting Alphys to royal scientist by bluffing with Mettaton, and she then build him his ideal body. In Kris’s world... Alphys is a school teacher. There’s no barrier to break, no reason to experiment on souls, no Flowey mistake, and no body for Mettaton.

It was sad in Ch.1, but now with the Spamton NEO fight in ch.2, it’s unmissable. Mettaton wants that body and he cannot get it. Alphys in this universe is not going to leave her teaching job and suddenly be able to build a robot. Mettaton is just... screwed out of his happy ending and cannot get it.

So what resolution could this have? If it wasn’t for Mettaton I might believe in the vaildity of Deltarune and Hometown. But. How can you doom this character? If Undertale was the only way Mettaton could be befriended, then Undertale is Primary Universe A and Seam is right - the world of Deltarune is doomed as some kind of aberration. It all relies on how this gets explained in the future, but the core mystery of Deltarune is how exactly this universe intersects with Undertale and whether one is an offshoot of the other. How the Dark World links into that is another complication. But even as we get more fun characters and neat stuff in the Dark Worlds, let’s not forget we have absolutely no idea why Undertale’s characters are living here with no mention of underground or why there are no other humans beside Kris.

#undertale #deltarune #welcome to my giant essay post

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howling-harpy · 4 years ago

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A gift from the heart

Pairing: Malarkey & Skip Rating: G

Word count: 2520 Summary: Skip and Don have a day in Paris, and they are on an important quest. [ao3]

A/N: Happy birthday @lyselkatz! This is for you, I hope it’s to your liking.

Skip had clearly taken his pass to Paris with a plan in mind. “You have got to help me find the perfect present for her!” he begged as soon as Don walked up to meet him, his hands crossed in a prayer that was surely blasphemous. “What is she going to do with a present at this point?” Don argued back. “You’re shipping yourself back home soon enough.” His heart wasn’t in it, not really. He was arguing more for the sake of arguing, but it was true that they had this one afternoon off and their chances of success were pretty slim.

Paris was a great place to rest and pretend to work at an airplane exhibition, the city was nearly bursting with emotion and will to go back to peacetime, and any heartsick soldier was bound to find something good to send back home to his sweetheart. Don wasn’t sure if he was trying to talk his way out of a shopping trip, or was he simply relieved about Skip’s energy and how he displayed it despite the broken arm and cuts and bruises and drawing the banter out. “With that attitude you will be very unlucky in love!” Skip declared. “My mom said that men who think of themselves as the greatest of gifts will find themselves very lonely indeed, and I plan to make the most of this mortal life and make sure that my girl has nice things!” “Fine then, since you’re the romance expert out of the two of us,” Don gave in and finally allowed a grin to spread on his face. “But what would she like to have?” “That’s why I need help,” Skip said, raising a finger to make an important point. “I’m the romance expert, yes, but small gifts are not my area of expertise.” The thought both did and didn’t make sense, but Don was past arguing over the title of romance expert and instead tried to think of the kind of gifts girls liked. His idea of a good time was an ice cream date and listening to good music, but that was something you did in person, not wrap in brown paper and ship across an ocean. “Uh… Perhaps a good record?” Don said uncertainly. That was more like something he would have liked to unwrap himself and then be delighted about how well his girl knew him, but it was a thought. “Nah, I’d get you a record,” Skip said, nudging Don’s side with his elbow, and flashed him a knowing smile. “No, this has to be a Faye Tanner-gift. I can’t give her a Don Malarkey-gift.” Don shrugged, then gestured at the streets lined with shop windows all around them. “Maybe we should ask around?” If possible, Skip brightened up even more. He seemed to be almost trembling with excitement and ready to explore the city. “That’s great! But we need some places to hit. Make it a proper mission.” Don smiled indulgently. He had had enough of missions and objectives for a lifetime, but Skip was feeling as playful as ever and he knew it was a joke, so he allowed it. “Alright, fine,” he said, then paused to think. “Let’s think some things that she likes and what she’d like to get, and then think where we’ll find it.” “Oh yes. A guest for a true love’s gift! Onwards!” Don smiled for real then. That made it sound like an adventure in a jungle or perhaps across castles and fields and forests instead of an all too real endeavour in current time with real consequences. It almost felt like they could have been friends since they were children and run wild in the woods playing adventurers and wild children. Together, they took to the streets of Paris, Don leading the way as he sometimes knew where they were and where they were going. The list of things that Faye might have liked was growing slowly: Something distinctly European, something pretty or something sweet. Something pretty would have probably been their best bet, given both could recall a dozen times a girl back home had referenced European fashion or make up, but that was quickly becoming a dead end for them. Post-war Paris was many things and there was no doubt about fashion coming back, but right then it wasn’t exactly a priority. At least not at a reasonable price. There were shops open and some driftier places sold many mismatched piles of treasures Parisian ladies had no doubt emptied from their closets while trying to make the ends meet, but Skip and Don quickly realized they didn’t know enough to make a good judgement about them. “This is just… Not Faye!” Skip huffed as they strolled down the street after the fourth shop. “She is pretty and I think she wears cute clothes too, but it’s just… Not like this.” Don didn’t know about fashion either, just of what looked pretty to him, but looking at Skip and knowing him he could imagine Faye was probably not the beauty queen type. “Okay, forget about dresses and hats,” Don thought out loud. “How about a ribbon? Or a scarf? Or jewellery?” Skip thought it over, but then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. She doesn’t really do her hair, says it gets soaked and flops down anyway, so why bother.” “Okay, so something distinctly European then.” Aside from the airplane exhibition Don was consulting at, several other local cultural exhibits were also opening. Curators at Louvre had apparently cried when their looted treasures started to return in their collection from Germany, and museums and galleries had started to open again, even if only to clean and air the premises. It seemed people missed beauty in their lives, and Don couldn’t fault them on that. They all did. Still, the only thing sold at Louvre were postcards and other souvenirs. There was a certain charm to them, and perhaps sending some cool trinket home along with perhaps some photos and a letter with loving regards would do. Faye sounded like a girl who appreciated the personal touch and the thought more than anything material, so a breeze of culture from France might be the thing they were after. There were plenty of soldiers buzzing around the museum and the park, plenty of them apparently caught by the same idea, everyone trying to decide which artwork was the most suitable one to convey one’s feelings. Skip didn’t pay too much attention to anyone there, but Don had learned to recognize plenty of soldiers by their uniform, and a familiar one drew his attention right away. “Hey! Lieutenant!” Don called out as he recognized a familiar profile and a set of broad shoulders. “Do you know what’s the best gift for your lover?” Lipton jumped in surprise when he was spoken to and nearly dropped the stack of postcards depicting some old, cracked paintings of Roman soldiers. “My what?” he asked, immediately flustered. Skip giggled and skipped over to join them. “Not yours, sir,” he cackled, the entire idea absurd, “we’re trying to find something for Faye before I go home. She will feed me to her cats if I don’t send her a nice present beforehand.” “Oh,” Lipton said and cleared his throat, awkward and jittery on the spot. He set the postcards back to the holder and turned his back to the photographs of Roman generals and Greeks in aggressive military formations. “A wise choice,” Skip solemnly advised him with a heavy nod. “I don’t think any girl will like those. You ought to pick something more… Elegant! Beautiful! Something European.” Lipton smiled politely and shrugged. “Technically Roman Empire used to cover most of the continent what we now call Europe, and what we even consider Europe varies through history.” When Skip and Don just stared at him, he became flustered again. “I… Uh, I’ve been listening to some radio programs at night,” he explained. Skip laughed again. “Getting a history lecture is just about the most boring thing I can imagine doing in bed,” he chuckled, and Don joined in for the plain amusement of the mental image. Lipton lowered his eyes and blushed scarlet. “Well, to each their own,” he allowed diplomatically while swaying on the heels of his boots. “Sure, sir,” Don said, then reeled them back on topic. “But the gift! Skip needs a gift for Faye.” “Oh, right,” Lipton said, visibly more at ease now that the attention was turning away from him. “Well… I don’t know Ms. Tanner, but you do, so you should use that. Whatever the gift is, the most important thing is that it makes her feel like you have listened to her and know what she likes.” “Uh-huh,” Skip said, and Don nodded along. It was a wise piece of advice, but not concrete enough to actually help them. Judging by Lipton’s smile, he realized exactly the same thing and shook his head at their impatience. Don was almost ready to appoint Lipton as the new romance expert if it wasn’t for his choice of Roman art and Greek pottery. Lipton sighed. “There’s a postcard of just about every European masterpiece here. Why don’t you look at those and pick one that makes you think of her?” Even though Lipton slipped away with a postcard depicting Marcus Crassus battling the rebel leader Spartacus, his advice was actually good, and Skip and Don started browsing the many pictures of various beautiful ladies and princesses and queens. They didn’t understand about the styles or periods but trusted their own eyes to tell what was really beautiful. Momentarily Skip was taken with a painting of a golden-haired woman wrestling a large book from a brown eagle with two heads, but even if beautiful she was too distressed, and the painting was too dramatic anyway. Eventually Skip picked up a postcard depicting a fairly modest painting of a girl dressed in simple clothes and a blue scarf on her head. She couldn’t have been more than ordinary, but the longer you looked at her gentle eyes and lips parted like in a half thought out question as she looked at you over her shoulder, the more convinced you became that she was by far not only the most beautiful but also the most intriguing of all women pictured there. “This one,�� Skip said as he held the card. “She looks a bit like her too.” Still, having a simple postcard wasn’t a gift yet. It was a greeting, a simple souvenir, and it needed something more, so the quest went on. “What does she like?” Don asked Skip again as they strolled through the gardens outside of Louvre. “I think that based on all your tales of your bets and highjinks all I know is what she doesn’t like, and that’s you being an idiot.” Skip threw his head back and laughed. “Maybe so! Well, let’s see… Faye likes… Me. Cats. Baseball. Homemade pies. Milkshakes. Dancing. Pretty normal stuff, I’d say.” Just a normal girl, with normal interests, she seemed to be. Don was again at loss. It was a beautiful and hot summer day, and there was a small café on the street by the garden, and just the sight of it made them both feel suddenly thirsty and their sweet tooths ache. Mostly the café was serving coffee in tiny cups, but their display was also showing signs of revival as they served cakes, flaky pastries and chocolate treats. The prices were high and there wasn’t enough to fill the display completely, but what there was looked delicious and made with great care. They got two small éclairs because they looked nice in the window and the little sign in front of the tray had the word “chocolat” in it, and with their little treats they ventured back to the streets. Don was almost used to French baked goods after three weeks in Paris, but Skip savoured his from the very first bite. It was no wonder, the soft, fluffy dough alone was a treat, but the chocolate icing that cracked softly when you bit into the pastry was perfect, and from the face he made Don could tell that Skip hadn’t expected the cream filling. Skip chewed on the éclair slowly with his head tipped back towards the sun, and for a moment Don led him by the arm because he refused to look in front of him. “If only I could send something like this back to the States for her,” Skip sighed around a mouthful. “That would solve literally all my problems. Get a box of these or those little pink cookie things and that would be it. Too bad they wouldn’t make it to the States.” “You’re right, but maybe something else might,” Don said, his eyes already scanning for another shop. “Something sweet would do nicely.” They had to try a few shops for what they were looking for, but eventually Skip managed to find a metal tin filled with hard fruit toffees in candy wrappers. The candy itself wasn’t an extraordinary delicacy like fresh pastries were, but just as important was the beautiful tin they came in. It was like two gifts in one, European candy and a new decorative tin for buttons or letters or whatever Faye fancied. It was nearing evening, and Don had an early morning ahead of him and Skip had to report back to his commanding officer too, but the quest wasn’t yet done. “Don’t forget to wrap it up nicely too,” Don reminded Skip. “Sure, the postal office will put it in brown paper, but that’s not good enough for a gift for your girl. You got to at least find a ribbon to go under the boring paper and string so that she knows you’ve thought about it.” “Good point,” Skip said. “I’m sure I’ll find someone with a ribbon to trade – even something that doesn’t belong in some another dame’s underwear set. Thanks for the tip.” “Sure,” Don said. “Should I see you back to the station?” “No, that’s okay, I’ll find my own way,” Skip said. It was sensible that way. Don’s hotel was in the opposite direction and if he were to walk with Skip, he’d triple his own walk, and Skip knew it too and wouldn’t accept such a bother. Still it felt bad to part ways before they had to since things were uncertain, a discharge and a ticket home might come at a day’s notice, and then they wouldn’t see each other again. Not being able to say goodbye loomed over Don and kept him lingering. Skip seemed to sense it from him, because he smiled and reached to gently touch his arm. “Don’t worry, we’re headed in the same direction eventually. And when we get to the States, I’ll mail you the best present you can imagine.” Don was implored to smile, and despite the melancholy played along. “Really? What’s that?” Skip grinned bright as a summer sun, spread his arms and gestured at himself.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #mun ficci

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imlovethomassanders · 5 years ago

Text

Destined - Chapter 3

You can also read on ao3

This fic is completed and will be updated regularly until completion

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 (FINAL)

Summary: Damien never wanted soulmates. When his fifteenth birthday came, he prayed he wouldn’t receive a “hint” - a way soulmates are connected to help find each other. And to Damien’s horror, the universe gives him multiple soulmates. He’s determined to not let them find out about them. He wants to let them live in ignorant bliss and not force them to deal with him. As Damien grows older, he moves away and goes to college - He even manages to find a boyfriend that he chose himself, and Damien tells himself that he’s happy. But on Damien’s twentieth birthday, the universe gives him and his soulmates another hint - and this one is not one Damien can avoid.

Pairing: DLAMP

Warnings:Abusive romantic relationship (physically, sexually, and verbally), past physical parental abuse, sex and alcohol mentions, general angst (but happy ending) Extra warning for this chapter for referenced homophobia

Words: 2644

Taglist:

@touchstarvedvirgil

@lamp-calm-sanders

@ninjago2020

@confinesofpersonalknowledge

@secret-novelisthost18

@phander-sides

@sherlock-lives-on-bakerstreet

@fortheloveofvirgil

@what-up-dudesss

Damien was sitting in the makeup room of the theatrical arts building when he was startled by a door being flung open and hitting the wall. He huffed in annoyance as he looked at his resulting smudged eyeliner. He glared towards the door to the hallway as he heard the theatre majors walk down the hall, one of them loudly riffing Disney songs.

The acting class must be finished.

Everyday Damien had a block with no classes, so he would go to the makeup room where it was usually empty. Plus he could practice makeup before class if he wanted to.

He went to fix his eyeliner when he heard the door open. He looked over to see a boy he'd never seen before, so it surely wasn't another theatre major.

Damien's first thought was "Who the fuck is this?"

His second thought was how pretty he was.

He knew he shouldn't think such things when he was with Jackson. Jackson would probably destroy the apartment again in a tirade if Damien ever said that out loud. But yeah, Damien couldn't deny how gorgeous the man in front of him was.

The stranger was wearing ripped black jeans, a purple t-shirt, and a black purple-patched hoodie. The black converses he was wearing had speckles of paint on them. His hair was dyed purple, though it was starting to fade on the ends. His bang fell over his forehead which drew more attention to his gray eyes that were already accentuated by black eyeshadow. His skin was as smooth as porcelain and just as pale.

"Do you need something? Professor Miller is in her office," Damien said as he turned back towards the mirror.

"Um, no," the boy said in a low voice that sent shivers down Damien's spine. "I have some free time and my boyfriend said I can hang out in the makeup room since it's supposed to be empty."

Damien stared at him, daring him to actually stay. But he didn't leave.

"Sit, then. I'm not stopping you."

The stranger sat on the opposite bench. Damien tried to ignore the stranger the best he could, but Damien could still see his reflection in his peripheral.

Time passed by slowly as the two sat in tense silence. Eventually it made its way to ten minutes before Damien's next class, so in one swift move he swung his legs over the bench and threw his backpack on, and he was out the door.

It was a couple of days until they spoke again. The stranger rushed in and slammed the door behind him. Damien quickly turned and stood in alarm, eyes wide as the stranger pressed himself again the door.

"What's going on?" Damien demanded. He did not want to get wrapped up in whatever drama this stranger was bringing with him.

"Don't worry about it. This door gotta lock?" the stranger panted. Damien stared at him for a moment before pullinga key out of his pocket. The professor gave it to him so he could get in the makeup room whenever he watned.

Once the stranger heard the click he slid down the door and sat on the floor.

"What's going on?" Damien demanded again. The stranger opened his mouth to speak but only managed a few heavy pants. His hands reached for his hair as he pulled his knees to his chest.

"Tell me or I will have to get Ms. Miller."

"It's nothing," the stranger managed out. "Just some band kids."

Oh.

There was a group of band students who were notorious for harrassing anyone who didn't fit their slim idea of masculinity. Damien himself did everything he could to avoid them. He was pretty sure they've called him every variation of the f-slur possible.

Damien walked back to his backpack. "I'll keep the door locked until I leave then. Here."

He walked back towards the stranger and handed him a water bottle. "I brought it from home. I haven't opened it."

"Thanks," the stranger said. Damien offered a hand and helped the stranger up from his spot on the floor.

"Um... I'm Virgil."

"Damien."

Damien glanced Virgil up and down, something stirring inside his chest, though he couldn't place what. Damien then walked back over the bench and put his earbuds in. He had dealt with enough today.

"Hey," Virgil said when he walked in the next day. Damien waved at him without looking up from his phone.

For the next week, that was all the interaction they had. "Hey." Wave.

Virgil then ran in and asked Damien to lock the door again. Damien didn't have a water bottle to offer the panicking boy this time, so he went to get one from the vending machine.

He didn't know Virgil, but something in his subconscious told him that Virgil was a good enough guy to not deserve this harrassment.

"You didn't have to-"

"But I did," Damien huffed as he shoved the water bottle into Virgil's hands.

After that, for the next week their interactions evolved into Virgil greeting Damien with "Hey, how are you?" which Damien would respond with "Fine."

It was the next week when they finally had a real conversation. Virgil's earbuds disconnected from his phone and Panic! At the Disco played out loud, so the two found themselves discussing music.

"You like Broadway?" Virgil asked. "You and my boyfriend would get along wonderfully."

"Your boyfriend must have good taste."

"My boyfriend has obnoxious taste."

Damien flicked a q-tip at him.

"Could you show me how you do eyeshadow? I feel like I'm doing wrong," Virgil said one day as he watched Damien do his makeup.

"You probably are."

Virgil shot Damien a playful glare as Damien motioned for him to sit next to him.

As Damien started talking about makeup, he found that he couldn't stop. He had never had anyone to talk to about his passion, and he discovered just how much he needed to. THough he started rambling about more than just eyeshadow, Virgil never once tried to stop him.

"So how'd you get into makeup?" Virgil asked as they were leaving for classes.

Damien froze. There was no way he could tell this stranger that the reason he started doing makeup was because growing up, everything in his life was uncertain and almost all of his decisions were made for him by someone else, and that his appearance was the only thing he felt he had control over.

"I just liked how it looked," Damien lied after an uncomfortable amount of silence.

Virgil could tell there was more, but he had no right to pry.

Virgil then regularly sat next to Damien instead of on the other side of the room. And over the course of a few more weeks, they both somehow managed to pull each other out of their shells when they found they were both sharp and witty and too smart for their own good. Many of their conversations included quipping back and forth with each other, which they both knew was always all in good fun.

Damien found himself looking forward to that one hour he had in the makeup room. It was a nice change of pace from the usually dull setting Damien was in.

Jackson didn't know, of course. If he knew Damien was alone with another boy for hours every week, he would be furious and make Damien come home during his hour off.

"You look terrible," Damien said one day when Virgil walked in.

"Oh, shut up. You know it's because of midterms. I'm sure you look so much better under all that makeup," Virgil said as he sat down next to Damien.

"Darling, your eyeshadow only brings out your eye circles. Do I need to show you again how to actually do it properly?"

They glared at each other before Virgil broke into a smile. "So how are you?"

Damien excused himself to go to the bathroom. He definitely didn't leave just to compose himself after Virgil's smile made his heart flutter. And Damien also definitely didn't find his thoughts often drifting towards Virgil. Why would that happen when he had Jackson? Besides, Virgil already mentioned a boyfriend.

All these feelings were probably just because Damien was excited to actually make a friend for once. Yes, that was definitely it.

"I like your nails," Virgil said one day. Damien was wearing his favorite, sharp acrylic nails painted yellow.

Damien avoided Virgil's gaze to try and hide how flustered he was. No one had really ever complimented him before...

"I've never been good at painting mine," Virgil continued as he looked at the messy black paint on his nails.

"I could help you. I have black nail polish in my bag," Damien managed to say. His offer made Virgil give him a soft smile, and Damien couldn't ignore how his heart was pounding in his chest. He then spent the next minute hiding his blush by pretending to dig through his bag, even though he already found the nail polish.

Damien squeezed water out of the paper towels before walking back to the makeup room. He unlocked the door and locked it again behind him before getting on his knees.

Virgil was sitting on the floor, knees to chest and head down.

"Virgil, lift your head please.'

Virgil slowly picked his head up, and Damien tried to ignore the pang in his chest as those pleading eyes bore into him. He gently reached over and started to wipe the dried blood off the scrapes on Virgil's face.

Virgil opened his mouth to speak, but he just broke out in sobs again as he buried his head back in his arms.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," Damien said softly as he gently guided Virgil's head back up so he could continue cleaning the scrapes. "But I'm here whenever you need me."

Virgil stared at him for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Wait, your boyfriend did this to you??" Virgil asked as he stared the bruises on the side of Damien's face, which Damien was currently working on covering it back up after the makeup he applied that morning wore off a bit.

Damien regretted letting that fact slip.

"He was drunk, okay? He would never hurt me sober."

"He shouldn't hurt you at all-"

"Well, he's all I got," Damien snapped a he pushed Virgil away. Virgil caught himself on the counter before falling backwards off the bench. He stared at Damien as he fixed his position.

"You have me, right?" Virgil asked softly. Damien said nothing.

"Just... Promise me that if you ever need help, you'll call me."

"...Fine."

"VIrgil, my love~" the two heard as the makeup room door opened. They turned and saw a man in a prince costume for the school's upcoming musical. "I got finished early. I thought I'd tell you before I change so you could get ready to go out."

"Oh, uh..." Virgil glanced at Damien who just waved him off. "Sure."

"Is this the Damien you're always talking about?" the man teased.

Damien raised an amused eyebrow as he looked at Virgil, whose face was turning red.

"Oh, go get changed, Princey," Virgil grumbled. The man flashed him a cocky smile.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, dear~"

"Fuck off."

"Princey" laughed as he shut the door.

"Sorry for leaving early-"

"Virgil, why on earth would you be sorry?" Damien sighed. "Go out with your boyfriend. You aren't hurting my feelings."

Virgil smiled at him.

When Princey came back, Damien hoped his foundation was able to cover the small blush growing on his cheeks. His hair was no longer gelled back, but fell in perfect waves that framed his face just right. Than skin and freckles were no longer dulled by thick stage makeup. He was in a red bomber jacket and a form fitting t-shirt and skinny jeans that all hugged his body beautifully.

Damien quickly pushed those thoughts aside, angry that he even had them.

Virgil and Princey started bickering again, and Damien just rolled his eyes as he put in his earbuds.

Had his music not been so loud, Damien would have heard Princey try to introduce himself as Roman.

Damien lay in bed crying, holding Jackson's pillow to him as he tried to calm down. Jackson had hit him. Again. It was growing more and more frequent, leaving Damien to wonder what he was doing wrong.

Jackson had left to go God knows where, leaving Damien all alone.

Damien buried his head further into the pillow, when his mind told him he was going to see through a soulmate again. He groaned. It was such shitty timing.

The world went white, and he was in a nice restaurant, two others sitting with him at a round table. They were dressed in suits, one in plain black and the other in a gray one with a red vest. Damien's body tensed as he realized Virgil's boyfriend was the one in gray.

"They're here!" Patton said happily.

"Hello, my darling~"

"Salutations."

"No, Damien whispered.

"I'm glad you got to see us today! Today is the anniversary of when the four of us all finally met!" Patton said, smile evident in his voice. "And when we get to meet you, well, that day will be our anniversay!"

Damien felt his breathing grow shallow.

"We're missing one, but good ol' panic at the everywhere stepped away for a moment," Roman said. "He'll be back soon."

Please, no!

"It is a nice surpise to be able to talk to you tonight," Logan said. "We had not had an encounter with you in a while. We were starting to worry."

"Well, worry more than we already were," Roman muttered.

"Virgil!" Patton exclaimed as someone sat down next to Logan.

No!

"Our other soulmate is here!" Patton said as he pointed towards his eyes. Virgil smiled. And had Damien not been so distraught, he would have been flustered over how gorgeous that smile looked with that suit.

"Hey," he said. "Good to see you're still alive."

"Virgil! Of course they are!" Patton scowled.

Damien couldn't breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and God, he wished that would block his view. But it didn't. He could still see Virgil's smiling face.

He screamed into Jackson's pillow, hoping to block out their voices speaking to him while also trying not to concern the neighbors. He screamed and screamed but his screams soon broke down into sobs. He took gasping, painful breaths as the sobs racked his body. He barely noticed when his time with them was almost over. He barely comprehended their goodbyes before he was back in his room.

Damien shot up in bed, grabbing his hair as he cried out in pain.

He was suddenly hot. Much too hot. He untangled himself out of the blankets and ripped his clothes off, tripping over his pants' leg. Then he saw the purple writing on his body and he screamed in pure agony. In his hysteria he raced towards the shower, wanting, hoping, praying that he could get it off.

The burning water left his skin red, but he didn't care. He tried to scrub the writing away but it wouldn't. come. off. He started sobbing again, but eventually forced himself out as the burning water became unbearable.

All the energy escaped him and he collapsed to the bathroom floor, unable to do anything but sob.

He eventually calmed down some, sobs turning into silent tears. He started shaking from the cold air and tile floor against his wet body and he forced himself to sit up.

He had to leave the one good thing he had. He couldn't make Virgil deal with him any longer. He couldn't risk spending more time with him.

Virgil didn't deserve that.

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watchoutforthefanfics · 5 years ago

Text

Your Heart Thine Destined To Be // Part One

Ship: Eventual Logince, Moxiety, and Dukeceit.

Summary: (Arranged Marriage! AU) Okay, sure. Roman’s in the next place for the crown. Okay, SURE. Roman’s not ready for that, and his parents know this too. So, what’s their solution? Have him marry someone who is, because God knows they aren’t going to let Remus have the crown.

Originally was going to be a comic, but my art skills are wack right now. And I need thissss.

Tags: @enragedbees @dante1138 @arc-gx @logan-sanders-enthusiast @nic-is-here

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

//◇◇◇\

Okay, yes.

Roman was supposed to be at breakfast right now with his two brothers and his parents, at the long dining table. It was his schedule.

But he was out in the lush forest, climbing a tree instead. Which, he believed, is completely understandable, he should be able to miss breakfast to explore.

To be active? They were going to discourage him from being active? Doubtful.

The way the air bubbled onto his skin, the way that the sunrise lit up the sky, it was all so… perfect.

He wasn’t going to miss it for some… breakfast. He had breakfast everyday, this sunrise… it felt like one in a million.

“Roman!” a voice called to him, low from the bellows and he immediately froze –his father–, “What are you doing up there? It’s time for breakfast, you sho-”

“I know, Dad. It’s just-” Roman groaned, holding onto the trunk as his eyes flocked to the sky (which at this point was a beautiful mix of blue and pink), “-look at this sunrise!”

King Gerald, a burly man with a thick beard (more teddy bearish than you’d think), faltered; his voice pausing and his dark eyes running to the sky.

He watched his father light up, eyes twinkling, and lightly wondered to himself, where would he be if he wasn’t crowned King?

Is this what he always wanted?

“It is,” the King murmured, “-quite beautiful, son.”

Roman sighed, “But?”

King Gerald sighed, straightening his posture, “You– We have duties, Roman; you have to learn to stick to your schedule. How are you supposed to-”

Roman froze, he’s going to say it, he doesn’t think I can rule. His heart pounding, he watched him struggle for words, trying to voice his thoughts, but upon matching his eye, fell silent.

“Roman,” the King sighed with a tired smile, “-you will be an excellent King someday, and a King… has priorities. Of which I am the current King, so you’re coming to breakfast. For your dear old Dad’s sake?”

The prince took a longing glance at the horizon, knowing he didn’t want to stay here, but it was his only option, “Fine… but I want a blueberry muffin.”

His father laughed, his deep belly laugh, “Deal, knucklehead.”

^^^

The castle’s dining room was, as assumed, very shiny with soft carpets and polished wood on every surface. Roman almost liked it almost as much as the ballroom, but with just the bare eye, the two would never compare.

His eyes first rested on his mother, who was sitting with poise, with her light hair and tan skin made to perfection. Her eyes, however, held a glare at her son; purely because of the concern, he’d guess.

“Roman,” she spoke with the softest of tones, with an edge ready to bite just awaiting the sign to launch, “Why are you late for breakfast?”

Roman opened his mouth to explain, but his father spoke first, “No worries, darling. It’s all taken care of.”

With a grateful smile to his father, Roman found his eyes fall to his little brother: Patton. He wasn’t much younger, but he definitely looked it. With his chubby cheeks and doll like blue eyes, Roman found his curly hair was something he’d wanted all his life.

“Good morning, Patton!”

“Roman!” Patton smiled, jumping up and pulling him into a hug, as expected.

“Ooh,” Patton squeaked, “-I have something for you! Don’t let me forget.”

“Will do, Patt.”

And finally, his eyes rested on his twin. His forsaken, nothing-like-him-at-all twin, Remus. He wasn’t ugly per say, but he definitely wasn’t upholding the squeaky clean majesty title with his messy hair and makeup 24/7.

“Remus,” he grumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

Remus didn’t even look up from… whatever he was drawing on the napkin; Roman honestly didn’t want to know.

“Honey,” his father scoffed, straightening out his newspaper, “-look at this! They’re already asking about the new crowning! What is even-”

“Mi amor,” his mother, Madeline, soothed, “-we’ll talk about this later, yes?”

King Gerard, a large broad shouldered man mind you, pouted, “I’m not that old yet.”

“‘Course not, honey-” his mother hummed, “-the magazines are despicable, you know this.”

“So,” his father added, to move on the conversation, “-what’ve you boys been up to?”

Patton spoke first, careful and considerate, “I’ve made flower crowns for everyone! Our gardener helped me pick ones to match you guys! So… yeah.”

Their mother smiled, “That’s so sweet, I’m sure we’ll love it, kiddo.”

After running her fingers through his hair, she faltered, her glance a little dampened, “Remus? What have you done, honey?”

Remus looked up, his eyes wide, and subtle with the look of… appreciation, “Uh, I painted today. It was a roaring Cyclops, attacking a town, and he’s rippin-”

“Re, buddy-” their father coughed, “-how about we stop there? You can tell us later, when we’re not… eating.”

Remus nodded, his face falling just a smidge, “Yes, sir.”

Roman paused, messing with his food on his plate and quietly humming to a tune he’d had stuck in his head for days.

“Roman?” his mother’s sweet voice broke through, “What about you? How are your studies, training, or… Forgive me, what were you working on?”

“My romance novel?” Roman grinned, attention on his food quickly scrapped, “Oh, it’s swell, mother! My characters are coming together so fast, I swear they’ve got a mind of their own.”

“What about your fencing?” the King acquired, with a puzzled look on his worn face. He’d had about two meetings with a few other leaders that morning, or at least that’s what Roman remembered.

“Yes, uh-” Roman nodded, tapping his chin as if he hadn’t remembered every lesson he’d ever had, “- Ms. Maple is doing wonderfully. I feel such great improvement.”

Breakfast was short-lived after that, Patton kept popping in with puns, and his father was bringing up a few things the kingdom had going on in a few weeks.

“Roman, I’ll have you know-” his father chuckled, shaking his head, “-I’ve been contacted by… many suitors for your hand."

Roman rolled his eyes, "Dad, stop!”

His mother chuckled, “You’re a very handsome, young man, it only makes sense!”

Roman blushed up to his ears, “Thank you, Mama. That’s very kind of you, but I wish to be swept off my feet for reasons, other than personal gain.”

“Picky,” Remus muttered, as he drew into his napkin harshly.

Roman rolled his eyes, “Says you. Your standards are bare minimum!”

The King raised an eyebrow, a curious expression glazing his dark eyes, “Standards?”

Remus spoke, simply, “A hot guy.”

Roman began, taking a breath, “Taller than me, blue or green eyes, lovely, cute, shared the same interests… Hmm, he HAS to have the softest hair on this Earth. I don’t make the rules-”

“See,” Remus interrupted him, “-picky bitch.”

His mother gasped, but Roman would bet she wasn’t as surprised as you’d assume, “Remus Mich Elliott! You did not just speak like that at the table.”

“Yeah,” Roman hummed, muttering, “-plus, you’re the bitch, bitch.”

“Roman Chase Elliott! I can’t believe you two! No more talking at this table, until you can gather your manners, boys. Right, G?”

Roman’s eyes wafted over to his father’s, his face was flushed and he was hunched over, trying desperately to hold back laughter.

His mother sighed, “You boys are… Patton, are you done with your meal? If so, I say we take a trip to the gardens. Pull some new flowers for the vases I received yesterday?”

Patton smiled, “I’d love to, Mama.”

In a blink, the two were walking out of the dining room with interlocking arms.

It was quiet for a second, then a minute, and then his father finally spoke.

“Is she gone?”

“I-” Roman glanced towards the doorway they had exited through, “I think so, Pops.”

It was in that moment, his father slipped into a body-throwing laughing fit with a red flushed face, and soon Roman felt his own smile squirming up onto his lips.

In just a few seconds, the whole table was full of excess laughing, to a point that the staff had come to check in on them at least 10 times in the past 30 minutes.

“Alright,” the King raised from his seat, wiping his eyes, “-that’s enough playing around. You two, head off to your room.”

Roman paused, his face switching in the quickest of blinks, “But, I thought-”

“Ah, ah, ah-” their father shook his fingers, “-both of you know that Patton, nor your mother, like those words. You both knew better.”

“Father-” Remus groaned, in tune with a sigh of his own.

“Nope,” he shook his head, “-go to your room until lunch, and then apologize to your mother immediately after.”

The twins rolled their eyes, each muttering a disgruntled, “Yes, sir.”

Roman sighed, making his way up the stairs to a place without the sunshine in the morning. He could open up his window, he’d thought, but wouldn’t be the same view from that tree.

He was furious, the kind of furious you’d get when you couldn’t get ice cream as a kid, but he wouldn’t stomp or throw a tantrum. Not that he was past that.

It was just that his hair was styled to perfection, and he was not doing that disservice to the Earth to lose it.

So, he just made his way up there with every inch of pettiness he could put into his walk. Which, he’d learned to do quite well.

With a dash and a skip, Roman arrived at the dark oak door -edged with an art design he’d carved just a few years ago.

It was a shield, painted red and yellow, with a castle and the beautiful sun; he’d made it out of pure spite, just because Remus had said he couldn’t.

But, he’d actually loved the design. So, he began to incorporate it throughout his art -the knights he drew held it on their arm, flags on castles were woven with it in a shimmering fabric, outfits adorned the symbol, faces had it painted on their cheeks, and sometimes, he just drew the landscape on it with simple colors and dazzling visuals.

With blink to refocus, Roman pushed open his door, a feeling of urgency suddenly hitting him there as he stood. In a few quick steps, his eyes were blessed with the tower view of the sun beautifully raised in the sky.

He’d always loved the color blue. It had held so many different interpretations, so many different emotions.

Of course, red always had a place in his heart, but blue? It was calm and urgent, like ocean waves and yet also like, a thunderstorm. It could make him float off into a world of wonders, and quietly he would stay there, dreaming of a world where everything was relaxed… and he’d have no impending future.

That woke him up from the dream, the idea that he’d be destined to take care of the kingdom… His eyes shifted from the fluffy clouds above, to the beige-stoned buildings below.

It was beautiful, yes. Flowers sprouted in gardens, scattered throughout every lawn they could be. The roofs were varied, each dressed in a unique trim, that matched up with a unique family –unique people– in each home.

One day, he’d be responsible for them all, all the children giggling through the street, all the hard workers reaching to make ends meet, all the parents who’d had so much life to live, all the elders who chatted away with stories of the past, all the people who deserved… so much better than him.

#ts logince #royalty au #sanders sides fan fiction #watchoutwriting #ts roman #ts patton #ts remus #yourheartthinedestinedtobe

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brideofedoras · 5 years ago

Text

The Loft: Redemption

Disclaimer: the usual... I only own my OC. Photo found on google.

Word count: 2300+

Warnings: Allusion to past abuse and being triggered

Link to Chapter 2 (with Ch. 1 link)

Monday morning rolled around faster than Sam would've liked. She felt her stomach churn at the prospect of not having Linda there to talk to.

She headed to the office early with a quick stop at the bakery along the way. Armed with fresh donut holes (plain glazed, cookie dough stuffed, cinammon sugar sprinkled, and maple glazed) and a toasted white hot chocolate, she halted in her tracks when she reached the door to the office suite.

"What the... When the hell did he have this done?"

Her grey eyes began to burn as she studied the frosted glass of the door.

VMS Architecture, LLC. Vincent M. Stevens, NCARB Samantha Monroe, Administrative Assistant

She stared at her name, beautifully scripted in gold lettering on the glass.

Linda hadn't even had that honor.

Her hand trembled as she unlocked the door and stepped into the office. My office.

As she flipped on the light and started toward her desk she paused again, startled to find her name beautifully engraved onto a walnut name plate settled on the corner of the desk, next to a matching business card holder complete with a stack of cards with her name, extension and email.

A ceramic flower pot sat next to the computer monitor at the opposite corner of the desk with an artfully planted variety of small cactus plants. She let out a watery laugh at the wording on the pot: Free Hugs. She knew the cacti were from Linda, an inside joke between the two of them based on something Linda had told her earlier in the week. Vincent will come off as prickly for a while, but he will eventually warm up to you, Dear. Give him time, give him space, occasionally make sure he eats and drinks if he has a very busy day. One day he will surprise you.

A gift bag and a card were placed on the center of the desk. Sam shook her head as she set her cup and the donut holes down, busying herself with putting her purse away and hanging her jacket on the coat rack next to the door.

She had just finished starting the coffee and setting the box of breakfast goodies on the refreshment table when she heard the door open. She turned around and offered a warm smile when Vincent shut the door behind him. "Good morning, Mr. Stevens," she greeted him. "Thank you for..." she gestured to the desk set.

"Don't mention it," he frowned at the desk. "Ready to start your first official week?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "The coffee should be ready in five minutes, and I picked up an assortment of donut holes," she made her way to the window and the cords for the wooden blinds. "I wasn't sure what you would like so I picked four different kinds."

"I know Linda told you I have a sweet tooth," his tone was wry as he made his way to his office. "I'm sure whatever you got is fine."

Sam made her way back to the desk. As she waited for the computer to start she picked up the card propped up against the small gift.

Sam-- Our Vincent struck gold when he hired you to take over the office. You will do just fine as his new assistant. Don't let his prickly demeanor get to you, it's become his default setting ever since that happened. And don't forget, you can decorate your office however it suits you, you can bring stuff in to keep in the bathroom, you can listen to your music, and you can dress however you feel most comfortable as long as you still look professional. And if Vincent ever treats you wrong, don't be afraid to call me. I might be moving out of state, but I can always make a trip back to knock some sense into that thick skull of his. You can also call me anytime you want, keep me up-to-date on the gossip. I'll miss everyone there, and even though I'd only known you a short time, I've come to view you as another daughter. You take good care of our Vincent, spoil him with breakfast sweets and good coffee. Make sure he eats, make sure he goes home to get some rest when the project consumes him (and it will, I've come in many a morning to find him sound asleep at the drawing board or on that damn couch. He's a real bastard when he doesn't get enough rest, but don't let that scare you off). Keep in touch.-- Love, Linda. P.S.- Don't forget, I left you a set of "How To Care For Your Architect" instructions tucked away in the second drawer to your left. It includes a list of everything I know he likes, hotels and airlines he prefers, restaurants he uses for business dinners. His favorite color is steel grey, he's a sucker for Hershey Hugs, and if he misplaces his pen, you'll find it on your desk.

Sam dashed away the tear that had slipped down her cheek as she set the card aside. She had grown to love Linda as a second mom and already missed her. She smiled as she reached for the gift bag and nearly cried when she pulled out a black resin cat paper weight.

She set it next to the phone on the left side of the desk before turning to the computer to log in.

Sam settled into a routine. Up at five, out the door by six-thirty, stop by the bakery for breakfast and for that yummy hot chocolate, arrive at the office by seven-thirty, have coffee ready by seven-forty-five, lunch anywhere between eleven and one-thirty (depending on Vincent's schedule), out the door whenever Vincent finished up for the day, home within half an hour, in her pajamas and eating a quick supper, in bed by ten-thirty. Wash, rinse, repeat. By her third day Vincent tried telling her she could leave at four-thirty if she wished, there was no need to stay passed office hours. She declined. "I was hired as your administrative assistant, Mr. Stevens. I leave when you leave."

She found an old-fashioned candy bowl at a flea market one weekend and brought it in to place on her desk with Hershey Hugs. She had also found a few other things she wanted to bring in, but hesitated on personalizing the office. She worried Vincent would not appreciate finding a framed blueprint of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701 or a replica of the Death Star plans data chip.

She feared they would clash with that hideous knock-off Jackson Pollock painting that hung on the wall behind her desk, above the shelves. She hated that painting. Why it hung in an architect's office she had no idea. It was the only thing out of place in the office suite. Vincent's office proudly displayed his degrees, certificates and licenses, a few framed blueprints and a framed crudely-drawn blueprint of the Castle Grayskull. "I grew up on Masters of the Universe, had all the action figures and the castle. I was home sick for a week with chicken pox, miserable as hell, bored out of my mind and missing my friends. Dad came home early from work one afternoon with a bag full of crayons, coloring books and a sketchpad, gave Mom some cash and told her to go shopping, go eat, get out of the house and enjoy herself for a while. I sat down on the floor after Dad cleared off the coffee table and we colored for a while. Then I started drawing. I'd always been fascinated by the design of Castle Grayskull and wanted to build one of my own. I was seven years old when I drew that. That's when I knew I wanted to design and build things."

She had been shocked that he had so willingly shared that childhood memory with her. And his smile. She'd seen ghosts of smiles before, but a full-blown smile displaying dimples had left her weak in the knees. He looked ten years younger with that smile, and she couldn't help but smile back.

But ever since that rare moment of camaraderie he'd thrown up a wall once again, bringing their working relationship back to strictly professional, and borderline cold. She knew he could be an easy-going man to work for, she'd witnessed the banter between him and Linda multiple times during her trial week. She just wished he wasn't so cold toward her.

Vincent had a meeting across town and would likely be gone all afternoon. As he set his briefcase and suit jacket on one of her guest chairs and tossed his steel grey tie around his neck, he leveled his patented stern look on her. The Look (TM) was supposed to be intimidating, and it used to scare the hell out of her the first few times she'd seen it (usually directed at someone else, but she'd been caught in the crosshairs a couple of times). Unfortunately she (for some weird reason she couldn't explain) had begun to find that frowny glare to be sexy as hell. "Ms. Monroe, if I'm not back by four-thirty, lock up shop for the day and go home," he turned toward the bathroom. "You don't need to be pulling ten hour days because of me."

She smiled despite the blush staining her cheeks from The Look (TM). "As I've said before, Mr. Stevens, I'm your administrative assistant, and it is my job to be here for you should you need me."

"I don't recall contracting you to work ten hours a day, Monroe," he turned away from the mirror as he finished his impeccable Windsor knot.

"Technically I'm only working nine," she pointed out as she leaned back in her chair.

"You eat at your desk half the time, Monroe," he walked out of the bathroom. "I've seen you working through lunch."

"Only when I have a deadline to meet for your meetings," she shrugged. "I need to finish putting together the portfolios for Thursday's meeting."

"Today's Tuesday, you have all day tomorrow."

"I'll be setting up the conference room and inventorying supplies so I know what you need."

He snorted. "Remind me again why I hired such a stubborn assistant?" He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it.

She scooped a small handful of Hugs from the candy bowl and held them out when Vincent approached her desk. "At first I thought you were very impressed with my resume, then I suspected for my looks... but now I honestly believe Linda probably threatened you into hiring me."

"Your resume certainly clinched it, Monroe. And Linda did hound me." His face darkened a little as he carefully took the offered chocolate from her hand. "You're going to spoil my lunch, Monroe."

"No, I'm not," she denied, watching him slip the Hugs into the pocket of his jacket. "I know you would have snuck a handful on your way out, to go along with the handful that's likely already stashed in your briefcase."

His head snapped up.

"I had to refill the bowl, Mr. Stevens," she leaned back in her chair. "I'll definitely need to work longer hours to afford the chocolates and the breakfast sweets."

"Use the company card, I'll figure it into the expenses," he narrowed his eyes at her. "Refreshments for clientele."

She nodded. She didn't mind buying the chocolate or the morning sweets, but she knew better than to argue with him on it. Arguing had always gotten her into serious trouble when she was a teenager. Do not go there, Sam.

"All right, I will," she agreed softly.

"If you still have receipts, bring 'em in, I'll make sure to cut you a check to reimburse you."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Stevens," she shook her head.

He shot her a glare. "Yes, it is. I can't keep allowing you to pay out of pocket for pastries and candy that my clients and associates are eating."

I can't keep allowing you... Sam stiffened at his words. She quickly tore her eyes from his. "I... I didn't think it was that big of a deal, I'm... I will find those receipts and bring them in," she flinched when Vincent moved toward the door.

That flinch was not lost on the architect. He turned to look at her. "Monroe, are you all right?"

Sam drew in a breath before nodding. "I'm fine," she kept her eyes glued to the cat paper weight in front of her.

"Monroe, look at me."

The sudden and uncharacteristic softness in her boss' tone drew her eyes to him. The look on his face told her he didn't believe her. He took a step toward her and it was all she could do to not flinch away.

His frown morphed into one of worry. "Monroe, don't worry about it," he took a step back. "I just don't want you spending your money on things benefiting the company's clientele and associates." He turned toward the door. "Why don't you take your lunch, lock up the office and get some fresh air somewhere. You don't have to stay in here when I'm out, let the calls go to voicemail. They can wait."

She nodded. "Okay."

"I mean it, Monroe. Leave the office for an hour."

With that, he was gone.

Sam's eyes slid shut and she drew in a slow, shaky breath. She exhaled heavily, shaking off the fear that had gripped her for a moment. He won't hurt me. He's not a predator. He's not Terrance.

But those words echoed in her head, words her stepfather had used quite often when she had disobeyed him. Words he had whispered so smoothly, so silkily, as he forced her to her knees or forced her over his desk.

"Don't go there, Sam," she ground out. "He won't hurt you anymore."

She shifted in her seat, angling her chair to face her computer more comfortably, saving the proposal she was drafting for Vincent before closing out open programs and putting the device to sleep. She reached for her phone and dialed her cousin's desk extension. "Hey, I'm getting ready to head to lunch, wanna join me?"

#the loft #vincent stevens #karl urban #redemption #slow burn #romance

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forkanna · 5 years ago

Link

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

CHAPTER TWELVE

~ x JUDGMENT x ~

"I thought you were leading up to something more."

Makoto smirked across the table as she sat back in her chair. "Why, whatever do you mean, Onee-sama?"

Clearly irritated by the formal tone her sister had taken, Sae crossed her legs in the opposite direction to abate the sudden discomfort. "You and Kawakami were kissing on your bed. That painted a very specific picture of the events that would unfold."

"So now you're mad that I didn't meet your expectations? That she didn't push me down and force me into anything? That's nice, Sis."

"Not 'mad'. But that was my hypothesis, and it's… I'll have to adjust my thinking." Then she smirked a little and sat back, unconsciously mirroring her little sister's movements. "I am curious about something else, though."

"Really? Is it the leftover duck? I was a little surprised you didn't ask about that."

"No, no. And I was just thankful that it was delicious." She noticed Makoto's eyebrows shot up at the unexpected praise, but pressed onward. "Why does her teasing about feet get to you so much?"

At that, her little sister looked like her little sister for the first time since she had walked in the door, deflating and scowling toward the corner. "Come on, do we have to talk about that? I swear, I just really liked giving her a massage; she enjoyed it so much! It has nothing to do with me being 'into' feet!"

"Sure it doesn't," she snorted. "Mostly, I'm surprised to be learning all these things about you. It's fascinating."

"Don't be fascinated by things that aren't real," she sighed.

"Maybe not. I suppose you should finish telling me what is real." But while she said as much, she turned the chair to the side and propped her heels up on the table, crossing her legs at the ankle.

And Makoto glanced. She didn't stare at her high heels openly, but her eyes definitely flicked in their direction. Police instinct told Sae that was a red flag that the girl might have a budding fetish, but that didn't necessarily mean she was lying to her; sometimes people weren't ready to admit things to themselves, which meant they were literally incapable of admitting them to someone else.

Or perhaps it was purely due to the teasing - both from her and from Kawakami. Sometimes, that could almost create a fixation against the target's wishes. Or it could have simply been an innocent glance due to the movement and nothing more.

"Y-yeah," she stuttered before clearing her throat. Another red flag. "What's real. I'm not sure you're ready for that, but I'll keep going."

~ x The Priestess x ~

We finished dinner without anything else happening to interrupt. And the conversation went back to school, and eventually to Ren. I found out that he had known for weeks, and she found out that I already had spoken to him about it a little. Plus, she reassured me very firmly that there was nothing romantic going on between them… despite the many, many visits to his little loft.

Then she helped me with the dishes. I tried to tell her to relax, but she said she couldn't since she was supposed to be my maid - despite the clothing change. It was oddly heartwarming, doing something so mundane and domestic next to her.

"So I guess there's no point trying to change your mind," she sighed as we set the last few in the drying rack.

"Maybe. I still don't really understand all this, but every time I ask myself if I like you… I have to say 'yes'. Even if it's inconvenient."

Sadayo laughed quietly as she picked up the towel to dry off her hands. "That's one word for it. Kind of 'inconvenient' for you to date your teacher."

"Yeah. But how can I let that stop me? Look at you… I mean, you're already so pretty in class, but now? In this dress? It's like you're a pop idol."

Finally, my little comments were starting to flatter her instead of making her distressed. Smiling and biting her lip, she took a few steps away. "What, this old thing?" Then she did a little spin for me, and covered her face when I hooped and hollered. "Stop!"

"Hey, you twirled! If you didn't want me to like it, why did you do that?"

"I don't know!" When she lowered her hands, she was still smiling. "By the way… I don't exactly know how to say it, but you look nice, too. I'm just not used to thinking of girls like that but I should have said it earlier."

"Oh, I don't care about that," I lied. I mean, I did care, but I also didn't… so it was half-lying. I guess.

"But it's important. You're a really beautiful young lady, and I don't want my, uh, straightness to keep you from knowing that."

"Like I'm that much gayer than you! Considering I have never looked at any other women!"

Pacing closer again, she took up my hands and squeezed them gently. "How can I be your first? That seems… I don't know. Unrealistic somehow."

"Well, you kind of tried to touch me somewhere nobody had before," I whispered, and she flinched. "Hey - it's alright. I should have been more clear that I didn't want you to; you just thought I was nervous, like a lot of your other clients probably are."

"They are," she admitted with a hesitant nod. "You sure seemed to enjoy taking my tights off, so I thought I might get to… 'upsell' you into a handjob. Isn't that terrible?"

"Not for most of them. I'm sure a lot of them are happy you're showing interest - and underneath my fear that you would find out my identity, maybe I was, too." In a whisper, I added, "I certainly enjoyed the feeling."

Flushing a little darker shade of red, she whispered back, "And I hated it. But only because it felt like… you know when you're walking up the subway steps, paying too much attention to your phone, and you think there's one more step but then there isn't?"

"Ohhhh. Yeah, I know that feeling - it was like that?"

"Definitely. I, um…" Letting out a deep breath, Sadayo announced, "I've never touched another snatch. What a weird thing I have to say out loud!"

That got me smiling and stepping a little closer. "Me, neither. So at least we both have a first that we can still enjoy together."

"That's true." And her eyes danced with something like hope.

"Anyway, what I meant was that you touching me, letting me take your tights off… flirting at me, giggling, all that stuff. At first it didn't do anything, but after a while, I could feel it…" I paused, gathering my thoughts. My teacher waited. "It drew something to the surface that was already hiding beneath it. I always thought you were beautiful, it was just… I had no reason to think it was anything besides… not quite 'hero worship', that's not it. But similar."

"Am I your senpaaaaaiiiiii?" she called out in a very Becky sing-song. When I rolled my eyes, she laughed and pulled me into a light, gentle hug. "Mmm… oh, Makoto, I'm sorry. This whole thing is my fault; I should have tried to find another part-time job. An educator shouldn't spend her off-hours going down on random guys in a French maid outfit."

"No, she shouldn't," I breathed against her skin, breathing in the light, clean scent. She clearly only used the perfume on her shoes and undergarments; it was so severely muted that I was mostly only enjoying pure Sadayo without obfuscation. "But that's not your fault, and you aren't doing anything wrong. It just… turned out this way because I'm so nosy. It's my fault you ended up servicing me, not yours; I made the call."

"Alright, alright. Maybe we should just quit blaming each other. I just can't believe I didn't see through your disguise!"

Grinning, I began to sway slightly to the piano music that was still playing, even an hour later. "Well, we worked pretty hard on it. My friend and I."

"Your… friend?"

"Yeah. She knew about this, but she didn't know which teacher I meant - and I told her I wouldn't tell."

The taller woman pulled back to blink down at me. "You told a friend? That's… why?"

"Because I'm so confused. Still am a little, but I just needed to talk through some things to figure out what to do."

"Well…" Sighing, she nodded before resting her head atop mine - and it felt so good. Why? I loved it and couldn't even quite put my finger on the reason. "I guess that's not really a big deal. You didn't even tell her who I was. Did you blame Ms. Chouno?"

"She did guess Chouno," I giggled, and she laughed as well. "And you, and Ms. Usami. I just didn't confirm anything at all and she told me she didn't care that I wouldn't tell her. Respected my choice."

"That's a good friend."

"But I trust her. And I did eventually have to tell her everything, because... I needed her help guessing your dress size. I'm sorry, but I promise she won't tell anyone."

"Oh, it's fine. Everybody else and their cousin is finding out, so why should I be mad at you for trusting your friend?" We were both quiet for a minute. Then she began, "This friend…"

"Hmm? You want to know who it is?"

"I do, but it's alright if you don't want to tell me. Cuts both ways, right? That wasn't what I was going to ask." After a brief hesitation, Sadayo went on, "Have you ever… with her?"

"Have I ever what? I'm not s- oh! Oh, no, no way!"

"Sorry, sorry." And she definitely sounded apologetic. More than that, she sounded mortified that she asked at all. "Just curious because, well, this whole thing is new to both of us. I thought maybe you and her…"

Leaning up to gently kiss her cheek, I whispered, "Told you that you're my first. Anything."

"God…" This close, I could actually hear her swallowing, and somehow that was the most exciting thing I had ever heard. "You're driving me crazy…"

"Good. And don't worry, my friend is not going to steal me away from you. I promise. We aren't like that."

After a weak whimper, she finally replied, "Maybe she should… I don't know. Why would you want some oba-san when you can have a girl your own age? Is she not prettier than me or something?"

That made me laugh out loud. "No way! You have no idea, she's practically perfect!" But when she drew back to raise an eyebrow at me, I realized my mistake. My stomach seemed to shoot straight down into the floor. "W-wait, that's not- I didn't mean it how it-"

"No, no, it's totally fine. I know I'm over the hill and shouldn't expect to be able to compete with girls in your class."

"I meant that the reason I like you and not her doesn't have anything to do with her being ugly or whatever! Not that you aren't beautiful, because you are! You're the most… come on, don't be mean to me, I'm new at this!"

Laughing at my expense, she reached up to cup my burning cheek tenderly. "That's kind of the whole problem, isn't it?" The mirth left her expression until she just looked like the exhausted teacher I had come to know over the years. "You have no idea what we're about to go through."

Her telling me that did make me take an extra second to contemplate my response. I already knew what I wanted to say, but I tried to take her feelings into account first. Then I shrugged and kissed her on the chin.

"You're right. I don't know. But I trust you to help me figure it out. I trust you completely."

"That's so dangerous," she warned me as we swayed in the space between the dining room and living room. "You already know my life is a mess, and you think I'm going to do any better of a job with yours? What if I screw this up, and I hurt you somehow? What if I ruin everything?"

One of my shoulders rose and fell as I laid my head on hers again. Letting her lead. "We'll fix it. Or we will figure out that we can't, and deal with that when the time comes."

"Wise little girl. Young woman," she corrected with a quiet laugh. I felt her hand slide down to push into the small of my back, and tried not to think about how badly my legs wanted to turn to jelly. "Too sweet and trusting for your own good. But I promise I'll try my best to take care of you. Really, even if I fail, it won't be because I didn't try."

"Yeah," I said as we slow danced. "And this feeling… I would chase it across the stars."

For a few more seconds, I thought Sadayo would not answer at all. Then she breathed, "So would I." Her fragile, frightened voice just barely loud enough for me to hear it.

"Are you really going to be okay? I keep trying to let you go, and you keep trying to let me go… but we're still here. I could kick you out if it will be easier."

"I… no. I think it's too late for that tonight. Maybe we'll both wake up tomorrow and come to our senses, realise we made a huge mistake. But tonight… oh… Makoto, I really don't think I should be saying these things to my own student. But do you wanna hear them, anyway?"

"Sure. No… let me rephrase. I need to hear them, but will also understand if you can't."

Drawing back to look me dead in the eyes, she swallowed hard - and I saw for the first time that she was crying. But she had kept it out of her voice completely. Maybe that's what being an adult was all about: learning how to cry without crying. Her hands moved up to rest on either side of my neck, holding me steady.

"I think you're strong. And beautiful, and… noble. Nosy." At the last one, I laughed shyly, and she smiled a little wider. "But now I know it's because you just… really need to do the right thing. That's very rare to find. And you're also sweet, and steadfast and a million other things. But more than all that? You make me scared because never in my life have I felt more like losing someone would hurt than I do when I look at you."

The raw emotion in that statement bowled me over, and I had already been floating on a cloud at the rest. Now I felt like I might ascend to a higher plane of existence. "Lose me…?"

"Yeah." As my hands moved up to wipe away her tears, she half-flinched away from them but forced herself to stay put. "I just found you in my life - losing you now… isn't that even worse? When we barely got to…"

"I understand," I breathed as I leaned closer. "It's why I keep coming back for more. Just need you, and I'm scared if I don't take what I can get now, that I'll miss my chance. That's a terrible outcome."

Her head shook from side to side as her lips ghosted over mine. "Terrible… but I still don't understand this." We kissed again, still hesitant but less so. "Don't understand… why me…?"

"Because I'm not an idiot," I whispered back, pursing my lips on her bottom one and tugging gently. That shiver along her spine was real and visible.

"Maybe we both are."

"Maybe… I just can't seem to care."

The next kiss lasted a lot longer, and took us to the wall, then over to the counter. Sadayo's lips were so sweet and inviting, her body warm and soft, that I couldn't imagine ever getting enough - and if her reaction was any indication, mine must not have been so bad, either. We seemed to unconsciously take turns pursuing and being pursued. Oddly enough, even though I hummed a lot and felt my entire body tingling in anticipation, she was the one who more often squeaked in surprise, who took breaks to gasp and mention again how crazy this all was. Wasn't I supposed to be the virgin?

Finally, I had her pinned to the couch as we devoured each other's mouths. We had both felt flashes of tongue but never dared explore that deeper. One particularly loud moan broke us apart to catch our breaths, eyes locked in a blistering gaze of warring intentions.

"This… I really-"

"Holy shit," she finished for both of us, and I laughed a little. "That was incredible! Where have you been all my life?! Wait… wait, don't answer that."

Smirking, I shifted my hips atop hers from side to side. "Why? Don't like to think about where I was when you were my age?"

"Makoto, do you actually want me to keep going or to die of embarrassment?" Still, she bit her lip to weather the heat as I ground against her - a totally subconscious act. "Stop, I don't think I'm… ready for all… that…"

"Neither am I. Honestly, I only know how this is supposed to work from what I've read."

"You read about this?!" she gasped out. "Lesbian sex?"

"No! What?! I mean, mostly in class for sex ed. But then… after all this with you, I started to wonder… how… to do it? And I still can't quite picture it in my head."

My teacher's expression grew even more bashful as she looked away. "You were that serious about me? Before tonight, I mean. That is… I don't really get it, but I can't deny it feels wonderful. Being yours like this."

"You're mine for as long as you want to be," I purred. But it didn't take her long after that to push me back slightly. "What?"

"Listen. I, um… I need a little more time to think about this. Before we go any further, I mean." The shame was etched into every inch of her face, so I had no trouble believing her.

"Okay." My hips came to a stop despite how much I wanted to continue. "Seriously, don't be afraid to tell me to slow down at any time. I know it seems like I'm… only interested in pushing this as far as I can, but I swear that's not what's happening. I'm just really awkward."

Sadayo thought about that for a moment before she snorted. "Yeah right. You're working me so easy! But… I know, it's all new for you. Awkwardness plus inexperience equals… well, a lot of what's happened tonight." With a helpless laugh, she added, "This is insane, I can't believe it feels so natural with a woman! I thought it would disgust me!"

"Me, too! But… at least you've been on actual dates with men before. Maybe that makes it worse for you?"

"Oh, definitely. I keep finding unexpected things and not finding things I expect!" One of her fingers poked the side of my breast and I shivered. "Like these."

"Well, they do tend to be found there on women," I laughed softly, earning a much more full belly-laugh from my teacher.

"And you're so soft and delicate, gentle… which is part of what's throwing me. I'm used to exclusively dating men taller than me who can truly make me feel like a lady. I was kind of shallow about it, if I'm being really honest with you. But a year or so of working this job for Victoria has kind of broken me of that shallowness. Maybe…"

When she had been thoughtfully silent for a few seconds, I kissed her cheek and prompted, "Maybe?"

"Maybe that's part of why I'm not running screaming from this right now. Being required to flirt with and jerk off a bunch of gross guys reset my expectations. A cute girl like you is… a relief? Definitely a step up from any of them, even if I never thought about it before."

"And even if I'm a little younger than would be ideal," I admitted. She did nod her agreement, but also looked apologetic about it. "I get it. And I know there's really nothing I can do about it, but I would if I could."

"Whoa, whoa, wait." She rested a hand on my shoulder. "You don't think I blame you for being in school, do you? I would never-"

"No, no," I assured her quickly.

"Good," she sighed in relief. "This is nobody's 'fault', it's just a really cruel twist of fate. You're an amazing young woman, Makoto, and I wouldn't change a thing."

I must have been smiling even wider than I thought, because Sadayo kissed both of my cheeks tenderly. "Th-thank you."

"What? It's just the truth." Then she rolled her eyes and said, "Besides, if I could magically change one of us, why make you older when I could make me younger? Talk about a waste of a wish; I'd rather add ten years to my life then subtract from yours."

"Nine years," I corrected gently, petting up and down her side. But it made her laugh. "What? Isn't that less bad than ten?"

"Yeah, but I really doubt it's going to make much of a difference to our families." Then her eyes went wide. "Oh God… my parents."

Wincing, I pictured the middle-aged couple that had been yelling at Miss Kawakami in the hospital. I knew they definitely were not her parents, but my brain filled in the mental image with them anyway. "Are they going to think less of you?"

"Definitely. They are good parents, don't get me wrong, but they're pretty traditional. Take your pick! Will they be more mad that I'm gay or that I'm dating a teenager? Honestly, I'm not sure."

"Bisexual," I corrected again. Though I did start to worry that correcting her so much would be annoying. "You still find men attractive, right?"

"They won't care about that. Especially because they think girls liking other girls is 'just a phase' anyway." Her hand caressed over my hair, and I leaned into the touch. "I have to go soon."

My heart squeezed in my chest. "Oh. Yeah, I guess our time's almost up. I should grab your money."

"Thanks. It's… I can use it, sure, but really it's the best protection I have against catching hell for sneaking around with you. If it's part of my job, who can really blame me?"

"Exactly. And it's not forever."

As I extricated myself from her tempting body, she looked vaguely sad. "No… not forever. You're right. Just feels like it."

~ o ~

Within about five minutes, she was back in her maid outfit and I had her ¥10000 stuffed into her pocket. We lingered by the door. Neither of us seemed to know what to say, but kept trying to communicate something with our eyes to the other person. I know what I was trying to communicate was that I hated to see her go, that all I wanted was for her to stay so we could explore the strange new feelings together. I can only guess what she was trying to tell me.

"Thanks for a wonderful evening," she told me with a smile and a bow. "You really pulled out all the stops. Kind of blew me away."

I bowed back. "My pleasure. I'll… have to save up a little before I can request you again. Sorry."

"Oh… I'm sorry, we can find some time when I'm not working. I don't want to bleed you dry! Maybe…ugh, it'll be riskier but you could come to my place. I live alone."

"Riskier?"

"They'll see you going in and out of my apartment. God… okay, what flimsy excuse will we use? I'm tutoring you? I mean, you're probably the smartest girl in school. But… maybe with me being a female teacher, it could work…"

Eyes dancing with with ill-suppressed glee, I leaned up to deliver another heated kiss to the woman I was suddenly dating. Or something like dating. Then I pulled back, biting my lip as I watched her sway and waiver.

"We'll just have to be very careful. Like a game."

"What a dangerous game. Didn't think a little kid like you could be such a gambler." But at least she was smiling as she bowed low at the waist. "Thank you for your support, Master! Becky really enjoys getting dirty for you!"

I don't exactly know where the flirty line came from. But before I could stop myself, I was muttering, "Seems like you do." It was the reason a deeply blushing Sadayo scrambled for the doorknob and out of my apartment as fast as she possibly could.

To Be Continued…

#Queen Of Temperance #forkanna writes #persona 5 fanfiction #p5 fanfic #makoto x kawakami #jess the writer

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thegempage · 6 years ago

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kind-of spoiler warning for The Other Monster Hunters; this is part of janice’s backstory, but i’m unsure if it’ll appear in the fic in this form or not?

whatever this counts as, have some janice backstory and grimm stuff!!

edit: a brief warning, as of finishing this it’s about 1:46 am, so it might be. kinda stumbly

Dr. Church kept her office so cold.

Janice pulled the cardigan tighter over her shoulders and took a deep breath. It wasn’t that cold, she tried to convince herself. She was just sitting on a hospital bed, and those were always cold. No, no, she derailed that, thinking about cold hospital beds would make her sick. She was just nervous. Even though Dr. Church wasn’t going to hurt her.

Well, technically, in a sense, she was, but the end result would be okay. Janice would be better. Everything would be better.

Janice took another breath. The door opened, and Dr. Church stepped in.

As ever, she reminded Janice of her grandmother, all kind smiles and knowledgeable eyes and the presence that made her seem much younger than she was (they’d known each other, for a spell in high school, maybe they’d rubbed off on each other). She chuckled when she saw how tightly Janice had wrapped herself and pressed a few buttons on the wall panel. “It’ll get warmer in here in a bit,” Dr. Church assured her with a pat on the shoulder. “But for now, let’s talk about why you’re here.”

She sat down across from Janice on the rolling stool by the computer and started typing away, putting in password after password, trailing through Grimm’s archives to get to Janice’s file. Janice didn’t answer her request.

“You want to go through with the Stage One augmentation,” Dr. Church filled in for her. “Your reason’s not on file yet, dear. Any particular desires you had in mind?”

Janice chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I want to be helpful,” she admitted. “I know we’re supposed to have a diplomat and three hunters, but... I hate waiting for them to come back.”

Dr. Church nodded, smiling. “Interesting,” she hummed. “And you’re aware of the risks, of course.”

“Same as any surgery?”

“Not quite.” Dr. Church stood. “What we’re going to do, Ms. Darcy, is fundamentally change what your brain can do. But you know what we can’t change?”

It felt like a trick question. Janice didn’t answer.

“We can’t change what your brain can handle.” Dr. Church was closer, now, and put her hands on Janice’s temples. “You will have the power of a monster, Ms. Darcy, but a monster you are not.”

Janice couldn’t help but wrinkle her eyebrows and drew her shoulders closer. “What?”

“Monsters are much more capable creatures than we are, I’m sure you know that,” Dr. Church explained. “That’s why Reaper teams are made of four people, no? That capability extends to how they think, how they work. Their senses are much stronger than ours, but to them, it’s as easy as breathing.”

Dr. Church picked a few papers from her desk, flipping through them. “What we can do, Janice Darcy, is extend your senses beyond what humans should be capable of, and give you control over them previously thought unknowable. But you are human, Ms. Darcy. Do you know what that could do to you?”

Janice shook her head.

The papers Dr. Church showed her answered the question. Whoever the first subject had been, they were unrecognizable, almost as a human. Their face and upper body had been taken over by eyes, countless eyes, all crying a rainbow of tears. No nose, no mouth, and a small note reading “Suffocation” next to “cause of death.”

“The most dramatic case,” Dr. Church commented. “The only instance of physical mutation so far.”

The next few pages were, as Dr. Church suggested, less dramatic looking, but no less terrifying. One subject was photographed lying curled up on the floor, hands pressed over their eyes; the notes painted the rest of the picture: “collapsed, unresponsive, and stopped breathing.” The next was still alive, according to the notes, but there had been an error, a misfired failsafe, and they no longer had control over the fluctuations of their senses. The next had become reckless, too reckless, and thrown themselves into a battle they did not make it out of in one piece. Another had gone deaf in an explosion no one else could hear. On, on, a collection of all the ways this could go wrong.

“We’ve learned, of course,” Dr Church assured her, taking the papers away. “We have more fail-safes in place to prevent the worst of it.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s perfect,” Janice said, mostly out of habit.

“I see you’ve learned!” Dr. Church joked. “Yes, it doesn’t mean its perfect. So, before we even conduct the pre-op check-up, I need you to promise me a few things.”

Scary words. Janice nodded anyway.

“There’s a low possibility that you’ll be able to extend parts of your abilities to other people for short times -- we’ve seen it before -- but I deeply suggest you don’t. It’s too risky, and a strain on both your mind and theirs. If you can go the rest of your life” (What, five years? Janice thought with a suppressed chuckle) “without trying it, you’ll be better off.”

Janice’s fingers were starting to hurt from holding the cardigan; the room was warming up, but she didn’t want to let go. She nodded to tell Dr. Church she was listening.

Dr. Church’s voice grew a bit softer as she moved on. “You’ll need to be careful about eating. I know you, Janice, and I know what you’ve been through, but this sort of augmentation means you’ll need to be eating more and more consistently than your current diet. If you don’t get enough calories, you’ll find yourself much worse off than any hunger pains you get now.

“And sleep. You’ll be able to get away with a consistent sleep schedule for now, but stretching yourself too thin could result in ‘overexertion naps,’ which we’ve seen can last for ten to twelve hours or more.”

“....Really?” Janice said, relaxing her arms. That part didn’t sound... too bad.

“Of course. Your brain will need to rest if you stretch it too far. And, of course, you could go too far... but we’ve found a fail-safe for that.”

Janice shifted on her seat, moving backward. “What’s ‘too far?’“ she asked.

“Well, you'll know when you wake up on the ground after passing out, won’t you?” Dr. Church smiled like it was a joke. Janice didn’t find it very funny.

“Bottom line, of course: you’ll need to take care of yourself. No more slacking off and getting away with the bare minimum.” Dr. Church turned away, looked at a separate stack. “Take some tips from your teammates.”

“Evan and Victoria?”

“Yes! They’re in excellent health, all things considered.”

I think I already used up my miracle of science years ago, Janice thought. But she still nodded.

“And finally -- we’ll talk more on the day of the surgery, of course, but before you leave here today and make that final choice -- Janice Darcy, I need you to promise that you’ll trust us.”

Janice swallowed. “I do, Dr. Church,” she answered, almost on reflex.

“Do you?” Dr. Church asked. “Think about that one. I want to walk into that operating room and know you trust me, alright?”

“I will.” Janice could almost make herself believe it without any trouble.

“Then you’re free to go back to your duties, for now, Ms. Darcy,” Dr. Church said, sitting down and typing furiously. “We’ll see you in a few days for the pre-op check up and talk more then.”

Janice hopped down from the table and pretended her legs weren’t shaking. “I’ll see you then, Dr. Church.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Darcy.”

#little rock.txt #the other monster hunters #janice #grimm

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guidingthulite · 6 years ago

Photo

I decided to draw myself again for unknown reason, then I got nostalgic and I was like ‘Hm.’ and now I’m going to put under a read more all the instances of my persona changing designs and all. As a uh, look-back I guess.

First Alma, or Luna, as I used to go by. Blue is my favorite colour so almost everything had blue (until I switched to orange). I used MS Paint and I didn’t even know how to use it. Go figure

Then I entered the KagePro fandom, and you can tell because there’s like, lots of scarfs.

Oh yeah, there was this stage in which I thought hiding my hands would make me look cuter? There’s a short stage for everything, believe me

See? I vaguely remember basing this one scarf on the song ‘Tokyo Teddy Bear’, but I don’t remember why.

I remember there was some kind of progression where my ahoge just got bigger and bigger for some reason, but I think I know why: Those weird ahoges turned into one big ahoge. It’s the only explanation.

See? Orange. An orange betrayal. But I am royal to blue and only blue now. For I am THE blueberry

I remember having a scarf like that, and I liked it a lot, so I included it on my persona.

Then I redrew my first one suit ever.

I WAS VERY SCARED THAT I DIDN’T DRAW MYSELF WITH THE PONCHO cause it is like one of my favorites and I love it so much

And here comes. The blue comes back. The ahoge gets bigger. I have hands again. The hair colour turns lighter.

It’s like one of the first ones but darker and with a bow. A pretty big change there (i was feeling really creative maybe)

This one reminds me of my first internet friend. Hell, my first friend kind of period, not counting childhood friends. I kinda miss ‘im. I wonder how he’s doing. I hope he’s doing fine. I still remember when his birthday is, for some reason

(past me, you fuck) Here comes the trend of the boot-socks. It was also around here that I started being more active on tumblr as well.

Alma here just wanted a stripped shirt design, but she couldn’t decide. She is that cool.

This one is among my faves as well, both of them They are just so cute.

I also like how I drew it here. I can’t believe I used to be better at drawing facing sideways than I am now. How could this be.

I also want to drop my trollsona because I like her a lot, but whatevs. Her name is Lucasy Dousei and her name is just a big Earthbound reference because why not

I actually have this one posted! Then I changed it for a drawing with a friend but you can look it up as well. Must be at my art tag (’my mess’)

Andddd the last one! (Besides the one at the top of course) It was for a gift I had for a friend, with him, his girlfriend and me, it was a keychain n all. I have Hinata’s tie because I wanted a tie but I didn’t know what design I could put on it and since I have drawn Hinata(’s weird af tie) before I was like ‘eh. Might as well re-use it’ and then I liked the palette and used it again knejfe

#my mess #and now you know... the dark history of the alma designs #i lowkey want to redraw everything haha #i probably will #this post is basically 'how alma made her ahoge ten times bigger and learned how to colour palette'#i have a dark deviantart past but you won't get to know about it because my username was a different one ehehhehe #yes that thing on the pocket is my true sign #because i recalled that i had one with a hoodie and a tiny gemini sign #so i was like 'HMMMM...'#edited with an alt colour palette because i said 'i liked the palette' on the last one #even though i meant only the tie but would you look at this #you guys tell me which one you like more #as in #out of all of them

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hopeishappinessff · 7 years ago

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Chapter 64

**A/N: I’m not a fan of this chapter... just thought ya’ll should know that. But, enjoy!**

He explained everything to me. Everything that I wasn’t sure about and even everything that I was already well aware of… he clarified it all and I was extremely thankful for that. There was a story behind this story, is what he told me… and it was more complicated than I could have ever imagined. It all started with his childhood, more specifically with his father, Clinton… the man that he absolutely loathed more than any one thing or person in this world. The man who abused his mother, attempted to abuse his one and only son, and even went as far as attempting to molest him. And that man harbored a secret that no one knew of and no one would have even guessed existed. He put on a façade for them… an act to prove that he was a feared man. He portrayed himself to be a man who allowed no one and nothing to stop him from getting what and where he wanted. Apparently, he wanted it all and he painted a picture of his perfect life that excluded one of his families… the family that included a son who struggled through life and barely made it to the age of nineteen with only the divine strength of his mother. Clinton was a selfish bastard, Chris explained, and it was surprising that he even took time from his precious schedule to care for at least one of his offspring… Trey. Trey was the son that existed about a year before Chris was even conceived. He was the son that Clinton consciously chose to bond with more than he ever would with little ole’ Chris. Because of his blatant love for one son and not the other, Clinton quickly began to neglect Chris’s entire existence and his boyhood. He would come in late in the evenings, wreak havoc on the Brown household then make his way back to his beloved family on the other side of town. Ms. Joyce was well aware of his doing’s… she’d put two and two together and figured out that he was living an entirely different life outside of their home. She stayed complacent in that relationship though. She knew better than to act on her emotions after the discovery of his infidelities and feared triggering his deadly alter ego, Eze. As horrid as it sounds, I didn’t blame her for unwillingly allowing the abuse to continue… she did what she felt best to keep her kids protected and at that time, that was perhaps the smartest thing she could have done. She knew if she would have left abruptly and without a plan, Eze would have hunted her down and done more damage than just the abuse she endured behind the closed doors of their home. I asked Chris why he thought his dad resented him so much and he said it was simple… Eze couldn’t cope with the fact that at the tender age of eleven, Chris used the intelligence that he was blessed with to turn down the opportunity to become a pawn in his game. Sure, he was obviously young and naive at the time, but if he didn’t know anything else he knew that daddy’s job required scary weapons, lots of blood, drugs, and death and that all terrified him. When he denied his dad’s offer, Eze became infuriated by the thought of his own son ‘disrespecting his command.’ And that was the night, Chris explained, that his dad got extremely inebriated and nearly took his innocence while they were alone in the house together. He never told me exactly how he managed to get himself out of that situation and I didn’t push for him to elaborate… I figured it was a sensitive topic for him and I didn’t want to pressure him into divulging more details than necessary. He said that once Ms. Joyce uprooted them from Tappahannock and moved them all to Richmond, he was left tainted with the memories from his hometown. I’d always wondered why the very first time I met him, he seemed so… weird. He was far from a typical nine-year-old boy in my eyes and that was all thanks to what they’d left behind in Tappahannock. It didn’t even feel like we’d been lying in my hospital bed for more than three hours, but we’d done just that and I was quite surprised none of the nurses came in to remind Chris that visitors hours were over. He was currently laid up under me, revealing some of his deepest memories just to satisfy my curiosity. I told him that he didn’t have to bring up anymore of those painful topics, but he insisted he was tired of keeping the truth from me and that I needed to know everything there was to know about him… whether it hurt him to tell me or not. “I never thought that nigga would show face again and I was completely content with that,” He explained, “I ain’t want him around my mama or my sister, so when he decided to commit all his fucking time to that bitch ass nigga Trey and his mom, I really couldn’t have been happier. Then one day, he randomly popped the fuck up in my life. He somehow managed to get ahold of my contact information and he called me, asking if I was ready to commit to the life I was destined to live. I told him to fuck off, but I never told him that I was already knee deep in it… doing shit my way without his guidance. I mean, he was never there for me… ever. I knew what he wanted more than anything was the bank I was bringing in.” “I’d made a name for myself at a young age. I was the up and coming young’in in the game and I knew what the fuck I was doing and I was doing it all on my own. I was most notorious for my temper and everybody in the city knew not to fuck with me ‘cause I ain’t tolerate shit, even at the age of sixteen. I kept my shit in order, I was never big headed about it and I always took my job very serious. I guess Eze realized Trey wasn't making moves as quick as me and that’s why he showed up smack in the middle of my prime.” “So, the day he popped up at mama’s house, I was beyond fucking furious. He’d already tried to get at me the night we went out for New Year’s Eve, but I wasn’t having it then and I let him know quick that he needed to back the fuck off and leave me to mines. He wouldn’t listen though… the nigga was adamant as fuck. He wanted an in with me and that was that. He got bold then and that’s why I was so pissed that day. I specifically told him to stay the fuck away from my family and to have him defy me as a man and step foot on my mother’s property… that was disrespectful beyond reason.” “After that day, I guess Eze has just had it out for me. He couldn’t cope with the fact that his youngest son was living a life he could only dream of and because I’d gained so much more respect from some of the most notorious niggas out here, oh… Eze wasn’t having that. Now, I’m not tryna jump the gun here, but I’m almost positive that old ass nigga and his dumb ass son had a whole lot to do with my accident. They knew if they could take me out, they could claim my territory and they would be set.” Closing my eyes and resting the palm of my right hand against his chest, I noted that the pace of his heartbeat was much quicker than usual. I rubbed my hand in a circular motion against his chest to soothe him and tilted my head back, opening my eyes to look up at him. “Chris,” I whispered, prompting him to snap out of his sudden daze and glance down at me, “Can I ask you something?” “Anything babe.” He murmured. “Kin… where did that come from?” With a sigh, he slithered the hand he had resting against my side down and clutched tightly at my waist “It came about because of my temper. When I was like fourteen or fifteen, this black ass African guy I was working for at the time told me I was the fiercest seller he’d ever had. I remember him having a strong ass accent and he told me he was from Durban, South Africa. He said that in the part of the country he was from, the men were all known to be strong and brave warriors who feared no one and nothing, so that’s where Akin, or Kin, came from. It means warrior, hero, brave man… everything that he said I was.” I snuggled my face as close to his hardened chest as I could and smiled… whoever that man was, he was definitely a smart man. Chris was every bit of the warrior that man said he was, plus more. Besides his charm, personality, and handsomely good looks… his protective and masculine nature was what drew me to him. He was such a strong young man who took nothing from no one and always knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. I honestly believed Chris and I were the epitome of ‘opposites attract.’. He’d always been such a tough guy, never afraid to face whatever daunting tasks were thrown at him no matter how difficult, and he was always willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. I, on the other hand, was a timid and reserved girl throughout my childhood and early teenage years. I was always so afraid to live life to the fullest like Chris and I never really held myself to high standards. I’d always been calm by nature, while Chris was like a raging tornado… he was a bottle of anger who, when triggered just the right way, could easily be your worst nightmare. So many people have told me that I seem to be the only person who has the ability to gain any sort of control over Chris when his temper flares, but I would always relate it back to our contradicting attitudes… if you take a person who’s as bold, angry, and tough as Chris and mesh them together with someone as quiet, reserved, and gentle as I… the outcome is exactly what Chris and I have created. I’ve come to realize that we have a love-hate relationship. Some days, I will honestly despise the very ground that he walks on, but at the end of the day I still, and will always, love him unconditionally. With a sudden thought flashing through my mind, my face immediately contorted into a frown and I pushed away from Chris’s chest, groaning softly as I did. He turned his head to look at me and before he could reach out and stop me from moving away from him, I gripped the side rail of my bed and maneuvered myself into a comfortable upright position on my knees beside him. Licking my dry lips and tilting my head to one side, I stared at him with a frown that only continued to deepen the longer I stared “I want you to be honest…” “About what?” He asked as he too sat up in an upright position. “All the stuff Trey said… about you not loving me or caring about me… is it true?” I asked calmly, though my heart raced a mile a minute. He almost immediately froze in place and stared at me, which worried me because I hadn’t expected him to react that way. He sighed deeply and dropped his head with a chuckle, running a hand over his tired face “No, it’s not true. Nothing he said was true… never has been and never will be. Lemme explain something to you…” He said, leaning forward with his feet flat against the surface of the bed and his knees bent, allowing his elbows to rest against them “I love you Sy’Diyah… more than life itself. Before you, I’m confident I ain’t know nothing about love. It goes so deep with you that I almost don’t know how I was surviving before I met you. It’s hard to explain… and it don’t really even make much sense, but I just know I can’t live without you. I know I can’t. That nigga Trey may have been interested in you, liked you, whatever… but from the moment I met you, it’s like you were it and I knew you were it. Almost like how those wolves found love in that Twilight movie. I felt like I imprinted on you and I just can’t be with anyone else. Like I told you before, even when you weren’t mine… you were mine and I wasn’t gonna let anyone else have you.” “But why would he say all those things Chris? Why would he lie about something like that?” I could feel my throat and chest tightening and I knew it was only a matter of time before the waterworks began. “Because he knew that this was exactly what would happen… you would doubt me. He found some type of twisted humor in coming between me and you because he knew you meant the world to me. Everything he said to you was like a last-ditch effort to keep you away from me. I had already made it loud and clear who you were and how much you meant to me… I even made it clear to Gabby.” I shut my eyes for a moment and released a deep sigh. Though he’d explained to me before that he’d made it known to Gabby how he felt about me, it was still weird to hear. “Listen Hope,” He started, swiping his tongue out over his plump pink lips as his eyes penetrated me, “I know we young and I know there are people who think we just naive and caught up in some type of puppy love and we just lusting over each other. People think we don’t know what love is and that we just infatuated with the thought of a relationship or whatever. But if I don’t know nothing else, I know how I feel about you. I knew from the moment I met you and I know right now, in this very moment, that I love you and care about you more than the air that I breathe. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life… ever. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were gonna be mine, no questions asked.” My focus remained on my twiddling thumbs as he professed his feelings for me and I couldn't control the smirk itching at my lips. Eventually I raised my gaze to meet his hazel eyed one in and I giggled softly. “You were just that confident that I would want to be with you, huh?” I muttered. He nodded quickly and returned the smile “Yep. I knew from the moment you damn near tripped over the steps on your aunt’s porch the very first time we met, when you caught me staring at you.” I couldn’t help but full out laugh as I thought back to the day we first met and the moment that I had indeed nearly fell flat on my face trying to stare right back at his handsome little face. “But what I’m tryna say is, all that shit that nigga was talking… the bullshit lies he was throwing at you about me not caring about you… that was all his last attempt to salvage anything with you.” He explained with a sudden stone expression. “His last attempt?” I repeated, searching for clarification. He cast his gaze off past my head and nodded with that same hard expression “Yeah… that jealous muhfucka almost took me out, but what shocked me was when I realized the bullet that hit me wasn’t even his. I almost went down without looking up to see who fired off at me, but I caught a glimpse… and it was Eze.” I held my breath and stared at him, waiting patiently for him to continue “I don’t know where he came from or how he even knew we were there, but he showed up and he was the last person I saw before I completely blacked out. I remember seeing him standing back behind Daynah in the shadows, but for some reason I guess I just thought I was imagining shit and didn’t even bother moving out the way when he raised his gun to me,” He paused for a moment and shook his head at the memory, “I was wearing my vest though, so I wasn’t concerned with him shooting me. He wasn’t aiming at me though… I swear it didn’t look like it. That nigga Trey was over by you and Jaylen ‘cause he tried to hop out the way after the shot was fired. The only thing I remember after that was everything going black, but I remember that I could still hear. I heard another gunshot, loud and clear… then a body hit the floor. When I finally opened my eyes, Trey was down and he wasn’t moving.” My gaze remained locked on my hands… I was too shocked to say anything. Chris didn’t bother to finish that half of the story and I didn’t wanna just assume he was saying that Eze shot Trey, but there was no other way around it and I didn't want to push him to tell me. “But all that don’t even matter though. Wherever he is, dead, paralyzed, whatever… he’s not gonna fuck with you anymore, okay.” He assured me. I nodded as I took in the confidence lacing his words and crawled back over to him. He still had his feet planted flat on the surface of the bed with his legs parted, so I took the opportunity to move his arms away from his knees and I climbed right between his legs. I could see him smirking down at me as I gently pressed a hand against his chest, forcing him to lay back against the pillows so I could cuddle against him. “And last but not least… please, please, please for the love of me… do not ever break up with me, whether it be because somebody threatened you to do it or just because you want to… just don’t. You would never understand what it felt like the day you walked in my house, told me that it was over, then walked out. You left with my heart in the palm of your hand that day and my soul floated right out the door behind you. I’ve never felt that type of pain in my life and I never, ever wanna feel it again.” He muttered as he slipped a hand through my wild hair and caressed my scalp. I smiled, snuggling my face as close as I could to his chest and tucked my hands beneath his shirt, resting them against his warm skin. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I massaged the tips of my fingers into his sides, “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.” I could feel him puffing his chest out, pushing me forward a bit to get my attention. I tilted my head back and peered up at him as he gazed down at me lovingly “You know what I would call us?” He continued to ease his fingers through my hair and I stared up at his perfectly chiseled face as I awaited his next statement “The black Romeo and Juliet. Only we gotta worry about everyone but our families tryna break us up.” I stared at the handsome smirk on his face for a while then burst into a fit of giggles. I continued to laugh as I readjusted myself so that I was on my side, still lying on his chest with one hand beneath his shirt clutching at his side and the other directly over his heart. “Well I love you, my Romeo.” I said. He chuckled softly and leaned forward to press his lips against my forehead “I love you too, Juliet.”

#chrisbrown #chrisbrownff #chrisbrownfanfic #jasminesanders #chrisbrownfanfiction #jasminesandersff #teambreezy #teambreezyff #fanfiction #fanfic

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yannasunflower · 8 years ago

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Blood & Magic - Ch. 4

This thing is over 7,000 words long and I’m pretty sure I’m dead but I finally got it out. No small thanks to my boyfriend for demanding updates, he’s really the only reason I managed to push it out so fast. As always, based off of @constellunaa incredible Modern Fantasy art.

Blood & Magic (ffnet)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 |

Chapter 4

Lucy frowned at the palace in the distance. It had become habit to stand on her balcony in the early mornings with her coffee, watching the sun rise, watching the palace slowly come to life under the light. She wrapped her sweater around her more tightly, tapping a finger against her mug. The mornings were cold now, the September chill finally settling in. The bird song had stopped and the leaves on the trees themselves had stilled. The air was quiet, too quiet, even for the small village. It made her restless. She stared at the palace, eyes narrowed. Something was off, she could feel her stomach clenching. Pushing off of the railing, she set her coffee down on her desk, fingering the leather journal, still open to its latest page. A soft caw sounded and she moved back to the balcony. A raven perched on the railing, a small envelope encased in its beak. She smiled, stretching her hand out to stroke its head. Virgo preferred to send letters this way; it was quicker, she insisted. Lucy took the envelope between her fingers, brushing the tip of her index finger against the edge of the flap, feeling a pang of guilt that she hadn’t written yet. She’d been so busy with her first week of school, she hadn’t had time to write out a letter to her maid.

The raven remained, blinking at her with intelligent eyes and she frowned once more. It was expecting a response to fly back with. Which meant the letter was more urgent than she’d thought. She ripped it open carelessly, nightmares quickening her fingers as she pulled the single sheet of thin paper out. She scanned it quickly, face paling as she did so.

Miss Lucy, Master Ichiya has been assassinated. Master Jude has not spoken of it yet. No other details. Be safe.

Her breath hitched. For a moment, there was breathless silence. And then she was a flurry of movement, grabbing a pen and shoving her textbook out of the way. Her fingers shook as she scrawled out a quick response, urgently encouraging her maid to continue to update her. She included a series of dots at the bottom of the paper before folding it carefully and placing it in another envelope. She handed it to the bird, who flew away instantly. She watched it go, a black dot in the distant sky, before she closed her doors and dressed quickly. Jeans and sweater on, she stuffed the letter into her pocket and grabbed her toothbrush and brush before leaving. Lucy hurried to the bathrooms to brush her teeth and comb her hair before running back to the dorm to throw her things back in her room and leaving again. Plue went with her, sensing her urgency, ears alert as they walked through the winding path to the headmaster’s own office. The school was not awake yet. It was a Saturday, which meant most were probably sleeping in, leaving the halls silent and eerily empty.

She knew the headmaster was probably awake. She knew he had, in all likelihood, already received the news. And that her visit was probably unnecessary. But it was, at the same time, extremely necessary. Whatever had been boiling beneath the surface in Fiore had finally begun to make its appearance in a marked way. Ichiya was a notable nobleman, one from a distinguished family. He was also very outspoken in his opposing of the king. His death was significant in ways that Lucy could barely understand. But she sensed it, the magnitude. Her skin crawled, her eyes darting uneasily at the walls, the paintings with eyes that seemed to follow her. She was doing this based on whispers and shadows, her father’s muted conversations with other nobles, their smirks they couldn’t quite cover as they left her mansion, eyes skipping over her like she didn’t exist. If she was wrong, she would be arrested and possibly executed.

Plue growled lightly, his energy spiking in her chest. She tensed, hair along her arms rising. The sound of footsteps behind her made her spin around to face Professor Porla’s smiling face. His dark eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, smile more of a smirk than anything. He taught their Curses and Charms class and had a reputation for being strict with a nasty attitude toward most students. So far, he’d been genial with her. She figured her name did the trick, and her father’s friendship with the man.

“Ms. Heartfilia,” he said, voice smooth and too silky. She tensed. Walking in the halls was technically not against the rules. She wasn’t breaking curfew. But it would definitely raise a few questions at this time in the morning. It was barely seven. Her mind raced as she forced herself not to look guilty or afraid. “What would you be doing this early in the morning on a Saturday?”

“I had a question for the headmaster,” she answered sweetly, giving him a smile. She had nearly forgotten just how practiced she was at telling lies. His family wasn’t very well known, and she’d never seen him cast any spells, but she had always felt his magic was dark. Sinister. He’d taken excessive interest in her among his many visits to her father’s mansion, more than most of her father’s friends. His smile sent chills down her spine. She reached a hand out for Plue, patting his head in an attempt to soothe herself. “I wanted to know something about the history of the garden and I thought he may be the best to ask,” she continued. Lucy was keenly aware they were alone in the halls. Plue’s fur bristled. Enemy, his energy whispered. Her breath slowed.

“I see,” Porla said, polite smirk still on his face. “Walking alone is not safe for a young lady such as yourself. Allow me to escort you.”

She offered no argument. She kept a careful distance as they walked, Plue trotting between them. It was only one more hall until the headmaster’s office and she breathed deeply. If she allowed her anxiety to show, it would raise more questions, which she couldn’t quite explain or lie about so easily. The letter was burning in her pocket and she restrained herself from placing her hand on it. The movement would attract attention; ladies did not walk with their hands in their pockets.

They arrived at the door and Lucy sent him another sickly-sweet smile. “Thank you, Professor,” she said. He merely dipped his head and slipped away, leaving her in front of the door. Inhaling deeply, she rapped it lightly with her knuckles. A quiet voice told her to enter and the door swung open of its own accord. She smiled at the headmaster, seated behind a massive desk that made him look even smaller. His office was incredible, two stories high and filled with books upon books. He smiled at her kindly and she relaxed under it, glad to be away from Porla.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked, folding his hands on his desk, which was cluttered with papers. He nodded toward the chairs in front of it and she seated herself, crossing her ankles and gnawing on her lip nervously. She didn’t quite know where to begin.

“I received a letter,” she finally said. Lucy pulled the opened envelope from her pocket, smoothing out the creases and handing it over to Makarov’s waiting hand. He placed a pair of reading glasses on his nose before pulling the single sheet of paper out, scanning the few words on it quickly. There was no change to his expression and when his eyes returned to her, they were unreadable.

“I heard,” he said simply, handing it back. He put his glasses back on his desk carefully. “Your maid should be careful who sees these letters. The times are becoming dangerous.”

Lucy nodded, stuffing the envelope back in her pocket, chewing her lip once more. She uncrossed her ankles, crossed them again, clenched her fingers against the arm of the chair. Plue leaned against her leg, attempting to soothe her nerves.

“He was a dissenter,” she blurted out finally.

Makarov nodded. “He was. Outspoken about it as well,” he hummed. He leaned back, pulling a pipe from his desk’s drawer and filling it carefully. She watched him light it thoughtlessly with his finger. He drew a few breaths from it, puffing thoughtfully as his eyes watched her, still carefully blank. The smoke rose, obscuring part of his face. It was a dance. She stared back, willing her gaze not to waver. He knew why she was here. She wasn’t interested in word games. She had played them her whole life and for once, she craved directness. Sincerity. He blinked, slowly.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked. She did not blink. The smallest of smiles twitched at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers straightened and she relaxed her shoulders. Plue settled more peacefully at her feet, ears still pricked. “This is not a game for children,” he warned her, placing his pipe on his desk and leaning forward, eyes narrowed now.

“I’ve never been a child, Makarov,” she retorted.

“You’re all children to me,” the headmaster returned tiredly, though there was nothing patronizing in his voice. “Children in an adult world who must grow up too fast. You’re choosing to enter this game that I can barely survive myself. I don’t know if you’re very brave or very foolish.”

She nearly shrugged, turning her gaze to the books lining the walls, the lanterns, the paintings. It was a comfortable room. Safe. Nothing like her father’s office at home. She leaned back against the chair. She was suddenly very tired, of everything. Natsu’s face flashed in her mind and she suppressed a smile. Levy. Gajeel. Juvia. Gray.

“I’ve never had a choice,” she said softly. She turned her eyes back to Makarov. Her young face looked old. “My name entered me into the game from the second I drew my first breath.”

Makarov’s eyes were now sympathetic and he acknowledged her words with a nod. Her treatment by her father was no secret among the magic families. “You have been both blessed and cursed with good fortune,” he sighed. He leaned back in his chair, drawing a few more puffs from his pipe. She was reminded of his age at the sound, the lines in his face and wrinkles on his hands belying a long life of struggles and accomplishments all at once. He acted young, somehow. His energy and spirit were vivacious, like a teenager’s, but his body was old.

“Your father is a supporter,” he finally said after some silence. She nodded and waited for him to continue. His eyes fell shut as he thought, hands folded over his stomach. “Your maid, is she trustworthy?”

“We’re very close. She’s been my maid since I was a kid,” Lucy confirmed.

Makarov nodded, eyes opening. “Burn the letter. Burn any letters you receive from her. Act as if everything you send outside this school is going to be read because it probably will. You should develop a code with her, something others would think is innocent.”

“Already done,” Lucy replied, thinking of the dots at the bottom of her letter. Ink blots or innocent marks of a restless mind. Something her and Virgo had come up with when she was a child and bored, just learning about codes in her lessons. No one would know the difference.

“Smart girl,” Makarov praised her warmly. She raised her chin proudly, though it wasn’t so much that she was smart as it was she was very good at hiding things. “You’ll communicate with me through Gildarts. He is in the basement every night. If you’re caught, tell them you were going to practice magic past curfew. They’ll probably let you off with a warning.” He stood suddenly, coming around his desk to clasp her hand.

“Be safe and be smart, Lucy. Restless winds are blowing.”

She smiled and placed her own hand gently over his. His familiar use of her first name warmed her to the bone. “I will,” she vowed. He looked at her with desperate hope. For once, she didn’t feel afraid.

It was easy enough to lie and tell her dorm mates she had gone for an early walk. They all knew she woke up at ungodly hours of the morning every day. She offered to make breakfast, since the mess hall didn’t make food on the weekends, and they soon forgot her supposed early morning exercise, the boys leaping at the opportunity to eat. Natsu hovered over her shoulder, watching her move the eggs around the pan while the others chatted around the chairs and couch. Levy was giving Gajeel and Juvia advice on their essay due Tuesday and Gray was tapping away on his phone, a message to his father he had told them. It was a peaceful Saturday morning, quiet and subdued. One she wanted to savor before the news hit them. It was a wave; she could only pray they didn’t drown. She glanced back over her shoulder at Natsu, practically a dog wagging its tail. He didn’t move from his position until his phone rang, buzzing insistently on the table. He frowned and Lucy watched him pick it up, brow furrowed.

“Dad?” he asked. Lucy’s breath stopped. She had a feeling she knew what was going to come. Her fingers rose to play with the key hung around her neck. She watched her friends turn to face Natsu expectantly. If only they’d had just a little longer. Just a few minutes more, she wished. She watched Natsu’s face change from mild confusion to one of concern.

“What do ya mean?” he asked urgently, pacing the room now. The rest watched him silently, faces varying degrees of confusion. Lucy barely remembered to turn the stove off before the eggs burned, hands shaking. Her conversation with Makarov played through her head once more. She couldn’t involve her dorm mates; it was too dangerous and she refused to risk their lives like that. In the days to come, the school would come under much scrutiny. Makarov had never really openly supported the king. And the crown prince, even less. She would have to play her part carefully. They all would.

“Okay,” Natsu murmured, hand rubbing at his chin, frowning now. Lucy ached to see him so worried, wishing she could smooth the lines from his face and ease his fears. But she had too many of her own. Natsu’s arm lowered and he looked at her, eyes wide and dark.

“He says Ichiya’s been murdered,” he announced. A collective breath was sucked in. His eyes didn’t leave hers. “All the nobles are being called to the capital to swear fealty to the king.” She felt her chest constrict at this. Makarov would have to go, as well as her father and most of their families. She wondered if the king would kill all who refused. A chill danced down her spine. She realized that he would most definitely. Declare it treason and execute them like animals. Lucy suddenly desperately hoped that Ichiya had died painlessly, peacefully. He’d been a decent man, perhaps overly friendly, but never disgusting or rude to her. He deserved a good death.

“That’s definitely not good news,” Gray muttered, standing up and opening his own phone.

Gajeel was already walking down his hallway to his room, where his phone was, muttering something about his ‘damn old man’. Lily trotted at his heels. Levy and Juvia hurried to their own rooms, both with identical faces of concern on their faces. Lucy chewed her lip as she watched Levy go. Her parents were in a special kind of danger; she’d have to talk to her and Makarov about it later. She probably didn’t understand the exact magnitude of the news, or having to swear fealty to the king. It wasn’t going to be a fun vacation to the capital.

Lucy glanced back at Natsu, who continued to stare at her. “You knew,” he stated, finally. Lucy flinched back but offered no argument, waiting for him to continue. She tugged at the chain around her neck nervously. He was smarter than he seemed about certain things. Herself being one of them apparently. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. He didn’t sound hurt or betrayed, just curious. But he looked at her almost sadly. Knowingly. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and looked at him hopelessly.

“I just wanted us to have breakfast,” she said mournfully. She tossed the cold eggs in the trash, rubbing at her forehead. A headache was beginning to form behind her eyes. His gaze turned to one of understanding and he moved forward, wrapping her in a tight hug. She stilled only for a moment before returning the embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. He smelled like wood and smoke and she could feel herself trembling against him. He was solid and warm. If only time would stop, she thought. If only she could have this one, precious moment. Here, with Natsu, in a school for magic on a quiet September morning.

“Whatever happens, we’ll be together Luce,” he murmured into her hair. She breathed out, nodding against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

“Yes,” she agreed simply.

Lucy couldn’t focus. She paced her room, raking her hands through her hair as she thought. The Draconia families were outspoken opponents of the king lately as well. If she knew Igneel and his family, they would go into hiding. They were smart. The Fullbusters would have to do the same. Lucy realized most of her dorm mates’ families would be fleeing soon, either to hiding or another country. They were all proud, old families who would rather die than bend the knee to any king, especially a mad one. All except Levy’s. They probably didn’t even understand just yet. Everything would be new to them.

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. She’d seen a picture of them, once. Levy had showed her. A man with the same eyes as Levy’s, wide and bright. And her equally short mother with the same hair and laugh lines etched around her mouth and eyes. Her hands had been covered in dirt; a florist, Levy told her. They’d been laughing and Levy was looking at them like they put the sun in the sky. Lucy’s eyes fell shut at the image. Her breathing slowed and she lowered her hands, closing her fingers around the golden key her mother had given her. What would she do, to protect the way Levy’s eyes beamed when her parents were mentioned? The answer came the next second. Anything. Her body moved of its own accord, eyes flying open. She wrenched her door open, hurrying to knock on Levy’s. It had only been a couple of hours since they had all separated to their rooms; Levy answered quickly, face paler than before.

“Your family,” Lucy breathed. Levy bit her lip, opening her door wider. Lucy entered, taking a careful seat on Levy’s neatly made bed.

“I’m not sure what to tell them,” Levy confessed in a rushed whisper. “They won’t understand what it means. I don’t even really understand. I don’t know what they should do, either. They’re only Everyday’s, will he really make them swear fealty?”

Lucy reached a hand out, clasping Levy’s small one in her own. “They need to leave. The second you enrolled here, your family was put on a registry. Your name is a magical one now,” she answered firmly. “You said your aunt lives in Peregrande right?”

Levy nodded vehemently, eyes wide as Lucy talked. She sucked in a breath before continuing. “Tell them to go to her; he can’t touch them there.”

Levy’s eyes fell shut and Lucy smiled sadly, heart hurting. Levy would have to do what none of them wanted to do. Send her family away. They sat in silence for a few minutes, just holding each other’s hand. The sound of their breathing filled the room. At a sound from the main room, Levy’s eyes opened and she withdrew her hand, inhaling deeply.

“I’ll call them,” she said, firmly like she was still convincing herself. “For their safety, I’ll send them away.”

“Talk to Makarov first, he can help,” Lucy said. Levy nodded quickly, tears in her eyes. “You’ll be safe here,” Lucy assured her. “The school is, politically speaking, neutral grounds so the king won’t find an excuse to march his army out here for a bit. We have some time to prepare.”

Levy flashed her a grim smile. “You know so much,” she observed. Lucy’s back stiffened. “How? What’s happening, Lucy?”

The blonde shook her head, clenching her fingers and avoiding Levy’s eyes. “I can’t say,” she whispered. “Things are going to be a bit complicated now. I’m not sure what will happen.”

“Lucy,” Levy murmured, hand reaching for her again. “Please, tell me.”

Lucy looked into her open, honest face. She remembered the way Levy’s voice had sounded when she had first greeted her. So hopeful. So excited. A girl who had relatively recently found out about magic. Who didn’t care for names or titles. Who called her Lucy and linked pinkies with her as they walked through the halls, giggling. Who had lent her books and kept her up at night talking about them instead of studying. Lucy looked at that girl and closed her fingers around Levy’s outstretched hand.

“Soon,” she promised. Levy released a shuddering breath.

“What’s going to happen?” Levy asked. Lucy huffed out a breath, shaking her head.

“Who knows?”

Lucy watched as Levy left their dorm, hurrying to Makarov’s office to ask his help. Natsu was seated on the couch, watching her go with an uncharacteristically solemn face as well. Lucy sat next to him, curling her legs under her as she instinctively leaned against him. His arm went around her shoulders, his other hand on her knee, and he turned to face her, face still too serious. This was Natsu, she thought. Where was his smile?

“My family is going into hiding,” he told her. Lucy closed her eyes, sighing. She’d known as much but to actually hear him say made everything real. Too real.

“They’ll be safe,” she assured him, opening her eyes once more. “Igneel is a strong fighter and your mother isn’t exactly soft herself.”

It was true; Grandeeny specialized in healing magic but her tongue was famously sharper than any blade and she was a fearless woman. You had to be, Lucy thought, eyeing Natsu’s face thoughtfully, to be married to a Draconia man. An image flashed through her mind, unbidden, of a little cottage in a meadow, Natsu laughing as she made coffee. She shook it free. She’d known this boy for a week and the king on the throne was mad. She didn’t have time for stupid daydreams.

Natsu exhaled deeply, taking his hand from her knee to rub it over his face. He looked tired, worn out by stress. It was only nine in the morning. Lucy smiled, patting her lap.

“Take a nap,” she told him. He eyed her skeptically, like she had lost her mind.

“Ichiya has been assassinated, my family is in hiding, and the king is crazy, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it,” he summed up bluntly. “And you want me to take a nap?”

She laughed, throwing her head back. She tapped his forehead with her index finger, smile teasing. “You love to sleep, I don’t see the problem.”

Natsu blinked. Then he shrugged, stretching out and depositing his head in her lap. She tangled her fingers in his hair, marveling at the softness of the strands as she pulled her fingers through it slowly, raking her nails against his scalp lightly. He practically purred, eyes fluttering shut.

“Thanks, Luce,” he mumbled drowsily. It always amazed her how quickly the boy could fall asleep. “I hope you’re okay; I know your dad is…” he trailed off. An explanation was unnecessary.

Lucy huffed. She stared down at his face, where a smile was slowly appearing as she continued to carefully scratch his head. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose drew her eyes and she smiled. She glanced at his ears, where his usual earrings were placed. She sometimes forgot he even had them pierced; the earrings were small, simple metal things with his family’s sigil engraved on them. She had no doubt Gajeel had done them; his own face was covered in metal piercings, earning him the affectionate nickname of “Metal Head”. He growled whenever any of them used it but she had a feeling he secretly enjoyed it.

“I’m alright,” she hummed. “You guys have it much worse.”

Natsu didn’t respond, his breath evening out. Before she knew it, he was asleep.

“Levy,” Lucy whispered, eyes flitting to a pair of boys at the other side of the gym. “Those boys won’t stop staring at you.”

Without looking where Lucy had nodded her head, Levy shook her head, brow furrowed as she fiddled with the laces of her shoes. She straightened, hands moving to her hair to tie it back.

“Oh, that’s Jet and Droy. I met them the day we moved in. They’re quite nice, if a little overly friendly.”

Lucy hummed, turning back to the center of the gym. The names were unfamiliar to her so she was guessing their families were small. Gildarts Alberona stood in the middle of the room, grinning at them all. Although he was the official school librarian, he also taught the sparring classes. He was a big man, dressed in workout gear and casually leaning against a polished wood staff. He watched as the stragglers filed in, all dressed in workout gear. It was their first actual sparring class and Lucy couldn’t deny she was excited. Though the boys were all much more “fired up” as Natsu put it. They were practically vibrating next to her and she swore Natsu’s body temperature had spiked by at least five degrees. Standing next to him was almost like standing next to a heater at that point and she resisted the urge to tell him to calm down. The eager gleam in his eyes made him look happier than she’d seen him all weekend and she figured he could blow off some steam after everything that had happened. They all could.

“Right, welcome to your sparring class. I’m Gildarts, as most of you know. Today we’ll just be doing a general get to know you. I’ll pair you up randomly and the class will watch you spar to get a feel for everyone’s abilities and magic. And yes, I said magic because you are allowed to use magic in this. I’m here to make sure no one gets to crazy so just remember that if you get a little too heated. No broken bones, light contact only. The spar is over when one of you is knocked off the mat or pinned down.”

The class stirred restlessly as he began calling out names. Lucy bounced on the balls of her feet as a light warmup. She’d been trained in hand-to-hand combat, though probably not as thoroughly as some of her classmates. Her magic was distance magic and she would probably have little use for learning wrestling or anything like that. Her contracted spirits wouldn’t let anyone reach her too easily. Still, she toyed with the idea of asking one of the boys to tutor her. Things were about to get a lot more complicated and if the worst-case scenario happened…

Well, they could all use a few lessons and Lucy liked to be prepared.

She straightened as her name was called.

“Heartfilia and Orland, you’ll be sparring.”

She winced internally as Minerva threw her a nasty glare. She wasn’t too eager to go against someone who held an obvious, if somewhat groundless, grudge against her. Lucy wasn’t sure what she’d done that had pissed the girl off so much but she hoped the hostilities faded with time. She didn’t fancy making an enemy out of the incredibly influential Lord Orland’s daughter. Her father wouldn’t like it at all, considering they were both strong supporters of the king, and it wouldn’t exactly make her time at the school pleasant. Not to mention the rift it would cause in their dorm.

She wanted to laugh when Levy and Gajeel’s names were called. It was hilarious to see the affronted expression on Gajeel’s face and the absolute glee on Levy’s.

“That’s just not fair to the Shrimp,” Gajeel muttered and Levy rolled her eyes.

Natsu was paired with Sting and the two boys grinned maniacally at each other.

“Rematch, cousin?” Sting leered. Natsu rolled his neck, letting the joints pop loudly, one by one.

“Anytime, Sting,” Natsu growled. Lucy rolled her eyes, turning back to their teacher as the first spar started. Boys.

The spars passed quickly until they reached Lucy’s. She swallowed, the nerves in her stomach beginning to really act up. Minerva would play dirty and she wouldn’t go easy on Lucy at all. Natsu seemed to sense her anxiety and he squeezed her hand, sending her a reassuring smile.

“Kick ass, Luce,” he grinned and she giggled, shaking her head.

“Thanks,” she answered gratefully, squeezing his hand back. Gajeel and Gray nodded at her encouragingly and Levy let out a quiet cheer, Juvia smiling brightly.

“You can do it,” Juvia whispered. Lucy smiled at the group, giving them a little wave as she stepped up the mat. Minerva waited for her, weight on one leg, manicured hand resting on her waist.

“No weapons, just magic,” Minerva demanded instantly, eyes narrowed. Gildarts glanced at Lucy to see if she’d accept the terms and she nodded back. She preferred it that way, if she was being honest. Minerva was the vicious type who wouldn’t hold anything back and Lucy didn’t quite feel like having to get mean in return in front of their entire grade. She hated losing and she would hate it even more if it happened because of the bratty, spiteful heiress opposite her.

She’d already chosen a demon while she’d waited to be called and she mentally ran over the words she would need to summon him. Demons or spirits, the words were synonymous really. She’d formed contracts with a few while growing up, mostly under the direction of her grandmother before she passed away. Some had been contracted to her mother as well and had welcomed the opportunity to work alongside her. Not all of them would be useful in battle and Lucy knew there were a few high-powered spirits that didn’t form contracts and could only be summoned once during a certain period of time. Her magic required the memorization of virtually hundreds of summoning spells and the varying personalities and abilities of their demons that she would need to be able to recall at any moment, and she had barely a quarter mastered. Another reason she wanted to learn more hand-to-hand techniques. She wasn’t anywhere close to even being proficient with her magic, despite Virgo’s assurances to the opposite. It wasn’t enough.

She was drawn from her musings at a word from Gildarts, who reminded them of the rules before stepping back. Lucy’s magic stirred restlessly at her fingertips as she began her summoning spell. Minerva merely waited, sneer still fixed on her pretty face.

Lucy thanked her grandmother for teaching her how to mentally Chant, giving her an advantage since her opponent wouldn’t know which spirit she was summoning when.

Taurus, demon o’ mine, contracted to me, I summon thee, she chanted. In a flash of light, he appeared, a great bull who laughed boisterously as he appeared. The entire class jumped, startled by his appearance.

“Who is our opponent today Mistress?” the bull shouted with an enormous grin, hefting his enormous axe in one hand as he grinned eagerly at Minerva, who had not moved.

“Just a spar, Taurus, go easy,” Lucy murmured uneasily. Minerva hadn’t twitched and it was making her nervous. Taurus seemed to sense her nerves and he squinted at the girl who waited, eyes narrowed with concentration.

“Piece of cake,” Taurus shrugged and he rushed forward, laughing loudly. Lucy felt a rush and a sickening jolt and suddenly she was slamming to the floor in front of Taurus, who barely stopped himself from swinging at her with his axe.

“What in the hell,” Lucy snarled, glancing at Minerva, whose face was still infuriatingly calm. She’d teleported, switching their positions. Lucy stood quickly, ignoring the way her head spun. She was going to need a different strategy. Spatial magic like that couldn’t work on a target that was moving and that’s what she did, breaking into a sprint.

“Taurus,” she called and he was a flurry of movement too, rushing Minerva once more as Lucy moved to the side. Minerva didn’t flinch, or say any spells, as Taurus’ axe disappeared from his hands and dropped at Gildart’s side. The teacher blinked at it, shaking his head briefly before turning his attention back to the fight. Taurus didn’t slow, however, and Lucy watched as he released a battle cry, fist outstretched to strike Minerva square in the stomach. The girl was gone in a flash, suddenly at Lucy’s side. The blonde barely had time to suck in a breath before Minerva’s foot was in her face, sending her sprawling.

“We agreed no weapons,” Lucy spat, rolling as she hit the floor and springing to her feet, ignoring the pain on her cheek.

“I didn’t use a weapon,” Minerva sneered and the class stirred, anger flitting around the room at the deceit. Lucy cursed herself for not seeing the loophole sooner, raising her hands into a defensive position, standing lightly on the balls of her feet. Taurus was suddenly behind Minerva, axe in hand, and he swung. Minerva ducked, rolling forward and stretching a hand out. The axe disappeared once more and Lucy could’ve laughed at the annoyance in Taurus’ face. The room was beginning to heat up and Lucy could feel sweat dripping down her face. She glared at Minerva, who shrugged innocently.

“I like warm weather,” she laughed and Lucy groaned internally. She was beginning to get a pretty good grasp on Minerva’s magic and it was daunting. It was a bad match for Lucy’s own magic.

Growling, Lucy moved forward, hand outstretched. “Signa!” she cried, watching as a flash of light hit Minerva square in the chest, sending her flying backwards toward Taurus, who grabbed her in one hand and slammed her to the floor. She thanked her tutors for teaching her a few offensive spells as she continued forward.

Minerva disappeared from under Taurus’ hand and Lucy spun instantly, blocking the punch Minerva had aimed for the back of her head. She threw a kick and smiled with satisfaction at the gasp Minerva gave when it made contact with her stomach. Taurus rushed by her, grabbing Minerva’s shoulder and sending her flying once more. She landed on the mat still, unfortunately, and Lucy wasted no time in moving once more, determined to end the spar.

Minerva raised her head, snarling, and Lucy didn’t have time to blink before the air exploded in front of her, blinding her as she hit the floor. Gasping, she rolled, feeling Minerva’s foot land where she had been. She heard another bang and Taurus’ huff of pain, knowing Minerva had thrown the same spell at her demon. She rolled to her feet, panting, attempting to find Minerva in the smoke. Another explosion at her side sent her back to the floor. So that was why Minerva had been heating the air, she thought grimly.

“Enough playing nice,” Minerva snapped. Lucy watched as she held her hand out, index finger pointed at Taurus who had found his axe and was sprinting toward her.

“Back!” Minerva shouted and suddenly Taurus was gone. Lucy gasped as the wind was torn from her lungs. She’d never seen anyone send a demon back to their world without the Master’s permission but it was exactly what Minerva had done. She didn’t have time to think about it, however. Minerva turned back to her, cruel smile on her face.

“Just you and me, Heartfilia,” she snarled. Lucy jumped to her feet. Minerva shouted another spell she couldn’t quite hear before suddenly she was being attacked on all sides, blows landing on her head, back, stomach, everywhere. She cried out in pain, her head snapping back as Minerva’s fist suddenly made contact with her nose. Blood sprayed the air and she faintly heard Gildart’s voice calling for a halt before Minerva’s knee made contact with Lucy’s gut. Gasping, she doubled over, taking a knee to the face that sent her sprawling. The floor beneath her back was hard and cold and she realized she was off the mat. Natsu’ voice was roaring something she couldn’t hear and then Minerva was on top of her, her weight pinning Lucy down as she drew her arm back for another punch.

Then Gildarts was there, a look of anger on his face that would have chilled Lucy if she wasn’t dizzy with pain.

Minerva was plucked from Lucy like a child, Gildarts throwing her away from Lucy with one hand. He leaned over the blonde, face concerned.

“Heartfilia?” he asked, voice warbled, like they were underwater. Natsu’s face appeared next to his, dark eyes suddenly turning into four dark eyes. Lucy squinted. That wasn’t right, people had two eyes, didn’t they? She couldn’t remember for sure. She could feel the stickiness of her blood all over her face. She realized vaguely that she probably looked disgusting but she couldn’t summon the energy to care.

“Lucy?” Natsu asked. She giggled.

“Your voices sound funny,” she laughed and watched as they exchanged worried glances.

“Take her to the nurse, Dragneel,” Gildarts sighed.

Lucy felt herself being lifted and she let her head roll back against Natsu’s shoulder. The swaying movements as he walked made the darkness in her head come rushing forward and the last thing she heard before blacking out was Natsu’s voice telling her to stay awake.

Lucy woke up slowly, wincing at the pounding in her head. Her eyelids were heavier than her textbooks and her mouth was dryer than it had ever been and she refused to open her eyes, afraid the light would split her head open.

“Drink,” a voice demanded and a cup was pushed against her lips. She swallowed the cool water gratefully, the soothing feeling against her throat nearly sending her back to sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep again, stupid girl, I’ll give you something for the headache.”

A few moments later a couple of pills were pushed into her hand and Lucy used the water to swallow them. The relief was instantaneous and she slowly opened her eyes. She was in the nurse’s office. Curtains covered the windows so the room was dim, thankfully. Plue lay next to her bed; he raised his head to look at her, whining softly. She smiled at him reassuringly and he whined once more, his energy in her chest restless. She knew he was probably upset he hadn’t been there to protect her. Porlyusica glared at her from the side of her bed, mouth set in a straight line. Lucy had forgotten she was the school nurse.

“Concussion,” the woman confirmed, folding her arms against her chest. “For your sake, and mine, I won’t tell you pain of a father about this. He’d hound me for weeks and no doubt make your life miserable.”

Lucy smiled weakly, closing her eyes again. She didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if her father heard about this. It was shameful, that his daughter was so easily bested in a mere sparring match.

“I brought the swelling in your face down and fixed that pretty nose of yours so you just need to worry about the concussion. You’re to rest here until dinner; no more classes for the day.”

Her tone invited no argument and Lucy nodded mutely.

“No sleeping,” Porlyusica snapped before standing, leaving the room quietly. Her bedside manner left something to be desired Lucy thought.

Her eyes opened again and she wished she had her journal to write in, if only to pass the time. She had no books and a glance at the clock told her that her dorm mates were likely in the middle of class. She imagined the nurse had probably had a rather difficult time forcing Natsu back to class and smiled at the mental image. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the door opened once more and in walked the devil himself, eyes lighting up when he saw that she was awake.

“Luce,” he cheered quietly, mindful of her concussion, taking a seat on the chair by her bed. “How are you feeling?”

Lucy groaned and he winced. Their hands joined so naturally that Lucy almost didn’t notice it, appreciating the feel of his rough fingers between hers. His hand was warm and she raised it to press the back of it against her cheek, relishing in the contact. He watched her with a small smile on his lips, dark eyes bright.

“Minerva?” she croaked, lowering his hand. Natsu handed her another cup of water and she downed it gratefully.

“Probably still getting chewed out by Makarov. Gildarts was pissed,” Natsu answered. “I think Levy was ready to slit her throat.”

Lucy snorted at the image of tiny Levy taking Minerva down, which actually wasn’t too hard to imagine. The blue haired girl could be vicious when she wanted to be.

“How did your fight go?” she asked. Natsu grinned, sharp canines peeking out from beneath his lip.

“I killed ‘im,” he boasted and she laughed lightly.

“Who won Gajeel and Levy’s?” she suddenly gasped, having forgotten they’d been paired up.

Natsu burst into laughter. “Levy,” he snickered. “She put him flat on his ass. You should’ve seen it Luce, it was great.” Lucy giggled alongside him, the mental image hilarious. She winced as her headache acted up again. She pressed a hand to the side of her head, massaging her temple gently.

“I’ll kill her,” Natsu growled suddenly, making her jump. His voice was low and he was staring at her with an intensity that made her skin heat up. He looked positively murderous. “Nobody should get to lay a hand on you like that, Lucy.”

“It’s my fault for being so weak,” she half-joked, avoiding his eyes. Another growl ripped from his chest, nearly animalistic. Plue raised his head at the sound of it, checking to be sure Lucy wasn’t in any danger before lowering it once more.

“You’re not weak, Lucy,” Natsu murmured, voice gentle once more. He raised his other hand to cup her face with, forcing her to look him in the eye. Her headache seemed to fade at the light pressure. “You’re anything but weak.”

The air stilled. Lucy watched him with wide eyes. His face was open, earnest. Sincere. There was no pity in them, no disgust at her weakness. Her father would have been angry, revolted by her. Natsu just seemed worried. Happy to see her, happy to be next to her. She raised her other hand to place it over his, leaning into his warm touch. Her eyes fluttered close and she listened to his breathing, even and steady. They sat like that for a few moments, quietly. His hand suddenly moved away from her face and she opened her eyes quickly, confused and a little hurt. He stood, nudging her over so he could sit on her bed. He settled down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders and pushing her head down to his shoulder gently.

She smiled, closing her eyes again. The sound of their breathing filled the air. She could almost forget everything that had happened that day, that week. Natsu was solid and comforting beside her, his arm offering her protection and safety she hadn’t felt for a long time. It was almost as if Natsu’s presence kept away all the bad in the world. She hummed, shifting so she was more comfortable, head tucked into the crook of his neck. He placed his cheek on top of her head. No more words needed to be said and she felt time slip away from her, marked only by the rise and fall of Natsu’s chest. They fell asleep quickly.

#yanna speaks #fairy tail #nalu #gajevy #gruvia #constellunaa #blood and magic #b&m - chapter 4 #please reblog!!!!#my writing

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cbraxs · 8 years ago

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Warped [Time Warp Trio Fanfiction] - Chapter 1

A layer of fresh white snow covered the sidewalks and buildings of a Progressive Era New York City. Horse drawn carriages and vintage cars trampled the snow in the road into brown slush. Pedestrians dashed between vehicles. Children ran free in the streets as they tossed balls back and forth.

The pale winter sun had little effect on the world below. Women in furs and elaborate hats, and men in long coats and top hats traversed the sidewalk, their breath visible in the frigid air.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, no one noticed the swirling green vortex open up on the porch of an apartment complex and spit out three boys: Joe, Sam, and Fred. The vortex closed and the trio landed with a thud on top of each other.

Joe groaned and rubbed a kink out of his shoulder. "Everyone okay?"

"Besides my broken neck?" Fred asked and surveyed their surroundings. "Where the heck are we, the fifties?"

Besides Joe, Sam sat up. He cleaned a smudge on his glasses and put them back on. "Ford Model T cars, old timey clothes, horses in the road. It looks like the nineteen-hundreds." Sam gasped. "We must be a hundred years in the past!"

Joe shot Sam a look. "Way to go, Sam."

"Me? I'm not the one who had my best friend hanging from the rafters!"

"Easy, guys," Fred said. "Let's just find The Book and—"

"Wait." Joe frowned and looked around. "Where's—"

The door of the apartment flew open. A blonde woman wielded a cane overhead and about to beat them to death.

Killed before they were even born. What else was new?

Before the three of them were nearly assaulted by a cane-wielding psycho, it was a normal day in their seventh-period History class. Ms. Kitsch allowed them to work on their homework worksheets in class while she read a book with a dragon on it.

Joe, Sam, and Fred sat together the farthest from the door and the closest to the windows. Four desks were pushed together, the spare desk across from Joe.

Most of the class either chatted, texted, or napped. Sam dutifully worked on his homework. while Fred bobbed his head to the music on his phone. Joe shuffled his deck of magic cards and nudged Fred next to him.

"Pick a card," Joe said.

Fred pulled out an earbud and rolled his eyes. "Again? Come on, Joe..."

"I got it this time. Honest."

Fred relented and drew a card.

"Now write your name on it."

"Uh..." Fred patted himself down. He nudged Sam. "Hey, you got a pen?"

Sam sighed. "You know, one of these days you should really bring your own materials to school."

Fred put his arm around Sam and jostled him. "Why would I do that when we have you around, Sam?"

Sam handed him a pen. Fred wrote down his name and handed the card back to Joe.

Joe grinned and shuffled the deck again. "Alright, now—"

"Joseph!"

Joe jumped and scattered his cards across the desk. His classmates snickered at him.

Ms. Kitsch stood at the front of the class next to a girl he did recognize. His teacher shook her head. "Joseph, please put your cards away until after school."

He nodded. His cheeks warmed. "Sorry, ma'am."

She cleared her throat. "As I was saying, we have a new student in the class. Want to introduce yourself?"

The girl wrung her hands together. Her eyes fluttered from person to person. "I'm Izzy Shabazz."

For a second, Joe swore her eyes studied him, but as soon as he noticed it, her eyes were averted elsewhere.

"Anything you want to share about yourself, Isabella?"

"Isadora," she corrected. "Um, I like art. Painting, sculpting. History's cool, too."

Ms. Kitsch eyes lit up. "We're learning about the Renaissance this month. Do you have any interesting art history facts you'd care to share?"

The girl—Isadora— scrunched up her face in thought. "In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a lot of artists used Mummy Brown for their paintings, which was made of actual, real live mummies."

Ms. Kitsch face fell. "Oh! Um..."

"Pre-Raphaelite artist, Edward Burne-Jones, buried his tube of paint in his garden after he found out."

Kayla Hines, an attractive girl with long strawberry blonde hair, shot her hand up. "Is paint, like, still made of mummies? Cause I used to finger paint."

Isadora shrugged. "Let's hope not."

Ms. Kitsch shifted, a little disturbed by the new student. She clapped her hands. "Right! Anyway, class, please make Isadora feel welcomed. Isadora, here's your worksheet, due Monday. Take a seat in the empty chair back there, next to Samuel. Samuel, please raise your hand."

Sam cringed at his formal name but raised his hand.

Isadora sat down in the empty seat. Two curly pigtails dangled from the sides of her head as she rummaged through her backpack for a pencil.

Fred cleared his throat. "Hey, how's it going?"

An awkward beat. Izzy looked up, her brows knitted together confused. "Me?"

"Uh, duh, you."

"Fred!" Sam hissed. "Don't be rude."

Joe scooped up his cards. "Don't take it personally. Fred was raised in the jungle."

Fred held his hands up and feigned offense. His smirk gave him away. "What? I'm just trying to greet her. 'Make her feel welcomed' and all that." He turned his attention back to her.

Isadora twisted her earrings. "I'm... fine. Thank you."

"As you know, I'm Fred. That's Sam, and he's Joe." Fred motioned as he listed off their names. Sam nodded. Joe waved when his name was mentioned.

She smiled. "Nice to meet you guys."

She and Sam turned their attention to their homework. Joe collected his cards and tried to resume his trick. Joe noticed Isadora watched them from the corner of his eye.

Joe pulled out the Ace of Spades. "Was this your card?"

Fred snorted. "No."

"How about... the Seven of Diamonds?"

"Nuh uh."

Joe sighed. He knew he messed up when he spilled the cards, but he wanted to give it a go anyway.

"Is this it?" Isadora said. Joe flinched. She held up the King of Clubs. Fred the Freak was scribbled across the top.

Fred snapped his fingers. "That's the one."

Joe stared at the card as she handed it to him. "How did you get that?"

"It was under your seat."

Sam, who had apparently been listening to them the entire time, chuckled under his breath.

"Can you try with me?" Isadora asked. She spun her earrings. Joe noticed that they were little hourglasses.

Joe grinned. For some reason, no one (besides his uncle Joe) ever wanted to see his tricks. "Sure."

They went through the same motions as before, minus Joe spilling the cards. He pulled out the Joker card. "Is this it?"

Isadora shook her head. "Not quite."

"Then what about..." He reached behind her ear and pulled out the Queen of Hearts, with Izzy scrawled underneath. "This?"

Fred whistled, impressed.

"Finally," Sam muttered under his breath.

There was a twinkle in Isadora's eyes. "Are you a magician?"

"No," Fred and Sam said in unison.

Joe glared at them. "Yes, I am."

"That's so cool," she said. "So is my Dad."

She paused, her face contorted in sadness. It vanished as soon as it came, so Joe dismissed it.

"Who's your dad?" Sam asked.

"The Sensational Shabazz."

Joe's chin dropped. "No way. He's your dad?"

Fred coughed, sneaking in an audible, "Dork."

Isadora nodded, but her face turned dark. She frowned, her green eyes searched for something in Joe's face. "Don't you—"

Whatever she was going to say was drowned out by the school bell. On cue, everyone jumped up and swarmed to the door as Ms. Kitsch wished everyone a good weekend.

Joe stuffed his cards back into his back pocket. "What's your next class?" He asked her.

"Art."

"I have math." He hefted his backpack to his shoulder. "But if you're interested, I'm auditioning for the talent show. A magic act. You could probably already tell that."

She nodded and stuffed her worksheet into her bag.

Joe cleared his throat. "You can come watch if you want. It's in the auditorium."

She said she would, but she seemed distracted. The trio left the class and left Isadora behind, her brow furrowed in thought.

Joe thought he'd found his big ticket item. The teachers limited each act to be four minutes, so he figured he'd focus on one thing, something big. The Metamorphosis.

The Metamorphosis was one of Joe's favorite tricks. The magician would bind themselves in chains and be locked away in a box by their lovely assistant. The assistant would then stand on top of the box and shield them from the audience with a curtain. When the curtain dropped, the magician and the assistant would switch places.

The problem? Joe wasn't a hundred percent sure how the trick was done.

And he didn't have a big enough box.

And the only chains he had were ones kids used to play Cops and Robbers.

And Fred was far from lovely.

Joe had to make due with a metal laundry hamper and Anna's old pink bed sheets. He was grateful his friends were even willing to help. Fred slapped the handcuffs on him, while Sam stood on the catwalk, moving the spotlights around.

Joe crawled into the hamper. Fred couldn't stand on top without it caving in, so Fred stood in front, held up the sheets, and dropped them. When the sheets crumbled to the floor, Fred dashed behind hamper as Joe struggled to get out. The hamper wobbled and fell to one side. Joe shrieked.

He tripped getting up, the cuffs still on one hand, and waved his arms in a flourish. "TA—"

In a moment, Joe surveyed his audience. The teacher in charge slept, his head tilted back. Drool dribbled down his chin as he snored like a chainsaw. Two students were making out in the back row, shielded by the shadows. The janitor listened to his Walkman and pushed a sweeper vacuums down the isle.

He dropped his arms. "Da."

Enthusiastic clapping made him jump. Isadora sat in the middle of the first row. He stared at her, surprised that she came.

She forced a smile. "Well, that was—"

A light plummeted from the rafters and it exploded on impact.

"Sorry!" Sam called from the catwalk. "I was—AH!"

Metal ground together. Cables snapped and Sam fell. He hung upside down, fifteen feet from the floor. The cables wrapped around him were the only thing kept him from becoming a Sam pancake on the stage.

"Help!" He cried, waving his arms around.

"Quit flailing, Sam!" Fred stood up from behind the laundry hamper. He pointed a thumb at Sam. "I got him."

He disappeared behind the stage. Fred struggling to untangle Sam became white noise in the background.

Joe sighed and sat on the edge of the stage. "Were you gonna to say that I'm a pathetic joke who's a disgrace to the industry and should give up on magic?"

Isadora jumped up. "N-no! I was just— I meant—"

"Relax." He raised his hands in defense. "I'm just kidding."

"Oh. Right. Of course you were."

She looked down, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Joe wondered why she'd reacted so flusteredly like no one ever joked with her.

Isadora spun her earrings. It must've been a nervous tick. "So, you're a Houdini fan?"

"What gave it away?" Joe asked.

"The Metamorphosis was one of his signature tricks. My parents used to perform it at shows. I think you do need some practice with it, though."

"I need help. I'd love to get some pointers from my uncle, but he's, um, out of town a lot."

Joe wasn't about to tell her his Uncle Joe was a time traveling magician. That kind of thing tended to make you look crazy.

Isadora walked towards the stage. "That stinks. My dad's out of town, too."

"For a show?"

She nodded but frowned. She didn't look sure.

Joe opened his mouth to speak when Fred yelled above them, "Heads up!"

Their eyes shot up. Sam, now free from his restraints, fell towards the stage.

"Sam!" Joe cried.

Isadora grabbed the closest thing— Joe's backpack— and whipped it underneath Sam. He landed on the bag with a thump and rolled over. He groaned.

In an instant, the three of them were at his side. Joe helped him to his feet. "Sorry, Sam. Are you okay?"

"Just peachy," he said. He rubbed the arm he landed on and turned to Isadora. "Thanks for the quick thinking."

"You're welcome," she said. "I'm sorry I hurled your backpack, Joe. I hope nothing's broken."

Sam picked up the bag. "Jeez, Joe. What do you have in here—"

The Book slipped out of the bag and hit the floor. The pages fluttered open. The familiar green mist curled from The Book and surrounded the four of them.

"—bricks?" Sam squeaked.

Isadora waved her hand to disperse the mist. "What the heck is—"

In an instant, the four of them warped in a flash of green light.

The trio scrambled up as the woman swung the cane, missing Sam by a hair.

"Hey!" Sam yelped. "Watch where you're swinging that thing."

The woman hefted the cane over her head. "I'm tired of you good-for-nothing bums thinking you can sleep on my porch whenever you want."

She swung again. They dodged. Joe stepped in front of his friends.

"We're not bums, ma'am," he said. "We're actually—"

"Say 'magicians'," Fred muttered, "and I'll beat you myself."

The woman fumed. Her glare could melt the snow on the porch. She was six feet tall with blonde hair up in a bun. She wore an old fashioned blouse, high waist skirt, and a bowtie.

She lowered her cane. Joe's heart skipped a beat. A glowing hourglass filled with green sand sat on top of the silver cane.

How had he not noticed that before?

His eyes shot up to the apartment address. A familiar number "twenty-six" was printed on the windowpane. This was his home, a hundred years in the past, and this bloodthirsty nut must have been an ancestor of his.

Joe pointed at the number above. "Guys! Check it out."

Fred and Sam gasped.

"What are you boys jawing about?" the woman asked, the edge still in her voice.

Before they could answer, a boy step hopped forward from behind her, tugging on a dress shoe. His sweater vest was untucked, his tie was askew.

The boy smiled wide. "Bout time you three show up!"

The boys looked at each other.

"Us?" Fred asked.

"Of course, you knuckle head." The boy tied his tie. "I've been waiting for you guys. Mother, these are some of my buddies from work. Swell guys. We're heading to the show together."

The boy's mom squinted her eyes at the trio. The three of them smiled and tried to look swell.

"My apologies," she said through gritted teeth. She turned to the boy, and her eyes softened. "Eugene, be safe. I'll expect you home by eight tonight."

Eugene kissed her on the cheek and grabbed a coat from the coat hanger. "I'll tell you all about when I'm back. Come on boys, let's walk and talk."

Eugene motioned for the three of them to follow and bounded down the steps, a spring in his step. The boys looked at each other.

"Should we follow him?" Joe asked.

A muffled rustle. The woman peeked behind the blinds and glared at them.

Sam yelped and bolted down the steps after Eugene. "I vote yes."

Joe and Fred followed suit.

Eugene weaved through the crowd as if this was a regular routine of his. The trio caught up to him as he attached a rounded collar to his shirt.

"Thanks for the save back there, man," Joe said.

"You're quite welcome," Eugene said, "if you'll excuse my mother."

Fred tugged on his hat to keep it from blowing away. "Nice lady. In a murderous sort of way."

"Her bark is worse than her bite," Eugene assured them. "Besides, she's a little on edge since a certain, um, family heirloom vanished."

"This family heirloom wouldn't happen to be a blue book, would it?" Joe asked.

Eugene halted. "With silver squiggles?"

"That's the one."

"How do you know that? Are you another time traveler?"

Joe looked at Sam and Fred. A silent conversation happened between them in a second. Joe decided to come clean and told Eugene the truth. Eugene stared at him and listened in stunned silence before he accepted Joe's story. He surprised Joe with a bear hug and picked him up. Pedestrians gave them odd looks as Sam and Fred snickered.

"This is outstanding!" Eugene laughed and let Joe down. "I never met a future relative before. That explains what happened to The Book. Ours must have warped out you three warped in."

"And our Book is missing, too," Joe said.

"Which is just perfect," Sam mumbled.

"Hey, it's not exactly like this trip was planned. I didn't even know The Book was in my bag."

It was true. Joe remembered locking The Book in the box after a run in with a belligerent Bolshevik in pre-Soviet Russia (long story. Don't ask). Did he put it in his bag before school this morning? No, he didn't see why he would do that. Was Anna playing a practical joke? Joe doubted it. Anna could be annoying, but she was responsible with The Book.

He shook his head. It didn't matter now. They were already here, so all they could do now was to find The Book. Besides, it wasn't the only thing they were missing.

"Have you seen a girl around here, Eugene?" Joe asked. "She has pigtails, a bluish greenish shirt."

"Pants," Fred added. "That might help narrow it down."

Eugene shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell. But maybe she's at the Hippodrome?"

Fred frowned, confused. "That office building where my cousin Tyler is a janitor?"

"Why would she be there?" Joe asked.

"Maybe she's looking for a job?"

Joe rolled his eyes.

"Actually," Sam said, "the Hippodrome used to be the biggest theater in New York. It had circuses, operas. Houdini even had a show where he made an elephant completely disappear."

Eugene smiled. "That's precisely where we're going!"

Joe choked. "W-we-we're going to see Houdini?"

"That's right."

"And he's going to make a whole elephant disappear?"

"Well, half an elephant wouldn't make much of a show now, would it?"

Stars formed in Joe's eyes. "Let's go. Right now."

Joe started again. Fred snagged him by the hood of his jacket. "Dude, did you forget about the whole girl that we made disappear?"

He folded his arms. "No! Of course not. But there is a chance she's there."

Sam and Fred looked at each other like they didn't buy it.

Joe wasn't trying to cover his tracks. Of course, he was excited for the chance to see Houdini's show, but he did believe Isadora was there or at least was heading there. She was clearly a fan of Houdini, and, once she figured out what was happening, would probably take up the chance to see Houdini live, too. That is if she wasn't in any trouble.

Joe's gut twisted at the thought that his Book put an innocent girl he barely knew in danger. He remembered how lost and terrified he was when he first warped. He hated to think she might be going through the same thing.

"Besides," Joe said, "maybe Isadora has The Book?"

Izzy fell face first in the middle road and ate a mouthful of dirty snow. She sat up and spat out snow.

"Bleh," she groaned. Her head pounded. "What the—"

An old fashioned car dodged her by an inch. The driver laid on the horn as he passed.

"—heck!" She jumped.

Men and woman in vintage clothes scrutinized her as cars and horse-drawn carriages avoided her. The drivers shouted and gave her rude gestures.

She shivered. "Oh, God. Is this purgatory?"

A carriage drawn by two horses approached Izzy, but instead of moving around her, it forged straight ahead. Izzy barely noticed. She rubbed her eyes and stared at her surroundings, too stunned move.

At the last second, the man guiding the horses pulled at the reigns and the horses stopped.

"Imprudent simp!" The man yelled.

Izzy frowned. "I'm not a chimp."

The man on the carriage wore a black and blue Venetian mask, along with a black cape and suit. A ring with a blue stone shone on his middle finger.

Master Mysterio was painted on the side of the royal blue carriage along with a caricature of the driver.

Izzy nodded approvingly at the artwork. "Nice paint job."

The man, presumably Master Mysterio, narrowed his eyes. "Jaywalking in the middle of the road. Interrupting the flow of traffic. Are you a fool?"

"A fool?"

A crowd formed around to watch them. They pointed at Izzy and murmured, who shivered and hugged herself. She wished she had the foresight to bring a jacket.

"Are you aware that jaywalking is a crime?" Master Mysterio went on. "You should be arrested."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Arrested?"

Out of the corner of Izzy's eye, she noticed someone step out of a car and head towards the two of them. The man, who wore a bow tie long coat suit, was around her father's age with graying hair parted in the middle.

Some of the people in the crowd oohed and ahhed as he approached. Master Mysterio glowered down at him.

"No need to cause a scene, Lauren," the new man said.

Izzy's jaw went slack. "Y-y-you're Hou—"

"Houdini, my friend," Mysterio said in a way that made Izzy doubt he considered him a friend. "You're defending this delinquent?"

Harry Houdini— THE Harry Houdini— shook his head and motioned to Izzy. "Can't you tell that she's an immigrant by her eccentric outfit?"

She looked down at her outfit. She wore a teal tank top over a white t-shirt and pink pants. She wondered if the colors were too bright.

Izzy said, "Me, uh, ahoy-hoy! Wow! You're a—what?"

Oh, Isadora, she thought. Your eloquence is unparalleled.

"She can't even speak proper English yet," Houdini said. "The poor girl simply isn't privy to our laws yet."

"Ignorance of the law is not an excuse." Mysterio snapped his fingers and pointed into the crowd." Officer! Arrest this-this goon, post haste."

A chubby officer stepped forward, baton in hand. For a moment, Izzy worried that the cop would beat her. She could defend herself a little. She'd been learning Tae Kwon Do for about three months now on her father's insistence, but he also told her to always respect authorities.

But instead, he replaced the baton with rusty handcuffs.

Izzy squeaked and backed up. "I-I'm only fifteen! Don't I get three strikes or a stern talking to? A pink slip?"

Her pleas were ignored as the officer cuffed her. "Sorry, little lady. I got a quota to fill."

The masked man smirked. Houdini shook his head and trekked back to his car. The crowd dispersed, upset that the show was over.

Izzy was loaded into the back of patrol car. She was greeted by twins cuffed together and a plump elderly woman.

"Uh..." Izzy shrugged her shoulders in lieu of waving. "Hello?"

The woman snorted and flipped around a butterfly knife. For some reason, she wasn't handcuffed. The twins sized her up, looked at each other, and chuckled.

The vehicle started. Izzy tripped but managed to steady herself.

She backed up to the door and gave it a good kick. Locked. She spread her palms as best she could against the chill metal. Thin enough to slip past.

"Hey, baby," one of the guys said. "You ain't gonna get out. Why don't you come sit over here?"

"No thank you, sir." She wiggled her arms. The sharp edges of the handcuffs dug into her skin. They were thick and heavy, but breaking out would be child's play.

Her father often warned her about using any magic in public. People would freak out or ask too many questions, but the thought of going to jail made her stomach churn. Besides, she didn't think that the officers at the police station would help her, let alone believe her when she told them she wasn't from this time period, or pocket dimension, or whatever.

Wherever she was, those guys would have to know. Izzy remembered seeing the three of them after they were sucked into that glowing green portal. They had to be here, too, but where exactly?

She bit her lip as she tried to recall their names. She could kick herself, she was always so bad at names. She never had to remember any before today. After a moment, the names Sam and Fred came to her. She hadn't forgotten Joe's name.

The morning after her dad left, Izzy read and reread and rereread the letter he left her. Partially because she was dyslexic, and partially because she couldn't believe what was going on.

Her father told her to find the magician name Joe and she had. He was supposed to protect her while her father was away, but Joe seemed unaware of what was happening. Had her dad forgotten to inform Joe? He could be pretty forgetful.

She needed answers, about where she was and about her father. For that, she needed to find Joe, Sam, and Fred. Izzy hoped that they were in a better situation than she was.

But first things first, she needed to get out of the cop car.

"Well." She looked at her new friends. "You guys are gonna see something weird."

Lauren Anderson grinned as he headed to the Hippodrome. He considered the encounter with the "great" Harry Houdini a minor victory. For years, he'd struggled to outdo the man to no avail. While not in magic, Lauren had finally accumulated a win against him. Sending some silly girl on her way to jail was merely collateral damage.

He handed over the reigns of his buggy to the negro valet and grabbed his heavy jacket from his side seat. Something block shaped slid from the seat and hit the ground.

Lauren furrowed his brow. "What in God's name..."

A blue book decorated with silver ribbons and strange symbols stared up at him. He recognized it as that book his dimwitted assistant, Eugene Ellis, always had his nose in. Lauren figured that Eugene left it there when he made him wash the carriage yesterday.

Eugene was quite secretive of the contents of the book and would snap it shut whenever he noticed someone around. Curious, Lauren scooped it up and headed inside.

Lauren fought his way through the crowd. To his chagrin, the crowd was large, full of the rich, poor, and in between. Houdini never failed to drum up an audience.

He looked at the Lapis Lazuli ring on his middle finger. He considered making it rain on this little parade, but decided against it.

Once inside, Lauren picked a seat front and centered and flipped open the book. Blocks of text next to realistic pictures of Egyptian pyramids, medieval villages, Chinese landmarks, and other interesting historical bits flashed by as he turned the page. Eugene's father was a historian, and his ill-tempered yet fetching mother was a teacher, so it didn't surprise him that Eugene would also be interested in history.

He landed on a picture of the Hippodrome with a crowd lined up to the doors. He scoffed but decided to read the text.

January 7th, 1918, the paragraph read. Lauren Anderson sat in seat fourteen, row A, in the Hippodrome, reading The Book—

Lauren dropped The Book. It landed with a thump that was dull to his ears. He clenched his chest to keep his heart from galloping out of his ribcage. He counted backwards from ten in his head until his heart slow down.

He ignored the strange looks he got as his shaky hands picked The Book back up. He turned back to the page.

Lauren dropped The Book and nearly had a conniption. People looked at him funny. He didn't notice.

An image of himself reading The Book appeared underneath the text. In the image, he looked as though he was on the verge of vomiting. The image was clearer and more realistic than any picture taken with a camera.

He snapped The Book shut and tried to control his breathing. Was this some kind of past/present future telling device? What was that little brat Eugene doing with a book like this? How did he get a book like this?

Lauren twisted the ring on his finger. In all fairness, Eugene wasn't the only one with a magical item. However, his little rain machine wasn't quite as impressive.

A grin spread across Lauren's face as formulated a plan to use this to his advantage. Returning The Book hadn't crossed his mind.

#twt #fanfic #timewarptrio #time warp trio

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ceruleanvulpine · 8 years ago

Text

asoue reread: les miserables (mills)

optometry! cross-dressing! hypnosis! me, in the background, speculating about the arc plot!

To Beatrice- My love flew like a butterfly Until death swooped down like a bat As the poet Emma Montana McElroy said: "That's the end of that."

The first time I reread this I looked up the source of that poem, and it turns out to be from a third-grader in an asoue-themed poetry contest. Ms. McElroy (presumably no relation) says that she “like[s] sad stories, because after reading them you can get happy again until you're ready to read one again”. Relatable, Emma.

But this book begins with the sentence "The Baudelaire orphans looked out the grimy window of the train and gazed at the gloomy blackness of the Finite Forest, wondering if their lives would ever get any better," and you should be able to tell that the story that follows will be very different from the story of Gary or Emily or the family of cunning little chipmunks.

It doesn’t, Lemony, there are two full paragraphs before that sentence is said!

And the only trophy they would win would be some sort of First Prize for Wretchedness.

Can someone draw the kids with a First Prize For Wretchedness Trophy, cool, thanks

I'm now the Vice President in Charge of Coins

¿¿¿??¿?

Mr. Poe took a piece of paper out of his pocket and squinted at it. "His name is Mr. Wuz- Mr. Qui- I can't pronounce it. It's very long and complicated."

"I have given Mr. Bek- Mr. Duy- I have given your new caretaker a complete description of Count Olaf," said Mr. Poe. "So if by some stretch of the imagination he shows up in Paltryville, Mr. Sho- Mr. Gek- will notify the authorities."

Lifehack: if you discover Sir’s true name, you can compel him to release you from your lumber compact.

Alongside the sidewalk, where a row of trees might have been, were towering stacks of old newspapers instead.

(squints) Doesn’t the fact that VFD stores old newspapers in stacks on the Paltryville streets get mentioned in UA or somewhere? (Or was that a fanfic? >.>)

Other than a sign I saw once that said "Beware" in letters made of dead monkeys, the "Lucky Smells Lumbermill" sign was the most disgusting sign on earth

?????¿

It is much, much worse to receive bad news through the written word than by somebody simply telling you, and I'm sure you understand why. When somebody simply tells you bad news, you hear it once, and that's the end of it. But when bad news is written down, whether in a letter or a newspaper or on your arm in felt tip pen, each time you read it, you feel as if you are receiving the news again and again. For instance, I once loved a woman, who for various reasons could not marry me. If she had simply told me in person, I would have been very sad, of course, but eventually it might have passed. However, she chose instead to write a two-hundred-page book, explaining every single detail of the bad news at great length, and instead my sadness has been of impossible depth. When the book was first brought to me, by a flock of carrier pigeons, I stayed up all night reading it, and I read it still, over and over, and it is as if my darling Beatrice is bringing me bad news every day and every night of my life.

Lemony --

You know, I don’t think hearing it in person would have helped?

Klaus frowned at the hand-drawn map that was attached to the note with another wad of gum, "This map looks pretty easy to read," he said. "The dormitory is straight ahead, between the storage shed and the lumbermill itself."

Violet looked straight ahead and saw a gray windowless building on the other side of the courtyard. "I don't want to live," she said, "between the storage shed and the lumbermill itself."

I love her...

I'm sure you have heard it said that appearance does not matter so much, and that it is what's on the inside that counts. This is, of course, utter nonsense, because if it were true then people who were good on the inside would never have to comb their hair or take a bath, and the whole world would smell even worse than it already does.

I’m not.. sure that follows.

"You must be Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire," the somebody said, and the children turned to see a very tall man with very short hair. He was wearing a bright blue vest and holding a peach. He smiled and walked toward them, but then frowned as he drew closer. "Why, you're covered in pieces of bark," he said. "I hope you haven't been hanging around the lumbermill. That can be very dangerous for small children."

Chaaaaaarles!

He’s just as useless as every other adult in the damn series, but I have a soft spot for him anyway. Maybe because he’s Gay And Useless.

"That doesn't matter," Charles replied. "When Sir has made up his mind, he has made up his mind. I know he sometimes is a little bit mean, but you'll have to excuse him. He had a very terrible childhood. Do you understand?"

Violet looked at the painting of the seashore, and thought once again of that dreadful day at the beach. "Yes," she sighed. "I understand. I think I'm having a very terrible childhood myself."

This is still such a good line.

But although all the workers looked tired, and sad, and hungry, none of them looked evil, or greedy, or had such awful manners.

and at that moment one of the children had a trick played on him which I hope has never been played on you. This trick involves sticking your foot out in front of a person who is walking, so the person trips and falls on the ground. A policeman did it to me once, when I was carrying a crystal ball belonging to a Gypsy fortune-teller who never forgave me for tumbling to the ground and shattering her ball into hundreds of pieces. It is a mean trick, and it is easy to do, and I'm sorry to say that Foreman Flacutono did it to Klaus right at this moment.

1. Was that Madame Lulu?

2. The similar incident in ATWQ 3 still makes this funnier to me.

When they arrived at the dormitory, Violet and Sunny looked out the window to watch for him, and they were so anxious that it took them several minutes to realize that the window was not a real one, but one drawn on the blank wall with a ballpoint pen.

either they’re VERY anxious or this is some shockingly good ballpoint trompe l’oeil

"Klaus, we were so worried about you," Violet said, hugging her brother as he reached them. "You were gone for so long. Whatever happened to you?"

"I don't know," Klaus said, so quietly that his sisters had to lean forward to hear him. "I can't remember."

"You'd better get to bed, Klaus," Violet said. "Follow me."

At last, Klaus spoke. "Yes, sir," he said, quietly.

Okay. People differ in their opinions on when this series Gets Horrifying. Monty’s death is upsetting, certainly, and Olaf trying to marry Violet is scary, and when he pushes Josephine off the boat it’s chilling...

But IMO hypnotized!Klaus is a sudden uptick in fear level. (At least, it’s the thing I very clearly remembered even after I hadn’t read the books in years.) He doesn’t take his shoes off before going to bed! And Violet does and then in the morning he gets up and goes off to work without putting them back on! That’s Horrifying(tm)

My chauffeur once told me that I would feel better in the morning, but when I woke up the two of us were still on a tiny island surrounded by man-eating crocodiles, and, as I'm sure you can understand, I didn't feel any better about it.

YOU OKAY, LEMONY??

Violet and Sunny sat down beside him, confused and frightened, and put their arms around their brother as though they were afraid he was floating away. They sat there like that, a heap of Baudelaires, until Foreman Flacutono clanged his pots together to signal the end of the break.

;-; ;-; ;-;

Then everyone had to blow on the stamp so it dried quickly.

That doesn’t seem efficient, but I don’t know what I expected from Sir.

And I simply cannot describe the grotesque and unnerving sight—the words "grotesque" and "unnerving" here mean "twisted, tangled, stained, and gory"—of poor Phil's leg. It made Violet's and Sunny's stomachs turn to gaze upon it, but Phil looked up and gave them a weak smile.

Yikes!

"No, no," Phil said. "It's fine. I've never liked my left leg so much, anyway." "Not your leg, you overgrown midget," Foreman Flacutono said impatiently.

me: children

bald man: midgets

me: adults?

bald man: overgrown midgets

...and at this point in the story of the Baudelaire orphans, I would like to interrupt for a moment and answer a question I'm sure you are asking yourself. It is an important question, one which many, many people have asked many, many times, in many, many places all over the world. The Baudelaire orphans have asked it, of course. Mr. Poe has asked it. I have asked it. My beloved Beatrice, before her untimely death, asked it, although she asked it too late. The question is: Where is Count Olaf?

That does seem like a pretty straightforward implication that, yep, it was Olaf. The books are not as subtle about this as tumblr user Istoki insinuated to me. :P

Dr. Orwell was a tall woman with blond hair pulled back from her head and fashioned into a tight, tight bun. She had big black boots on her feet, and was holding a long black cane with a shiny red jewel on the top.

Book Orwell was blonde? I had forgotten this.

Also jeez no wonder people think she’s hot. Boots! Boots.

"Have you ever encountered," Dr. Orwell said, "in your reading, the expression 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar'?"

Aw man I was mad at the netflix show for giving her Esmé’s line but it was her line all along! I was incorrect.

The buildup to the payoff of that line is so good. Georgina is so much more competent than Olaf.

"That wig and that lipstick don't fool us any more than your palebrown dress and sensible beige shoes. You're Count Olaf."

The word “palebrown” appears twice in this page and I am very perplexed. I also love... book Shirley: sensible receptionist’s outfit! Netflix Shirley: red red red red red re

Count Olaf shook his head. "But if you do something impolite to me" he said, "then I might do something impolite to you, like for instance tearing your hair out with my bare hands."

Zero to sudden threats of violence in two pages after his appearance: the Count Olaf MO!!!

"Possibly," Shirley said, crossing her legs and revealing long white stockings imprinted with the pattern of an eye.

#nice

"Don't be ab—" Violet said, but she stopped herself before she could say "surd."

[...]

"Ab?" said a voice behind her. "What in the world does the word 'ab' mean?"

Violet and Sunny turned around and saw Dr. Orwell leading Klaus into the waiting room. He was wearing another new pair of glasses and was looking confused.

"Klaus!" Violet cried. "We were so worried ab—" She stopped herself before she could say "out" when she saw her brother's expression.

[...]

"There you go again, with 'ab,'" Dr. Orwell said. "Whatever in the world does it mean?"

"'Ab' isn't a word, of course," Shirley said. "Only a stupid person would say a word like 'ab.'"

"They are stupid, aren't they?" Dr. Orwell agreed, as though they were talking about the weather instead of insulting young children. "They must have very low self-esteem."

"I couldn't agree more, Dr. Orwell," Shirley said.

"Call me Georgina," the horrible optometrist replied, winking.

STOP BEING SO MEAN TO THESE CHILDREN.. Also “”Call me Georgina,” the horrible optometrist replied, winking,” is such an incredible sentence? I’m glad they’re exes in the show.

Violet tried to smile at Phil, but her smiling muscles just stayed put. She knew—or she thought she knew, anyway, because she was actually wrong—that the only thing in disguise was Count Olaf.

... Wait, what else is in disguise? ... Orwell’s sword-cane?

"Hypnosis! Count Olaf! Fiti! I've had enough of your excuses!" he yelled.

Sir is terrible, but this is the second or third time he’s just accepted Sunny’s baby talk as comprehensible speech, which amuses me. Also Klaus isn’t at this meeting because he’s hypnotized and VIOLET THOUGHT HE MIGHT MURDER SIR

"They are being treated like members of the family," Sir said. "Many of my cousins live there in the dormitory. I refuse to argue with you, Charles! You're my partner! Your job is to iron my shirts and cook my omelettes, not boss me around!"

"You're right, of course," Charles said softly. "I'm sorry."

Sorry Charles(tm). your inability to stand up to sir doesn’t excuse letting the children be neglected but i do still feel bad for you

Violet and Sunny sighed, and thought of their poor hypnotized brother. Klaus seemed so different from the brother they knew that it was almost as if Count Olaf had already succeeded with his dastardly scheme, and destroyed one of the Baudelaire orphans.

His eyes were usually all squinty from reading, and now they were wide as if he had been watching TV instead.

>:T

1. Introduction 1 2. Basic Ophthalmology 105 3. Nearsightedness and Farsightedness 279 4. Blindness 311 5. Itchy Eyelashes 398 6. Damaged Pupils 501 7. Blinking Problems 612 8. Winking Problems 650 9. Surgical Practices 783 10. Glasses, Monocles, and Contact Lenses 857

11. Sunglasses 926 12. Hypnosis and Mind Control 927 13. Which Eye Color Is the Best One? 1,000

I’m still losing my mind about this table of contents from Dr. Orwell’s book. Which eye color *is* the best one, anyway? How big of a problem are itchy eyelashes? Why is there only one page on sunglasses?

AND ARE THERE ANY BOOKS IN THIS UNIVERSE WITH A NUMBER OF CHAPTERS OTHER THAN THIRTEEN

"We just stopped by to make sure everything went well," Dr. Orwell said, gesturing to the saw with her black cane. "And I'm certainly glad we did. Lucky!" she shouted to Klaus. "Do not listen to your sisters!"

This moment in the book: p good. This moment in the show: made me fall in love with Dr. Orwell a little. She’s just so satisfied with her own cleverness!

"Oh no you can't!" Klaus cried, and stepped forward to push Charles out of the way.

"Oh yes we can!" Foreman Flacutono said, and stuck his foot out again. You would think that such a trick would only work a maximum of two times, but in this case you would be wrong, and in this case Klaus fell to the floor again, his head clanging against the pile of debarkers and tiny green boxes.

YOU WOULD THINK THAT SUCH A TRICK WOULD ONLY WORK A MAXIMUM OF TWO TIMES

There are also, like, six lines of “Oh no you can’t!”/”Oh yes we can!” from various characters, including an “Oh toonoy!” from Sunny. Then Sunny bites Dr Orwell on the hand and Orwell yells “Gack!”, breaking the combo.

Then..

But then she smiled and used an expression that was in French: "En garde!" "En garde!," as you may know, is an expression people use when they wish to announce the beginning of a sword-fight, and with a wicked smile, Dr. Orwell pressed the red jewel on top of her black cane, and a shiny blade emerged from the opposite end. In just one second, her cane had become a sword, which she then pointed at the youngest Baudelaire orphan. But Sunny, being only an infant, had no sword. She only had her four sharp teeth, and, looking Dr. Orwell right in the eye, she opened her mouth and pointed all four at this despicable person.

I understand why this wasn’t in the show... but I love it so much. It’s so fucking ridiculous. Lemony describes the dramatic clanging of blades ringing against each other except that SUNNY JUST HAS HER TEETH. Also:

There is a loud clink! noise that a sword makes when it hits another sword—or, in this case, a tooth—and whenever I hear it I am reminded of a swordfight I was forced to have with a television repairman not long ago.

Macros I need: “Thanks Lemony,” “u ok Lemony”

Klaus needed to invent something to stop the machine, and he needed to invent it right away.

God, I love that in this book Violet has to research hypnosis and Klaus has to invent a thing. I think I’m overall glad they didn’t include it, because Klaus’ stretched-gum-log-grabber is kind of silly ... but the skill-swapping is really cute and I hope we get to see it later on.

Hukkita —hukkita—hukkita! The machine began making the loudest and roughest sound Klaus had ever heard. Charles closed his eyes, and Klaus knew that the blade must have hit the bottom of his foot.

HEY THIS IS TERRIFYING JUST FYI

Gathering up all of his strength—and, after working at a lumbermill for a while, he actually had quite a bit of strength for a young boy—he grabbed his invention, and pulled. Klaus pulled on his debarker, and the debarker pulled on the gum, and the gum pulled on the log, and to the relief of all three Baudelaire orphans the log moved to one side.

THE GUM WOULD JUST STRETCH, HANIEL

(i know, i know, it’s not strictly realistic! but! aaaaaa)

For just as Dr. Orwell was about to bring her sword down on little Sunny's throat, the door of the lumbermill opened and Sir walked into the room. "What in the world is going on?" he barked, and Dr. Orwell turned to him, absolutely surprised. When people are absolutely surprised, they sometimes take a step backward, and taking a step backward can sometimes lead to an accident. Such was the case at this moment, for when Dr. Orwell stepped backward, she stepped into the path of the whirring saw, and there was a very ghastly accident indeed.

I love, uh...

This thing Lemony does where he goes from describing a specific situation to describing something in general terms that MIGHT happen or SOMETIMES happens, but which has ominous implications for the current situation, and then after this suspense-building, worrying delay gets back to the main story. See also: Violet reads the first, incredibly dense sentence of Dr. Orwell’s book, looks at the table of contents to see where to skip to, and then Lemony immediately launches into a definition of “stylistic consistency” and you know exactly where it’s headed.

Anyway. Yes. Doctor Orwell. This works better when she’s .. about to stab.. Sunny on the ground, instead of carrying her as in the show.

The Baudelaire orphans sat together on the floor of Sir's office and looked up at the adults discussing the situation, wondering how in the world they could talk about it so calmly. The word "dreadful," even when used three times in a row, did not seem like a dreadful enough word to describe everything that had happened. Violet was still trembling from how Klaus had looked while hypnotized. Klaus was still shivering from how Charles had almost been sliced up. Sunny was still shaking from how she had almost been killed in the swordfight with Dr. Orwell. And, of course, all three orphans were still shuddering from how Dr. Orwell had met her demise, a phrase which here means "stepped into the path of the sawing machine." The children felt as if they could barely speak at all, let alone participate in a conversation.

Aaaand getting sawed up is a lot less of a Disney Villain Death than stepping backwards and disappearing into a fire, huh? If I were a child of fourteen, twelve, or one, I would not like to see someone sawed up.

"If your left ankle does not have a tattoo of an eye on it," Mr. Poe said, "then you are most certainly not Count Olaf."

Shirley's eyes shone very, very bright, and she gave everyone in the room a big, toothy smile. "And what if it does?" she asked, and hitched up her skirt slightly. "What if it does have a tattoo of an eye on it?"

Stop!! smiling!!!

Count Olaf shrugged, sending his wig toppling to the floor, and smiled at the Baudelaires in a way they were sorry to recognize. It was a certain smile that Count Olaf had just when it looked like he was trapped. It was a smile that looked as if Count Olaf were telling a joke, and it was a smile accompanied by his eyes shining brightly and his evil brain working furiously.

We’re four for four on this phenomenon!

Even a boarding school sounded like it would be better than their days with Foreman Flacutono, Dr. Orwell, and the evil Shirley. I'm sorry to tell you that the orphans were wrong about boarding school being better, but at the moment they knew nothing of the troubles ahead of them, only of the troubles behind them, and the troubles that had escaped out the window.

I mean, at least they get to make some friends there.

(and boarding school isn’t INHERENTLY bad ok)

"Well, let me think," Phil said, and thought for a moment. In the background, the orphans could hear the dim sounds of Mr. Poe describing Count Olaf to somebody on the telephone. "You're alive," Phil said finally. "That's lucky. And I'm sure we can think of something else."

I like that the culmination of Phil’s useless optimism in the book is.. well, yeah, everything sucks, but the kids are genuinely a little cheered by thinking about how they could have died and didn’t. A bunch of the earlier books have about one page of hopefulness at the end. I don’t think it lasts.

LEMONY SNICKET grew up near the sea and currently lives beneath it. To his horror and dismay he has no wife or children, only enemies, associates, and the occasional loyal manservant. His trial has been delayed, so he is free to continue researching and writing the tragic tales of the Baudelaire orphans for HarperCollins.

Let’s see, he was living in the city, he was going to be put on trial, now his trial’s been delayed and he’s (presumably) living on the Queequeg. At what point do we start getting the worrying asides about “the author’s execution has been cancelled”? :P

#ceruleanrambling #asoue #the puzzling book club #current reading events #this one is long.. i might have to start splitting these up

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