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valhallanrose · 4 years ago

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Canary in a Coal Mine

When Senga Canonach takes the mantle of Baroness, eleven-year-old Catriona receives the first true explanation of what it means to be the oldest of her cousins.

Some notes: Catriona/Astoria uses both she and they pronouns (she throughout this particular fic), while Avery Maollosa is strictly they/them. Both are nonbinary.

Edrine (she/they/he), who is only mentioned in this fic, is genderqueer (referred to with they/them pronouns here) and will make a full appearance in the next fic.

4.3k. I am unsure how to best label this, but for now, Cautionary CW for feelings and imagery of entrapment as a result of particularly controlling parental behavior.

Fic Title: Canary in a Coal Mine by The Crane Wives

One thousand, two hundred and twelve.

It was the number of individual pieces in the stained glass window above the stairwell, the one depicting their ancestor, Cliamon - their blade raised high overhead in a moment of triumph in they and their compatriots claiming of the territory that would become home to the Canonach family and all the relatives in between. Cliamon had been a force to be reckoned with, and for all the reading they’d done in their lessons, Catriona adored the stories of such a massive figure they could find such a connection to.

Catriona also thought Cliamon would laugh at the prospect of one of their descendants waiting like a loyal puppy at the top of the stairs for someone to fetch her.

Ever since Astor’s death, their mother had grown fearful, the leash tightening so much that Catriona felt she could have choked. Even though his death had been somewhat anticipated, it had left a shadow on Senga Canonach, and left Catriona to deal with the fallout.

Which was why she was left alone, at the top of the stairs, waiting for someone to pass by that could escort her down. It was her mother’s rule that she were not to walk up or down the stairs alone, so that someone might catch her if she slipped, and it was her mother’s rule that she could never leave the estate without an approved escort. The group of approved escorts was extraordinarily small, even though the majority of the family had volunteered, which left Catriona within the boundaries of Castle Kintyre and the gardens beyond the doors.

She was pulled out of her reverie with the familiar sound of what she knew was a silver-tipped cane on tile, and beamed down at her grandmother as she approached the bottom of the stairs.

“There you are, granny! Mother said you were coming home for the ceremony, but I was getting worried! When did you get here?"

“Oh, only last night, dear, and I got in late. You were already asleep, or I’d have said hello.” Myrna smiled as she made her way up the steps, surmounting the last and leaning in to press a kiss to Catriona’s brow. “There was some unexpected flooding on the roads through Ardaleith, but they were kind enough to let me stay a few nights at Ironhearth. I actually came with Baronet Avery and the Lady Rima. Little Edrine isn’t feeling well, so they’re home with their governess, but they wanted me to say hello to you. So...hello from Edrine.”

“Oh, I’ll have to ask them to say hi for me, too. Maybe I can write Edie a letter. I’ve always liked them.” Catriona giggled as Myrna straightened her collar, laying it neatly against the soft navy wool of her sweater.

“Well, they seem to like you, too. I think they’d love a letter. You can even borrow my signet ring for the seal.” Myrna reached down to carefully smooth out the hem of her sweater, then smiled, one hand drifting up to cradle Catriona’s cheek in her palm. “Don’t you look dashing? Did you have any trouble with the kilt?”

“A little, but I think I got it. I poked myself with the pin a few times, though. Does it look okay?”

Her grandmother indicated loosely with a finger, and when they turned obediently in a circle, they were met with a broad smile and a nod from the woman in question.

“Perfect. Now all you need…” Myrna tutted softly as she dug in her dress pocket, withdrawing a hair comb and offering it to the child. “I’d love to see that pretty face of yours. May I?”

Eagerly, Catriona turned, tracing her fingertips over the comb’s arch - made up of two hands cradling a crowned heart - and, when Myrna was finished twisting her hair up and off the back of her neck, passed it back to her so she could slide the prongs neatly into her hair.

“There we are. Fit to rub elbows with some nobility, I think.” Myrna offered her hand to the child, which she eagerly took, the other hand resting on the heavy wooden bannister out of habit. “Shall we be off, then? We might be the subject of a search party if your mother doesn’t see us in our seats.”

* * * * *

The late spring breeze gently ruffled a few loose strands of hair framing Catriona’s face, turning their face toward the carefully trimmed hedges and the beds of colorful blooms in the butterfly garden. Bluebells and thistle, honeysuckle and heather, lavender and primrose, all only a small fragment of the sprays that covered this portion of the estate.

Sitting through any sort of formal ceremony was painful for a child her age, but what stuck out to her the most was when her mother - in her crisp, emerald suit with the Canonach tartan pinned at her shoulder - lowered herself to one knee, and then the other in the garden gazebo. It made her Aunt Malvina nearly tower over Senga, even though Aunt Malvina was already tall, and made Catriona’s mother seem so small when Malvina raised the diadem before them all and laid it upon Senga’s brow.

After the ceremony, when the guests followed in Senga’s shadow with raucous cheers and excited chatter toward the banquet hall, Catriona found herself drawn to the gazebo as the garden became comparatively empty. At the center of it was a flat stone, one that they knew had been torn from the earth at Mistwatch, with two indentations right beside one another in the exact place her mother had knelt.

Catriona lowered herself to the ground and smoothed a hand over the stone, her fingers dipping into the imprints and smoothing over the echo of dozens of knees before her mother’s had fallen there.

In the same spot as Barons and Baronesses and Baronets many times over, her mother had knelt upon the stone, a fragment of Rosinmoor, and accepted the crown from Malvina as if it had been made for her head.

And in a way, it had, forged in the fires of Ardaleith and delivered by Clan Maollosa upon their arrival the night prior. No two leaders wore the an identical crown, rather, Malvina had given up her own and allowed it to be reforged as an acknowledgement of the new reign to begin. Cliamon had worn no crown - the tradition began with their son, Donacha Carleigh - but their claymore had been passed down through generations, and it had laid in their mother’s hands as she swore to lead Kintyre with the honor and grace of all who had come before her.

She couldn’t help but wonder how many more would come after her mother.

Footsteps drew them out of their daze and made them look up - very far up, they realized, until they smiled with recognition and waved at the person in question.

“Hello, Baronet Maollosa. Am I in your way?”

They chuckled, smoothing a few stray hairs out of their face and lowering themself to sit on the steps of the gazebo.

“No, you’re alright. And Avery is just fine, remember?” They gently nudged her with their elbow, then extended their hand, cupcake carefully balanced on the small porcelain plate. “Saved you a cupcake. Your grandmother said you might be out here, and they were going fast. You like salted caramel, don’t you?”

Catriona blinked once, twice, hesitantly looking between Avery’s gentle smile and the swirl of frosting adorning the cupcake itself. It looked so unassuming, but...when was the last time she’d eaten something without her mother telling her to wait until someone else could taste her food?

“Granny said it’s okay?” She said after a moment, and Avery nodded, dragging the tip of their pointer finger over their chest twice.

“Cross my heart. I’d swear on my mother’s grave, but my mother is still alive, so that doesn’t hold very much weight in regard to a promise.”

Catriona couldn’t help but giggle, gingerly accepting the cupcake and starting to peel away the paper wrapping on the outside. “Thank you, Baronet - Avery. Thank you, Avery.”

They scooted forward slightly so they could set their feet on the steps and the plate in their lap, humming softly as they peeled away the paper and swept a finger through the frosting. Beside them, Avery leaned back on their hands, sighing softly as they looked up at the rare cloudless sky.

“Edrine was all torn up about not coming today.” They mused, and Catriona nodded, making sure to swallow her bite before answering.

“Granny said they weren’t feeling well, so it’s okay. I don’t mind waiting to see them. Maybe they can visit when they feel better? Granny said next time, she’ll show us how we can set up a fort in the library, so long as we put the books back where they belong if we take them.”

“I think Edrine would like that very much.” Avery ruffled Catriona’s hair lightly, a smile playing at their lips when she huffed and tried to smooth her bangs back out.

There were a few long beats of pause as Avery watched Catriona, the way she carefully picked at her hair and adjusted it so it looked presentable again.

They’d always liked her - she was quiet, certainly, but she wasn’t shy. Avery had realized long ago that she chose simply not to speak if she had nothing to say, and if she did, sometimes what came out of her mouth made them bite their hand so hard it left marks for trying not to laugh.

Really, she’d won Avery over when eight year old Catriona called them a ‘lily-livered arse’ at the dinner table for taking the last sticky toffee pudding. It had made them laugh so hard their chest hurt, and in an attempt to form a truce with the child, offered to split it with her instead.

It had been a fair offering, it seemed, as they’d never been called such a thing again.

“You know, I’ve never thanked you before.” They mused, dropping back onto their elbows before lowering themself to lay on the floor of the gazebo. “Edrine doesn’t have any siblings, and their cousins are all quite younger than them, so making a friend their age means the world to them. They look up to you - bloody better than the Griogal boy, don’t tell anyone I said that - and I am happy that they won’t have to walk this path alone.”

Catriona paused, tilting her head as she used the back of her hand to wipe the frosting away from her mouth. “What do you mean?”

Avery raised a brow, fingers lacing together to rest over their abdomen where they lay. “In regard to the Barony. You and Edrine are in a unique position, being so close in age and both with clear claims to your respective titles. It can be hard to live that life, there’s no doubt about that, but thankfully your mother and I are young enough to give you both plenty of time to find your way before that.”

Catriona stopped mid bite of the treat they had been given, their stomach suddenly heavy and the taste soured in their mouth.

Her mother had said something like that, once, a hand placed on either of her cheeks and her rings - one a heavy opal from Catriona’s stepfather, the other the Canonach family signet - cold against her skin.

You’re in a special place, sweet Catriona. One day Kintyre will be at your feet, but you cannot forget the difficulty you will face when it happens. I only hope I can give you enough time to find the way you need to go.

She swallowed slowly, then set the cupcake aside, half finished and suddenly not as appetizing.

“What are you talking about?”

There were a few beats of pause before Avery sat up straight, a concerned look clear on their face as they turned to look her in the eye.

“Catriona...honey, has your mother not told you?” They asked gently, and slowly, she shook her head. Avery sighed heavily, raking a hand through their hair before letting their elbows fall to rest on their knees. Catriona shifted, resting her hands on one of Avery’s arms and giving them a pleading look that made them suck in a breath through their teeth.

“I don’t know, kiddo, I don’t want to upset Senga if she wants to have that talk -”

“I deserve to know.” The child said firmly, even as their eyes began to prickle with tears, even as their lower lip noticeably began to quiver. “It’s my life, too. It’s not fair to keep things from me.”

A part of her knew any child in Rosinmoor would have been delighted to have a life at any of the seven estates, and Catriona wasn’t oblivious to the privilege she had been given. But even if it were gilded in gold, a cage was still a cage, and Castle Kintyre had become hers. She envied her cousins, free to go where they want and do what they please, envied the stories of Rosafearn and longed to explore on her own, but it hadn’t been a part of the hand she had been dealt.

But maybe...maybe if they knew what frightened their mother so much, they could try and ease her worries, and get a little more freedom in turn.

At her desperate yet hopeful expression, Avery let out a frustrated sigh, propping their chin in their hands.

“Your mother should have absolutely told you by now, but that’s a grievance I’ll take up with her. You’re eleven, you’re long since capable of at least understanding.” They grumbled, clearly irate, then straightened, tone softening as they addressed her again. “Catty, what do you know about the line of succession?”

“I know everyone’s names. There were a lot of people before Auntie Malvina.”

“Everyone?”

Catriona nodded eagerly. “Yes, from the family tree book in the library. There’s Cliamon, of course, and then Donacha Carleigh, Muiri Lùtair, Juliet Lùtair, and then -”

“Okay, everyone, I believe you.” Avery held up a hand, an amused look on their face. “Stars, my uncle would have loved you. I couldn’t remember what I had for breakfast when I was your age, let alone the whole family tree. But what I meant was if you know how each leader is chosen?”

She had to pause at that, brows furrowing, trying to recall back to that book - they knew it well, the carefully bound leather and the tattered navy ribbon tucked between the pages - but couldn’t remember anything like that from what they’d read. It was always simply passed from family member to family member, but minimal explanation as to why.

“I don’t know.” She said eventually, and that sinking feeling grew somewhat heavier. “I thought it was because she just got married, I guess. I know when Aunt Malvina became Baroness, she had just gotten married to Aunt Lorraine, and mother just got married to James, but now that I think about it, I don’t remember if that was the same for great grandma Sorcha…”

Avery nodded slowly, setting a reassuring hand on Catriona’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “It makes sense. Don’t stress, Catty, it’s a reasonable conclusion. Would you like me to explain how it works?”

When Catriona nodded, they continued, eyes fixed on a vibrantly colored butterfly bush just beyond where their feet rested.

“I’m the oldest of three, so the Barony was going to pass to me no matter how many siblings I had. But my uncle, the last Baron, was older than my father, so he was the heir. And before him it was my grandmother, the Baroness, who was the oldest, and then her aunt, and so on and so forth. But the one thing they had in common was that they were each the oldest of their generation of the family, and thus, the crown passed to them.”

Catriona felt as if they could have been sick.

“Because they were the oldest.” She echoed, oblivious to Avery’s nod, as the realization dawned on them.

She was the oldest of all their cousins. Sachairi was the same age - eleven - but was a few months younger, born in November to Catriona’s September. That distinction was made clear to Catriona at a young age by their mother, but they never understood why, nor did they particularly care for that exact reason.

Their chest squeezed, and it felt as if they couldn’t breathe, thinking back to all the changes they had witnessed since her mother had been announced as the next Baroness. She had a handful of ladies in waiting, like Malvina, and advisors and guards and never being alone and never leaving the palace without an escort just in case, because it was ‘better to be safe than sorry”.

Catriona hated that phrase. It was the reminder she received every time she complained about any of her mother’s rules, because mother only wanted her to be as safe as possible, and she would rather be overprotective than risk something happen to her because she wasn’t safe enough.

But knowing this, now? They felt as if they had no chance of leaving the cage at all. When she was old enough to choose to leave, she’d have to stay, because being the oldest meant you were supposed to be the Baronet.

“But I know everyone’s name. Malvina wasn’t the oldest, Uncle Ualan was. And Aunt Grace and Cameron are both older than mother, so maybe our family is different? Maybe it doesn’t have to be the oldest, maybe I don’t - I don’t -” Catriona’s chest heaved, and she let out something between a wail and a whimper, making Avery jump as she began to cry. “I don’t want this, Avery, I don’t…”

Quickly, Avery scooped them up, pulling them into a tight embrace and gently rubbing her back to try and soothe her as she sobbed into the starched white collar of their shirt.

“Okay, okay...Catty, breathe, honey, I need you to breathe for me. Deep breath in, deep breath out, okay?” Look at me.”

Slowly, Catriona looked up, and Avery dug a kerchief from their pocket, offering it to her when she dragged the back of her hand across her cheek.

“You like your words, right? I have one I want you to remember. Can you do that for me?”

When she nodded, Avery gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Abdicate. It means to renounce, or give something up. I want you to remember that word, because you have a long time before you need to make the choice, but I want you to know that you have the choice - but abdicate is the word we use for saying we don’t want the title. It means you give it up to the next person, and they get to decide what to do. Your uncle Ualan probably abdicated - you’d have to check, but if he's older, it’s what makes sense - and I know your Aunt Grace and Cameron did. And I’m sorry that I had to be the one to tell you this, but you’re right, it is your life, and you deserved to know. I know it’s a lot to take in, but I hope that knowing all the options means you can make the right decision later, when the time comes, because you deserve that much. Okay?”

She sniffled quietly, rolling her lip between her teeth, the simple white kerchief twisting between her hands as Avery leaned back to get a better look at her face.

“Do you want to go find your mother?”

“No.” Catriona murmured, their grip almost white knuckled on the kerchief in question. “I don’t want to ruin her day. She’ll get upset.”

The ‘with me’ was unspoken, but Avery seemed to notice, brow creasing as their gaze fell to her tight hands and gently laid a hand over hers to try and ease the tension there.

“What about your grandmother? I saw Myrna just before I came out, she was speaking with the Lord Consort Griogal, so she shouldn’t be hard to find given he’s wearing something of a peacock blue today -”

“I don’t want to go inside.” Catriona blurted out. “I...I’m sorry, Baronet, I shouldn’t ask you to -”

“Avery.” They squeezed her hand again, this time a little more firmly - not harshly, or painfully, but enough to make her look them in the eye as they gave her a comforting smile. “You’re not asking the Baronet to do anything. You’re asking your friend’s parent for help, and that’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Would you like me to ask your grandmother to come outside?”

The child nodded, and Avery stood up, ruffling her hair gently before they stepped down onto the path again.

“Stay here, sweetheart, it’ll be easier for her to find you that way. Shouldn’t be long.”

As Avery began the trek back to the great hall, they couldn’t help but glance back, watching Catriona slump against the rails along the gazebo steps and picking up the pace to cross the stones a little quicker.

* * * * *

Once Myrna had slipped from the great hall, Avery couldn’t help but drift toward the broad windows overlooking the garden, following the small shape of the older woman until she came within sight of the gazebo and Catriona’s even smaller form leapt up and raced to meet her halfway. Myrna scooped her up and carried her further into the garden - and Avery found themself staring at the point where they disappeared, away from the gazebo and away from the castle to somewhere unknown. They were only broken from their reverie when arms wrapped around their waist, and had it not been such a familiar

��Hello, darling.” Rima murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of their shoulder and lacing her fingers together over Avery’s abdomen. “You were gone for a while. Did you get lost in the gardens?”

“No, I was talking to Senga’s bairn. She wants Edrine to visit when they feel better.”

“Well, hopefully it’s soon.” Rima hummed softly, pressing her cheek to Avery’s back and giving them a squeeze as the music in the hall shifted to a new melody. “We should probably stop in Rosafearn before we travel home. They’ve got the candies Edie likes in one of the shops down there, it might cheer them up about missing the party.”

When Avery didn’t reply, Rima frowned, slipping around their side and tucking herself under her partner’s arm to get a better look at their face.

“What’s wrong, Ave? You have that...face.”

Avery chuckled, turning their head to kiss Rima’s temple. “What face? You like my face.”

“I do like your face, but this is the ‘I’m having a crisis and maybe my dear wife can help’ face, and I am the dear wife.” She smiled cheekily as she pinched their side, glancing out the window briefly to see if she could find what they were fixated on and coming up with nothing. “Spill, spouse.”

After a few beats of pause, Avery sighed, leaning their cheek against Rima’s forehead and closing their eyes. “How much do you know about Senga?”

“Not much, she’s a little more than simply closed off. New Baroness, obviously. If you want to know about her, you might have better luck with Myrna or her husband. Or maybe Malvina, if you’re wondering about politics.”

“Mm. I thought so. Perhaps we should invite Myrna to stay with us again. I have questions, but...I’m not sure I should ask Senga, or I might make something worse.”

Rima pulled back slightly, brows furrowing and earrings tinkling as she tilted her head in curiosity. The wordless question made her spouse nod, glancing around to make sure they had no eavesdroppers before they continued.

“Earlier, when I was talking to Catty...I mentioned that Edrine looks up to them because they’re in the same position. And she had absolutely no idea what I meant, but essentially I explained that I meant because they were both heirs, and she just...completely panicked. I think if I’d gone much further than I did she’d have a full panic attack right there in the garden.”

“She had no idea? We started talking to Edrine about it when they were eight for just that reason, so they weren’t blindsided by it.”

“Not a clue. And the way she reacted when I asked if she wanted her mother, it just…” Avery blew out a frustrated sigh. “Something doesn’t feel right, Rima, and I know it’s not my business, but -”

“If it were Edrine, you’d want someone to look out for them, too. I know.” Rising up on her toes, Rima kissed Avery’s cheek. “Myrna already asked to travel back through Ardaleith with us. Let’s get through the night, and tomorrow, we’ll figure out the next step.”

“Alright…alright.” Avery was quiet for a few moments before they spoke again, warm smile on their face. “What would I do without you?”

“Suffer, more than likely.” Rima lifted a hand as if to inspect her nails, her wedding bands flashing in the low light. “Or at the very least be bored out of your mind at formal functions. Admit it, I’m the life of the party no matter where I go.”

With a laugh, Avery pulled Rima into a tight embrace, ignoring her playful protests and peppering the top of her head with kisses before they set their chin on her head. Their gaze eventually drifted out the window again to the spot where Myrna and Catriona had disappeared, thinking of that white-knuckled grip she had had on the kerchief.

But she’d be okay. She had Myrna, now, and Avery couldn’t think of anyone the child would want more for comfort considering how close they were.

Avery just hoped Catriona would be okay long enough for them to do something.

#astoria fenharrow #today on i write fic and i want to beat up senga

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bcdrawsandwrites · 4 years ago

Photo

Fandom: Coco

Rating: K

Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Miguel, Héctor, Imelda, and smaller appearances from the rest of the family

Warnings: Depictions of PTSD

Description: It’s been a year since the fateful Dia de Muertos when Miguel traveled to the Land of the Dead. Miguel is helping his family get ready... and then sees a familiar sight: transparent, glowing skeletons walking around the streets.

It doesn’t make him as happy as you might expect.

Beta Readers: @jaywings, @pengychan

Notes: Takes place in the same ‘verse as most of my other Coco fics, including Neither Can You, BUT if you’re not familiar with those, don’t worry! You’ll simply learn stuff along with Miguel, since this fic is from his perspective.

---~~~---

Dia de Muertos was going to be different this year.

It wasn't just because a certain someone wouldn't be there—well, especially because she would be there, Miguel assured himself, swallowing down the tightness in his throat—but because... someone else would be there, too. On top of that—and really, because of that—this would be the first Dia de Muertos in many, many years that the Riveras would be celebrating with music.

Music, plus a certain ancestor... and... oh, yeah, about a dozen or so other family members that didn't normally visit.

Voices from the kitchen interrupted Miguel's thoughts:

"Okay Mamá, I think we've got enough food for everyone," his papá said with a laugh.

"Absolutely not!" Abuelita retorted. "Your esposa's family is going to leave here well-fed! Now help me with the mole negro."

"Ay," Papá said, and Miguel could hear the smile in his voice.

It made him smile, too, but only briefly. Feeling a familiar wave of worry wash over him, Miguel rushed out to the ofrenda room for the fifth time that night, just to assure himself that Papá Héctor's picture was still there, and that Dante hadn't knocked it off, or something. He'd admittedly freaked out earlier when his mamá had taken down the photo to clean a smudge off of it, and had made some lame excuse about worrying she would drop the frame and it would break, like he'd done with the same photo the year prior.

But, sure enough, the photo still sat proudly atop the ofrenda, with Papá Héctor's face lovingly taped back where it belonged, and the photo given a lovely custom frame. Though it was not placed at the very top of the ofrenda this year, Miguel made sure that something worthy of the Rivera name was: a custom-made boot in Mamá Imelda's favorite style, and a miniature guitar decoration made by Miguel himself, the two items carefully propped up, each leaning against the other. He hoped his ancestors would appreciate the touch—maybe he'd ask them about it in a letter later. He also hoped they would appreciate—

"Oh, oh! Look, there's the twins!"

"Manny and Benny!"

"They've gotten so big!"

"That one over there is Carmen, Berto's esposa."

Miguel scratched his head—the voices sounded familiar, but he couldn't place them immediately. He knew what that meant, though, and poked his head through the doorway. "Papá, they're here!"

"Go on and say hi to them, mijo. We'll be out soon!"

"Got it!" Miguel stepped out of the room, looking down at his shirt and briefly wondering if he should go ahead and change into his new charro suit. He supposed it could wait until after he met his—

He looked up, and was greeted with the sight of roughly half a dozen skeletons glowing in a transparent orange shade.

No.

Heart leaping into his throat, Miguel ducked back into the ofrenda room, his back against the wall, and panted as he frantically looked over his left hand. But no bone showed through, and his skin was as solid as ever. But... hadn't he just seen...?!

Shakily Miguel poked his head out the doorway once more. Yes, the skeletons were still there. Their backs were turned, but he immediately recognized the tall twin frames of Óscar and Felipe, and his Tía Victoria, and Tía Rosita, and Papá Julio, and... and...

A small part of Miguel wanted to run up to them immediately, to embrace his Mamá Coco who had been absent for nearly a year, to wrap his Papá Héctor in the biggest hug... but his entire body was trembling. It was like when he'd ride in the back of the pickup truck, but he wasn't shaking from riding around in a car—he was shaking on his own. Once again he checked his hands, his arms, feeling them to assure himself that there really was flesh and muscle there and not stark white bone. But... what if he really was invisible and just couldn't tell yet, like he had been at first, after he'd grabbed the guitar last year? What if the second he tried to touch someone, they would pass through him, and he would turn transparent?

What if he was still...?

Before he realized what he was doing, he found his feet carrying him of their own accord to the kitchen.

"¡Papá!" he cried before he even stepped into the room. To his relief, the response was immediate:

"Miguel?" His papá nearly bumped into him, stepping back when Miguel threw his arms around him (doubly relieved to find that he could even do so). Immediately concerned, his papá stooped slightly, placed a hand on Miguel's shoulder. "What's the matter?"

Immediately he felt pulled down by the weight of shame, and took a step back, holding his wrist. "Sorry, Papá. I-I was just..." What could he say? He couldn't possibly explain the curse—that would require explaining everything that had happened last year, and how could he do that? "I saw... people coming in, a-and I realized... I'm gonna have to play this song for all of them! Wh-what if they hate my music?"

Abuelita cut in: "If they do, they'll hear from me!" She held up her spoon like a weapon, though it wasn't quite as scary as her chancla.

Meanwhile, his papá chuckled, shaking his head. "Miguel, your music is the reason they're here in the first place!" he said, unable to contain his grin. "When your mamá’s family heard about everything, they couldn't wait to come over to see it for themselves."

"Exactamente," Abuelita said with a decisive nod. "You don't have anything to worry about, mijo."

Miguel resisted the urge to wipe at his eyes, opting for what he hoped was a convincing grin instead. "G-gracias," he managed to stammer.

But to his dismay, his papá frowned, moving his hand from his shoulder to his back. "You're trembling. Are you all right?"

Oh, he was still shaking, wasn't he? He really wished his body would cut it out, but he had no idea how to make it stop. "I-I'm just nervous about the performance." And, suddenly remembering his Papá Héctor's words, he took a step back. "I need to shake out the nerves!" he said, and shook himself in an exaggerated manner.

Laughing, his father clapped him on the back and straightened himself. "That's my boy! Go on, now, you should get into your outfit!"

"Sí, Papá," Miguel said, glad for the excuse to leave. Without waiting for anything else to happen, he hurried off to his room, quickly latching the door behind him. His new outfit was laid out neatly on his bed, and he lifted the jacket, wishing to admire it... but couldn't ignore how badly he was still shaking.

"¡Basta!" he hissed to himself, dropping the suit and wrapping his arms around his body. He wished Dante were here—his spirit guide usually helped soothe his nerves, but the dog had been absent since he'd given him and Pepita some tamales in exchange for delivering a letter. But... why would he even need Dante right now? Usually when he got like this, it was when he would wake up from a nightmare, or when he was missing Mamá Coco, or when something happened that reminded him of...

The memory of transparent skeletons immediately came to the forefront of his mind.

...oh.

Groaning, Miguel laid his head onto his bed, burying his face into his arms. Stuff like heights and getting dunked underwater had been freaking him out, yeah, and that sucked, but now the sight of his own dead family—the very ones he'd been missing so much this entire year—was making him like this?

What was wrong with him?

Sure, his parents had said that it was normal when stuff freaked you out after something bad happened, but this...

He was still shaking.

With a frustrated sigh, Miguel lifted himself up again and got to work changing into his new charro suit. If this was going to freak him out, then he'd just have to ignore them. That would definitely work.

Right?

---~~~---

This was not working.

His dead family was, of course, all over the place. When he looked one way, he would see the twins marveling over Tío Berto's new shoes. In another direction, Tía Victoria and Tía Rosita were talking about Abuelita's tamales and how many she'd made. When he turned again, he nearly ran smack into his Mamá Imelda, whom he tried desperately to avoid the gaze of. Every time he caught a glimpse of them, he had to fight the urge to check his hands for a hundred-and-thirteenth time, to make sure he really wasn't disappearing or turning into a skeleton. He kept a fistful of cempasúchil in his pocket, just in case, which he also had to constantly resist the urge to check.

Finally it was time for him and his cousins to perform their song, and Miguel had to throw his everything into his music. It was slightly easier to ignore the skeletons wandering around when he was focused more on singing loudly and clearly and getting the chords right as he played. Even so, he found himself wandering about the courtyard as he sang, meeting the loving gazes of his living family as he tried to ignore the presence of the dead.

Dante helped a little, galloping up to him and licking him in the face to show him that he'd come back. Even so, Miguel almost lost his composure entirely when he passed Abuelita, only to find his Mamá Coco, in skeleton form, wrapping her arm around her in a loving embrace. He managed to cover for himself by belting out the next line even louder than he had before, which worked just as well, since he was nearing the end of the song. The joy and excitement of his living family made it easier to ignore the presence of the glowing souls around him, but he couldn't help but be reminded, when his papá and tío lifted him up onto their shoulders, of when Héctor had done a similar action when they'd last performed together.

Finally the song was over, and Miguel found himself panting, clutching his Papá Héctor's guitar far more tightly than he'd meant to. It felt good to sing with all his might—and a song he'd written himself, too!—but he was eager to step away for a while.

But his family wasn't exactly making that easy—several of them were calling for an encore, while his mamá urged them to let him catch his breath first. Miguel looked around the crowd, hoping to find a space he could squeeze through, and quickly pushed himself toward a small gap where a couple relatives he was less familiar with were standing.

"Great job, Miguel!" one of them—a tía or an older prima, he wasn't sure—said as he passed, and he looked up to thank her.

But his gaze was instead immediately pulled to a glowing figure who had followed him out of the crowd, and for a moment, he was frozen.

He looks like he's about to cry, was all he could think as he looked up into his Papá Héctor's eyes.

And then he realized his mistake.

Héctor, who had indeed looked like he was about to dissolve into happy tears in that moment, suddenly stared into his eyes, a look of shock crossing his face.

Terror immediately gripped his stomach, and Miguel ran.

Fortunately, other than the confused tía, no one had noticed his sudden departure as he fled into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. In a moment of panicked stupidity, he found himself shoving the white guitar under his bed (part of the neck poking out) before following suit, knocking his hat off and hiding with his hands over his head like a little kid scared of a thunderstorm.

But he felt like he could hardly breathe. He gasped for air, his breaths short and sharp. He was shaking. And this was stupid.

It was so stupid for him to be scared of this. Why was he scared? He'd missed his Papá Héctor. He'd even written that song for him and Mamá Coco. So why was he scared of seeing him again?

But then why was he seeing him in the first place? It didn't make sense. It made no sense. It made no sense, unless he was cursed again, which was why he could see them last time, but he didn't want to be cursed again, that would mean he would have to go back to the Land of the Dead. What if he had to face Señor de la Cruz again? He didn't want to face him again, he didn't want to get thrown into the cenote again, he didn't want to be thrown off a cliff again, he didn't want to fall into water or get trapped and lost away from his family, he didn't want to go through that again, he didn't want to be cursed—

A sharp whine from the other side of the door cut through his panic.

"¿Mijo? We're not mad at you. Please, are you in there?"

He realized the voice must have been talking for a while now. He was pretty sure he knew who it was, but he kept silent anyway, clasping his hands over his mouth to muffle his panicked breathing.

It was a moment before she spoke again. "I'm sorry, mi amor. Maybe Dante led us to the wrong room."

Dante whined again, scratching at the door with his claws.

"Are you sure he saw you?"

"...Sí."

The sheer amount of sadness in that single word caught Miguel off-guard. He hadn't even considered how his suddenly running off like that would look to Héctor.

"This is my fault," Héctor continued. "I should have told him—"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Héctor."

There was a long silence from the other side of the door, and Miguel leaned forward, straining to hear.

"He's... probably upset with me." Another pause. "I should go."

"N-no, don't!"

He clapped his hands over his mouth again when he realized he had spoken. There was a soft clatter of bones on the other side of the door—clearly he'd startled them as well.

"...Miguel," Imelda began again, her voice edged with caution. "May we come in?"

Well... no use in staying quiet anymore. "S-sí, Mamá Imelda."

For a moment he expected the door to open, only to be startled when the orange-tinted ghost of his Mamá Imelda phased through the door. She looked confused upon not immediately seeing him, and looked to her side, only to pause. "Héctor, come on."

"...H-he only said you, not me."

Rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, Imelda reached through the door and yanked Héctor into the room. His shoulders were hunched and his hand gripped his wrist behind his back in anxiety, but from the other side of the door, Dante gave a satisfied ruff and trotted away.

Now that his great-great-grandparents were actually in the room, it felt pointless to keep hiding, but at the same time, coming out from hiding would mean he'd have to acknowledge he'd been childish enough to hide under his bed in the first place, so Miguel stayed put.

"Miguel, it's all right," Mamá Imelda said. Her voice was calm, like it had been the very last time he'd heard it, right before he'd been sent back to the Land of the Living, and his Papá Héctor was seizing up in violent flashes— "You can come out now."

Miguel swallowed; his throat hurt, and he turned his head away.

"I'm... sorry I scared you," Héctor said, his voice rougher than Miguel had expected.

"You didn't scare me," Miguel mumbled. He wasn't really sure what gave Héctor that impression in the first place, but then, Miguel had just turned and ran from him.

Hearing his voice, Héctor knelt down next to Miguel's bed, and Imelda followed suit, leaning down in an attempt to see him better. "Is something else the matter, mijo?"

Miguel swallowed again, feeling more and more like some dumb kid with every passing moment. Part of him almost didn't want to say what was bothering him, but... unlike his living family, Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor would be the ones to understand, even if it was really stupid. Even so, it was an effort to make himself speak, and his voice cracked: "I don't... want to go back to the Land of the Dead."

"Oh, mijo." Héctor's voice was warm with sympathy. "You won't have to go there again for a long, long time."

The knot in his chest loosened a little at the realization that his great-great-grandparents were not mocking him. The worries, however, kept a tight grip on him. "But... I can s-see you."

"So you can," Mamá Imelda remarked. There was a frown in her voice. "Miguel... did you get yourself cursed again?"

"I-I don't know!" he cried, and growled in frustration when his voice squeaked again. "I didn't do anything! I-I didn't steal, I promise!"

"If he's been cursed, we can just send him back. There's petals everywhere." Héctor pushed himself back into a standing position, and helped Imelda up. Something seemed odd about the way it looked, but Miguel didn't dwell on the thought. "Come out from under there, and let's take a look."

With his great-great-grandparents backing up to give him space, Miguel finally crawled out from beneath the bed. Unable to meet their gaze, he simply stared down at his hat on the floor.

"Let's see your hands," Imelda said, and Miguel obediently held out his left hand, still looking away.

He suddenly felt a strange combination of cold and warmth pass through his hand, and shuddered, pulling it away and looking it over. Nothing seemed out of place. "What happened?" he asked, and finally looked up to see Héctor and Imelda staring down at him in surprise.

"Oh," Imelda finally said, and reached out to him again. She moved to place a hand on his shoulder, and while Miguel could sense a faint warmth from it, he could not actually feel her touch. When she lowered her hand further, it passed completely through his shoulder, and he shivered from the chill.

"...You can't touch me," he said slowly. It was like when he'd tried to touch a living person last year, except the opposite. Experimentally he reached for his Mamá Imelda's hand, but his passed straight through hers, leaving a similar sensation of warmth and cold.

"Strange." Imelda crossed her arms, frowning as she stared at the floor. "This didn't happen before."

"And everyone else can still see me, too!" Miguel added. "They couldn't last time."

Héctor's face broke into a hesitant smile. "Maybe it's a leftover from last time," he said. "A good leftover from the curse."

Shuddering, Miguel shook his head. "Uh-uh, I'm not taking that chance. H-here!" Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few petals, more spilling out onto the floor. "Can you take this?"

For reasons he didn't immediately understand, Héctor seemed hesitant to take the petal, but Imelda stepped in for him. She reached out, carefully, and plucked one of the petals away—while all of them remained in Miguel's hand, a spirit copy of one had appeared in hers. "I suppose it counts as an offering," she remarked, then held it out to Miguel again, her expression growing more serious. "Miguel... I give you my blessing."

Miguel held his breath, and waited.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Imelda flicked her wrist and held the petal out again, closer to Miguel. "Miguel, I give you my blessing."

They waited.

Nothing.

"Huh." Héctor stared down at the petal. "If you can't give a blessing... there must be no curse."

"S-so..." Miguel fidgeted. "I don't have to... g-go back? And see de la Cruz?"

Héctor stiffened, his gaze going distant, while Mamá Imelda carefully held her hand over Miguel's shoulder. "No, mijo. Why would you think you would have to do that?"

"I-I... I dunno." He stepped back, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. "I've..." He swallowed—he couldn't tell his parents this, but he could tell them. "I-I didn't tell you about it in the letters, 'cuz I didn't want you to worry, but... I've been having nightmares about him for a long time. Since it happened. And wh-when I realized I could see you, a-all I could think was that... I was cursed again, and I'd h-have to go back to the Land of the Dead, and... s-see him."

"You won't," Héctor said suddenly, causing Miguel to jump; his voice was a lot rougher for some reason. His gaze was out of focus, like he wasn't really looking at anything, or like he was seeing something that wasn't there. His left hand gripped his right wrist tightly, to the point where it was shaking, Miguel thought, but no—his entire frame was shaking. "N-not ever again. You won't."

"Tranquilo, Héctor," Mamá Imelda said, now placing a hand on Héctor's back, while another gripped his right hand. "Estas bien."

Confused, Miguel looked them over again... and then he saw it. Mamá Imelda was not holding Papá Héctor's hand, but a weird contraption attached to his wrist. "Oh!" he cried, his own fear momentarily forgotten. "Papá Héctor, what happened to your hand?"

That seemed to snap Héctor out of... whatever was going on with him, and he wilted, the life (so to speak) seeming to drain out of him. Imelda looked between the two in sympathy. "Seems you've both been hiding something from each other," she said softly. Gently she pushed Héctor forward. "You can tell him, mi amor."

"Not all of it," Héctor said, his voice a lot weaker than it had been as his gaze rose to meet Miguel's. There was a great deal of guilt in his expression, and it made Miguel feel sick. "We... d-didn't want you to worry, mijo."

Miguel pressed his hands between his knees anxiously. "Worry about... what?"

Slowly Héctor raised his right hand—or rather, the contraption attached to his wrist—and turned his arm a certain way. The contraption—a prosthetic hand, Miguel finally realized—clenched in response. Héctor moved his arm again, and the prosthetic hand un-clenched. Miguel stared at it in wonder before a terrible thought crossed his mind.

"P-Papá Héctor? What happened to your real hand?"

Héctor drew in a breath, gripping his wrist, but making no effort to hide his prosthetic hand this time. He stared down at the floor, almost looking like he was going to just... go blank again. "It's... it's gone," he finally answered. "I don't have it anymore."

"What—?!" Miguel jumped up from the bed, looking up at Héctor in alarm. "Why?!"

Again Héctor didn't answer, and started to tremble again, and Miguel's stomach wrenched in worry.

But Imelda stepped forward, again placing a hand on Héctor's back, though this time she faced Miguel. "First, you should know that we are safe now," she said firmly. "None of us are in danger."

If that was supposed to make him feel better, it had failed miserably. Miguel's legs shook, and he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed again. "Then... you were in danger?"

Mamá Imelda turned toward Héctor, rubbing his back carefully.

"Ernesto," Héctor blurted out, as though he'd had to force the name through his throat. "H-he took it."

"What?!" Miguel's breathing quickened, and he had to fight to push the nightmares he'd had of the man aside. "Can't you get it back?"

"We tried to, mijo," Imelda answered.

"It's gone f-forever," Héctor stammered, his throat jerking in a phantom gulp. With his attention drawn toward it, Miguel could spot faint scratch marks in the vertebrae, though he wasn’t sure what that meant. "He... t-tried to make sure I never played music again."

Something dropped from within Miguel's chest, falling straight through him and beneath the floor, and taking the life of him with it. "You... can't play music...?"

To his surprise, Héctor cracked a wavering—but genuine—smile. "Just because he tried doesn’t mean it worked."

With practiced precision, he loosened the straps on his prosthetic hand to remove it. He then reached into his pouch, swapping out the prosthetic hand for something that looked more like a claw, which he attached to the wrist instead. It looked weird, Miguel thought, like something a cartoon villain might have, but still kinda cool. After producing a guitar pick and placing it in the claw, he then stooped down, picking the skull guitar—or rather, a spirit copy of it—off the floor. He took a moment to feel the guitar in his arms, and drew in a breath, shutting his eyes.

And then he began to play.

It was not the same skilled music he had heard his great-great-grandpa play a year ago, in an old shack in Shantytown, nor was it the beautiful accompaniment he played for Mamá Imelda later that same night. It was Miguel's own tune, Proud Corazon, carefully plucked from the strings.

But there was clearly a struggle to it—Héctor nearly dropped the guitar pick at one point, and he occasionally struck a note wrong. There was also no skillful finger work, since he had no fingers on his right hand to work with.

"It's... not the same," Miguel said softly. And without warning, the emotions bubbled up from within his chest, breaking through him in the form of a sob. He growled, forcing his emotions back down, and lowered his head, gripping it in his hands. "This isn't fair!" he choked out. "Wh-why won't he leave us alone?!"

"Hey, hey." Héctor was suddenly sitting at his side, his good hand—his only hand—hovering just behind his back. "It's okay, mijo."

"He's in prison now, and should be for a while," Imelda said lowly, taking a seat at his other side. "So he is leaving us alone now."

"But he's not!" Miguel said, kicking his heel at the edge of his bed for emphasis. "He doesn't leave us alone! There's still people who like him, and they think we're a bunch of liars, and even though he's not here, I have nightmares—"

"I know," Héctor murmured. "I know." Careful of clipping, he wrapped his arms around him in an invisible embrace. Somewhere in the back of Miguel's mind, he realized that he could still feel a faint warmth, even from the prosthetic.

"He haunts our dreams too, sometimes," Imelda muttered, crossing her arms.

"W-well... you can hit him with a shoe, at least."

He realized how ridiculous that sounded just before Héctor burst out laughing, pulling away from Miguel and slapping his leg. Imelda only rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. "Yes," she admitted. "I can do that, but not hard enough to knock any amount of sense into him."

Though his face burned a little in embarrassment, Miguel tried to grin anyway. "Well if you hit him that hard, you'd probably just break his face."

The comment made Héctor laugh even harder, doubled down over himself and clutching his non-existent sides.

"...Did you get to hit him again?" Miguel asked, suddenly curious. "For real, not in a dream."

Imelda sighed. "No, but I believe your Papá Héctor did."

"Really?" He turned to Héctor for confirmation.

"S-sí," Héctor replied, looking up and grinning. "Hard enough to make his cabeza spin."

For a moment he pictured the face he'd so often seen in his nightmares... and Héctor's fist connecting with it. "...Cool."

"Heh, I guess it was cool." Héctor smiled down at him, only to cringe back with a shudder.

Alarmed, Miguel sat up straighter. "P-Papá Héctor?"

"Ah, it's, um, n-nothing," he replied, wrapping his arms around himself. "Just... remembered something I'd rather not."

"Oh... that... happens to me, too." He went quiet for a moment, staring down at his feet. "My Mamá and Papá told me before that... sometimes, things can make us remember bad things."

"Was that what was happening to you earlier, Miguel?" Imelda asked, leaning closer. "When you ran away from Héctor?"

"Sorta." He gripped the edge of the bed uncomfortably. "I was just being dumb, and was scared of going back and seeing de la Cruz again."

Héctor breathed out a laugh. "At least you didn't jump out a window when you were scared."

Miguel gave him a look. "Did you do that?"

"Eeehhhh..."

"He did," Imelda confirmed, rubbing her forehead. "Don't follow his example."

"Uhh... point taken." Miguel shrugged awkwardly. He felt a little better, though, knowing Héctor knew how he felt, but... "...Papá Héctor," he said, and waited until Héctor leaned closer. "Does it ever happen, when... something happens, and reminds you of a bad thing... and... suddenly it's like... you're there? Again? Even when you're not?" He gestured helplessly. "Like... you're there, and you can feel it... even though you're not..."

"Sí, mijo," Héctor said gently. Miguel was afraid to look at his face to read his expression. "That… has happened to me."

Swallowing, Miguel found his throat suddenly tight again. He pulled his feet up onto the bed, leaned his head on his knees, and wrapped his arms around his legs. His voice cracked again as he spoke: "I wish it would stop."

In spite of what his parents had said, he still couldn't help but feel dumb for still being so scared, after all this time—for still panicking about someone who wasn't there anymore. For being afraid of someone who couldn't hurt him. And he couldn't even talk to anyone about it—he couldn't tell his parents, his living family. How would they ever understand? But... why would they even need to? Why couldn't he just get over it?

But slowly he was aware of a faint warmth in the air, despite the fact that it was November. Lifting his head a little, he found an orange glow surrounding him, and was momentarily afraid that he was being transported by petals again, as he had a year ago. But raising his head further, he realized... no, it wasn't marigold petals.

It was Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor, cocooning him in a soft, protective embrace.

Part of him wanted to protest—tell them that he was fine, that they didn't need to worry like this. But that thought was soon quenched by the realization that, unlike his parents... they understood. They knew exactly what he had gone through, and exactly what his nightmares were about.

They knew that sometimes... he really wasn't fine, and they knew why.

"Does it... ever stop?" Miguel found himself asking, already dreading the answer.

"I don't know," came Héctor's reply, confirming Miguel’s fears. He spoke softly, though his voice had a rough quality to it again. "But... whenever it does get bad... go ahead and tell us."

Imelda nodded at his other side. "We won't always be here, but we'll help however we can."

"G-gracias." Finally uncurling himself, he felt warmth around him spreading into his chest. Even just knowing that someone else knew... it made him feel less alone. But... he turned to Héctor. "...Will you tell me, too, Papá Héctor?"

Héctor leaned back in surprise, but was clearly touched by the gesture. "Of course, mijo."

Swallowing again, he reached out, imagining he could hold each of their hands. Really he could only hold his hands near theirs, pretending to feel the solid bone beneath his fingertips. While he couldn't feel that, he could feel the warmth of their presence, and that would have to be enough for a long, long time.

The moment was broken by his mamá's voice calling from inside the house: "Miguel? Did you go to bed already?"

"Oh—no, sorry, Mamá!" Finally Miguel slid off the bed, rubbing at his face. "I was just... uh..." He glanced back at his skeletal grandparents, who nodded to him. "Taking a break."

He could hear his mother's footfalls coming closer to his room, as well as the cooing of his little sister. "Come back out here soon! My papá was asking if you would play another song."

"Coming! I'll be out in a minute!" He reached down to pick up his hat.

"Out into the fray, eh?" Héctor said, standing up off the bed. “Here—“ He stooped down to pick up the guitar, only to blink when he found the spirit copy in his hand again. "Oh."

Miguel laughed, picking up the guitar on his own. "I got it, don't worry."

"Are you going to be all right, Miguel?" Imelda asked. "They shouldn't make you play more music if you're not feeling well."

"No, I..." Miguel looked up at his great-great-grandmother, then turned to meet the gaze of his great-great-grandfather. "I... I'll be fine," he said, and meant it.

Then, noticing the spirit copy of the guitar still in his Papá Héctor's hands, he gave a mischievous grin. "I'll play them more music... but only if you can keep up with me!"

Héctor seemed surprised, but smiled all the same. "Can't pass up a challenge like that." He clicked the two ends of his prosthetic claw together before slipping a guitar pick back into its grip. "Let's see if you can keep up with me!"

"You're on!"

Feeling his spirits lifting, Miguel hurried out of the house, his great-great-grandparents just behind. When he saw the other spirits around the courtyard, he paused, his stomach momentarily jumping in terror.

But he felt a warmth on his shoulder, and he didn't need to look back.

His fear wouldn't go away entirely, but it no longer held him back as he lifted his guitar, and began to play.

#hector rivera #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #coco #pixar coco #coco spoilers #my art #my writing #fanfic

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legobiwan · 3 years ago

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You mean this chapter is actually, mostly done? FINALLY JEEZE that only took eight thousand years. Have some bullshit clone culture world building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He folds his hands over his abdomen, staring at the cobwebbed ceiling, high shelves lined with protocol unit heads, each one a copy of the last, wide photoreceptors fixed on some unseen horror, mouths permanently agape in perfect, small rectangles. They remind him of an ancient frieze he once saw on Gooskal, a small mining planet tucked away in a little-visited fold of the Mid-Rim. There, too, several hundred feet below the lavender brillum fields, had been a series heads chiseled into blood-stained chert, neatly arranged in rows overlooking what Cody had guessed to be some kind of chamber for trials or coming-of-age rituals.

Do you think they're ancestors? Waxer had wondered, awe in his voice. Some of his men had latched onto an esoteric Mandalorian religious tradition, something called the verda'manda, in which one's battlemates, after dying a warrior's death, ascended to a kind of spiritual council of judgement. For Waxer and the others, it was both comfort and motivator knowing their fellow vod existed beyond the veil, waiting with a bottle of tihaar and open forearms, or, if their actions in life were found wanting, harsh words and labors to be undertaken, a cleansing to wash away any lingering stains of dishonor.

Cody wasn't one to dabble in religion - the dead were dead, and all one could do in life was to act as honor demanded. But now...with moonlight sneaking past the wood-rot of the shop door, those dozens of optical sensors gleam with cool malice, and Cody can't help but think, surrounded as he is, his body recumbent on the floor, twisted slivers of metal debris digging into his oversensitive, clammy flesh -

It would fitting, wouldn't it, to be judged by this council of machines, of these programmable bits of metal and wire and code? After all, what is he but a droid made flesh, his own wide open mouth dumb as he was fed strategy, weaponry, brotherhood, loyalty - an entire culture to which he could lay forty-six infinitesimal chromosomal claims.

#writing #ah we might actually move the plot forward after this #cripes #the eternal fucking struggle #cody #don't even ask what time it is right now i slept for 5 hours in the early evening and now my schedule is wholly karked #oof

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koshervacationindubai · 3 years ago

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Where to Find Kosher Restaurants in Dubai on vacation

Every year, thousands of Jews from all over the world plan a vacation (נופש כשר בדובאי) to visit the mystical city of Kosher, located in the center of Israel. For those who already know about the religion, there are a few things that you may not be familiar with. Kosher is one of the two Jewish sects recognized by the Jewish law as having three fundamental principles: observing the laws of Kashrut, learning to read and write, and learning about the Torah and the tradition of their ancestors. These three key principles form the basis of every Jewish holiday and are also reflected in the cuisine of the country as well. Although there are many countries that celebrate Yom Kippur (the seventh day of the Jewish holiday of Passover), nowhere is it as celebrated or important as it is in Israel. This is why planning a Kosher Vacation in Dubai can make all the difference between a fun-filled holiday and a life-changing experience.

Since Kosher is so significant to the Jews, a great part of planning a holiday like this is determining where to go. There are literally dozens of synagogues and Jewish neighborhoods throughout Dubai, and a trip to any of these neighborhoods could easily become the focal point of your entire holiday. In addition to a beautiful location to celebrate, however, a trip to a new kosher restaurant in Dubai could mean some of the best Jewish food you've ever had. The Dutchman of your destination may be an obvious place to begin, but there are many other locations that should be considered as well.

The dutchman of your hotel may belong to a certain sect of Orthodox Judaism, but if he or she is catering to a broader clientele base, they are certainly within the range of any of the kosher restaurants in Dubai. If you are not sure of the identity of your dutchman, you should ask the receptionist at your hotel if they are part of the Abraham Maslowitz Organization. This organization is a non-profit group dedicated to preserving the cultural and religious roots of the Jewish religion. Once you have verified that your dutchman is a member, you can look for their kosher restaurant in Dubai right away.

Of course, it would not be a kosher vacation without a visit to one of the many kosher cafes or snack bars in Dubai. There are literally hundreds of them in the city, and your best bet for finding the right one is to look on the internet ahead of time. Not all of them will be open on the scheduled dates you want to visit, but many do open daily. A quick search of the term "kosher cafe" in Google maps should give you a list of the ones open daily. Many hotels in Dubai also offer catering services at these cafes on a regular basis.

Many hotels offer special Jewish menus for guests who order them. There is a wide variety of kosher dishes including traditional deli sandwiches as well as more modern Jewish dishes like grilled chicken. Some of the restaurants have also expanded their kosher selections. These restaurants usually offer a number of different styles of Jewish food, so you should have no problem finding something you like. Of course, if you are looking for a specific cuisine, you should make your requests ahead of time to ensure there is a kosher restaurant in Dubai close by.

Another kosher restaurant in Dubai that should be considered is Maalot Hillel, which serves authentic, delicious Jewish snacks and delicacies. The food is actually very good; I would highly recommend trying it. The atmosphere is very calm and serene, and the prices are reasonable for what you get. Maalot Hillel also offers a free service of wine and champagne on select nights during your vacation. The wait staff is very courteous and knowledgeable, and the prices for the quality of service are not expensive at all.

There are plenty more dining places that serve kosher food throughout Dubai, including the highly popular Meals On The Grill on the Dubai Mall. This place is always busy, but the food is delicious. There are vegetarian selections as well as meat selections, making this a great option for people who do not care for certain types of food. If you are not looking for Jewish food, you can also visit Shomali, which is an Indian buffet-style restaurant that offers wonderful buffet-style food at incredibly affordable prices.

One of the most important things to remember is that while the prices of these kosher restaurants in Dubai are very reasonable, they are still good value for money. The foods are made from high-quality ingredients and are usually worth the price you pay. In addition to the fact that the food is scrumptious, you will also find that the prices are very reasonable compared to the food you would find at "tourist trap" restaurants back home. If you are planning a kosher vacation to Dubai, make sure you check out the kosher restaurants before your trip. You will be glad you did!

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see-arcane · 5 years ago

Text

“Looks Like a Jonathan”: A Theory

Change is not death, though they can be mistaken for twins.

How long did it take us to realize the caterpillar and the moth were the same creature, separated only by the metamorphosis within the cocoon?

Theory: The Extinction has always existed. There was never a way to make it stillborn—humans and avatars only started getting jumpy about it once it became a nuclear, technological, self-made Fear. But it has been there forever. The Extinction, like the caterpillar, simply moves too slow, too imperceptibly to be recognized by human perspective. Even the Web wouldn’t take notice of such a sluggish relative, short of leaving it uninvited in its plans for the opening of the Door.

Which was fine by the Extinction, having been planning its arrival since it wiped out the last of the land-treading animals’ amphibious ancestors to make way for humanity—and yes, the Spider too, ungrateful arachnid that it is. Fine by the Extinction, though.

Same with being snubbed for the Big Ritual. Any player in the game should be content to be cast aside and forgotten by those silk strings; characters who have already played their part. Dead ones, for instance. Can’t get much further under the radar than that.

At least, dead on paper.

(What is the death of a caterpillar but the dissolve inside the cocoon? What is the death of a man but metamorphosing to the next stage?)

Theory: The Extinction has had an avatar for the past 200 years and change. It took its time picking out just the right candidate. A human that feared the implication of the Fears, their blind, cruel, eldritch menace. Feared the notion of those who would use such power for gain, for pain. A human with an inborn desire to aid their fellow man, to be curious enough to witness victims’ afflicting horrors in order to study and purge them—the best practice for finding any cure.

Seek it. Learn it. Destroy it.

The Extinction found him in 1831. A man as disgusted as he was afraid as he was bitter at being in the dark, being unable to save a victim in the grip of inhuman Powers. Doubly disgusted at the so-called ‘friend’ that had damned said victim for his own selfish whims.

A moth lands on a book in this man’s study. A tome of lost landmarks. The man opens it. The moth shows interest in Egypt’s chapter; in the Library of Alexandria.

It is all this man of science—now parascience—has. He leaves for the desert heat, finding moths waiting there too. Dozens, hundreds. The locals are as baffled as him. There are never this many about in this season. Odd.

The man follows the trails they make for him, worried at every other ancient corner that they will make the shape of an eye. They don’t. They are amorphous in formation, ever-changing. The rotted door they lead him to is where they disperse.

The man descends into the dark. Finds scrolls. Finds the eyeless corpse of a knight. Finds the cyclops in its robes.

(Not an Archivist nor a Librarian—someone has to write the books Jurgen Leitner will hoard someday, A Guest for Mr. Spider included.)

The man is afraid. But not enough to douse his need. His drive to Know.

The Author of Alexandria Knows this too. In the dark, that is somehow Not, the man follows the Author to where new books are being written. He doesn’t have to ask to know they're potent with the same Powers from the books of the cursed victim he could not save. Hate boils up with the fear, the disdain, the curiosity. Dozens of sensations tied into some shape of loathing.

At least fourteen varieties, perhaps. The Author Knows this too. And, dotting a last period in the book it had been working on when the man came to visit, passes the man a slim volume.

The Nature of Extinction.

A novella. Practically a pamphlet. The man sits in the Sight-strung dark, reading, as the Author waits. It will take out his eyes before this is done, he knows—new ink for its pen. He will die. He doesn’t care. The more he reads, the more he Knows, the more he Understands, the more he finds the weight of one soul—his, a single, frail spirit—is a small price to pay for what the book tells him it can buy.

A way to erase them all. There would be horrors to endure; even horrors to cause. But in the end…

…there will be no end. That’s the point. The Fears can only die if humanity goes first, starving them. Alternatively, the Fears must be afflicted with death’s twin. Metamorphosis. A Terrible Change.

The Extinction of the Fears. The Birth of…

Well. Something a pantheon of sentient sadism would loathe. But it cannot be brought about without an agent of the Extinction snuck into their machinations—their various plans to cross over to mortal Earth. A Trojan horse to dangle before what the book calls the Web; destined to be vital. An avatar to mistake for a crucial puppet.

The man finishes the book.

“You Know what this will mean for your master.”

Yes, says—thinks?—the Author. I do not Know the future. Nor do I plan it. But I write for all the Fears. The Eye did not stop my hand when this tome came to my mind. It is curious. It would like to See the show the Extinction puts on. If I exist long enough, I would like to See as well. Now, the Author stands, pen in hand. Its point is thirsty as a leech, what will you do, Jonathan?

He thinks. Puts the book aside.

“First, I suppose I must die. Then, if I am accepted—I will go to work in my new vocation.”

Are you afraid?

“Yes.”

Perfect.

The pen plunges twice. Pain, a gelatinous, liquid suction. Then his throat is opened; vitreous humor, blood, ink, same difference.

And Jonathan Fanshawe is dead.

He meets the master that he will forget, learns the things he will not recall until the Trojan horse opens, until the wings slip free.

Centuries later, a baby is born.

“He looks like a Jonathan, doesn’t he?” his mother coos, holding him for the first time.

“You know, he really does,” his father laughs.

An old soul, his parents call him, even before circumstances kill them out of his young life and drop him into his bitter, brittle grandmother’s care.

Years pass. The Fears mark him. The ritual is ripped from his unwilling mouth like fourteen teeth.

He walks with the One He Loves across a hellscape he cannot help but think was inevitable. The further he goes, the more he feels like he is missing something. It frustrates him as the Not-Them had, once upon a time. An irritant he cannot name.

Not until he reaches the Panopticon and reaches the man that has always been Jonah Magnus, at the height of his power and glory and hubris.

Only then does the Trojan horse open and the cocoon fall away.

Jonathan smiles. Jonah goes white with confused recognition.

Somewhere, bomb sirens begin to wail.

“Hello, Jonah.”

A mushroom cloud vomits something from its plumes. It sails on yellow-black wings, ancient, implacable, and triumphant.

And, at last, the Change becomes Terrible.

#I know it won't happen but I don't care #this shit would be cool as hell #also it would give more reason to Jon's antique mannerisms beyond just 'Because his Grandma'#and I'm always a sucker for the reincarnation trope #anyway #jonathan fanshawe #jonathan sims #the extinction #jonah magnus #the magnus archives #season 5 theories #storytime

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linn-zy · 4 years ago

Text

We'll meet again...

(part 1)

A Tangled RP story.

Featuring Rapunzel, Eugene, Varian, Judy(OC of @punkydodd ) , Robert and Emeline (my OC's)

***************

One night when the wind was blowing hard and the rain smattered against the windows, Rapunzel and her friends was all curled up together at Xaviers, listening to one of his many legendary tales.

This one told about a ghost that could be seen in the castle once every hundred years, however his knowledge was not enough to know why the ghost was there, just that it was, and that the particular night of this 100th night was coming soon.

Rapunzel was determined to seek this ghost out and see it for herself, who of her friends would be brave enough to follow with?

No one knows what they would meet.

*******

A few days later, Rapunzel was in full work of setting her plan to action of how to capture the ghost that would be, according to legend, show up, this very night in the ballroom, or at least she wanted to see it and perhaps even talk to it.

"There, that sure is a yummy looking cake! I would like to see the ghost passing by that without stopping!"

She said and dusted off her hands with a big excited grin.

“Uhhh...I’m pretty sure ghosts don’t eat cake Rapunzel”

Varian’s voice came from behind her. He had stopped by to check on and tweak his hot water invention as well checking on his friends.

"Oh nonsense! Who doesn't eat cake ? That's just plain crazy-talk."

Rapunzel said with a happy smile.

“Well technically ghosts don’t have a physical form, you know, cause they’re kinda...dead”

Varian chuckled a little awkwardly and rubbed the back his neck.

“But, I’m sure it appreciates the thought!”

He said with a smile and gave Rapunzel a thumbs up.

“Varian is right Raps.” Judy spoke, holding her tambourine. “I am quite positive that the spirit will tell us how they can be at peace.” Odette let out a honk while sitting on top of Judy’s head,

"Oh...well...they might not eat the cake....but at least they can look at it...."

Rapunzel grinned wider.

"Eeeeeeeh I CAN'T WAIT!"

Rapunzel squealed, twirled around and bounced.

Eugene let out a smile and a small chuckle of this. There is just something about her that can brighten up anyone’s life, almost anyone.

“Yeah! But are you sure it’s friendly though?”

Varian asked, a little cautious.

“I mean we don’t know how or why it’s here, for all we know it could be a ancient spirit out for revenge or something”

"Oh....but I've dealt with ghosts before....remember Ruthless Ruth and Eugenes ancestors...that went well, right ?"

Rapunzel laughed a bit.

"If cake doesn't lure it, we always have Judys amazing singing, right ? Oh oh should we build a trap ? Just in case ?"

“A trap?” Judy blinked. “What kind of trap are you think of? Will it work on a spirit?” She tilt her head.

“If it doesn’t work, I have every guard guarding each entrance if things get out of hand.” Eugene added. He pointed to a dozen royal guards standing by any entrance to the ballroom.

“I could probably whip up something”

Varian spoke up and crossed his arms with a little smug smile.

“I mean not to brag but I’m pretty good at setting up traps”

“I’ll take the first watch Sunshine.” Eugene said. “You and the other rest for a while.” He smiled at Rapunzel and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

"Aaaw thank you Eugene~"

She replied and nuzzled him a little bit.

"Okay Varian, you think you have time to whip up a trap before dark ?" She then said as she walked out of the ballroom with him and Judy, Pascal sitting on her shoulder.

“Just leave it to me! Oh! I need to make plans! Ah, I’ll see you guys later!”

Varian exclaimed before rushing off to his lab to prepare for his future trap.

"Alright...let's get pillows and blankets out Judy....we need to pick a good place for our stakeout ..."

Rapunzel said, stretching a bit.

“You got it Raps.” Judy give a thumbs up. Odette honk in agreement while rubbing her eyes.

*********

A few hours later, everyone was gathered in the castle again, waiting and waiting for the ghost to show up.

Varian was setting up the last part of his trap.

“Aaaaand done! I think this the biggest trap I’ve made yet!”

He smiled and crossed his arms, pretty proud of himself.

Judy looked up at the trap Varian made. Odette let out a bewildered honk.

“Whoa, Varian you've outdone yourself.” Judy said, staring at the trap.

"I hope it works”

Varian said and corrected his goggles a bit, leaning against the wall. He was getting curious about the ghost and what it wanted, he kinda also wondered what it was made of, maybe if his trap worked he could get a sample to study.

“So? What can we do while we wait for the ghost to appear?” Judy asked. She sat down on the floor and have her legs crossed.

"I don't know? I'm way too excited to sleep..." Rapunzel said and sat down.

"Play cards maybe ?"

“Cards sound good”

Varian replied and plopped down on the floor crosslegged, he placed two fingers to his mouth and whistled, his trusty raccoon friend popping its head out his satchel that he had placed on the floor and brought over a little bag of ham sandwiches before climbing up on the boy’s shoulders.

“I brought some sandwiches incase we get hungry”

He said and petted Ruddiger on the head.

Judy smiled. “Thanks Varian.” Odette sat on Judy’s lap, curl herself in a white ball.

Eugene smiled at the three while he is standing by the wall and his hands behind his back.

The gang played and talked and ate, however slowly they started to get tired and fall asleep one by one.

An hour before midnight there was some eerily, yet enchanting music that started to play slowly, it sounded far away and yet close.

Smoke started to seep in from the outside and slowly taking the form of a young woman in the middle of the room, she was dressed in a black dress, clearly in the style of hundreds and hundreds of years ago, her skin was pale.

She seemed to be waiting for something, but what ?

To be continued...

(Picture made with Picrew)

#tangled #tangled the series #rapunzel #eugene #varian #varian tangled #judy tangled #spooky story #roleplay story

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luvknow · 6 years ago

Text

priceless | bang chan [1/2]

genre: rich kid!chan x fem!reader feat. rich kid!felix & rick kid!woojin ; friends-to-lovers ; fluff ; angst ; alcohol consumption ; crazy rich asians inspired summary: lucky you, you fall for the rich and powerful bang chan that every woman has their eyes on and he likes you back! but you get a taste of the luxurious life they all live in and you realize that someone like you isn’t meant to be with someone like him. wc: 12.9k a/n: two parts cuz this woulda been like 20k and i’m tired lol enjoy!

PART 2/2

Love at first sight was a horrendous idea. The thought of falling for someone the second your eyes met was absolutely terrifying. Of course this wasn’t exactly how it worked, but it sounded like sorcery, didn’t it? At least to Chan it did. He asked his father one time what it meant to feel so enamored by someone simply from the first encounter and he replied with,

“That’s just Hollywood mumbo-jumbo! Love takes time and it will come naturally, not right at the start. Love is patient. Just look at me - I’m patient with your mother all the time!”

So instead of expecting a spark with every person he met, Chan didn’t bother and let his feelings develop naturally. With every girlfriend he’s ever had, he let his heart take the lead and his mind, body, and soul followed shortly after.

Then he met you. Everything he knew about falling love went out the window. With you, love was not patient, nor was it kind, nor was it anything close to how it should ‘develop naturally’. It was a bullet train that hit Chan without remorse, crumbling every word and memory about what he thought love was supposed to be. It was unforgiving, with you two spending your entire college careers together as he watched you smile whenever you got your food, witnessed the stars in your eyes on your weekend nights together, and took note of the way your brows furrowed cutely when you were focused. The worst was when he had to sit there and listen about the guy you went on a date with or took back to your place. Love was truly unfair, and yes, he wasn’t so innocent on his side either, but how else was he supposed to distract himself from you? Surely partly-meaningless but healthy relationships with other women was much healthier than drowning in alcohol or whatever his inheritance-mooching friends did these days, wasn’t it?

Koi no yokan. It meant something along the lines of the type of feeling when you meet someone and you know that one day, you’ll fall in love with them. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but it was inevitable. Chan hoped that was the kind of feeling you had when you met him. He hoped - he even prayed! - that the day you two met, you looked at him and thought, ‘he’s the type of man I could see myself falling for endlessly one day. Absolutely, positively ardently.’

Even when everyone around him and his ancestors above knew that you two couldn’t possibly be together, he’d find a way. Bang Chan always found a way.

After one thousand four hundred sixty days, multiple meaningless flings, and a couple of diplomas later, Chan continued to wait for that day to come.

four years ago:

You met Chan through your classmate-turned-friend Felix. It all started with some stupid class that was some elective you didn’t care about with a Professor who still believed in assigning partners for projects because college students weren’t capable of doing work on their own. Lo and behold, you were paired up with Felix, who wore an impossible amount of hyped-up designer brands, some of which you haven’t even heard of before. Of course you thought you were stuck with some rich, snobby, stuck-up inheritance-hogging brat who only went to college and majored in business so he could upstage all the other rich kids in his Daddy’s social circle, making him look like he was better than the rest of them for earning his inheritance. Surprisingly, that wasn’t all true. He was definitely trying to be The Top Heir, but he wasn’t a total dick. He was actually pretty nice for someone with a zillion dollars. That was the start of a beautiful and dynamic friendship.

“I can’t believe that’s what you really thought of me!” Felix gasped, clutching his heart at your insult. You tried to shush him from the nosy customers in the coffee shop, but he didn’t care. “You can’t judge a book by its cover, _____.”

“How can I not when you’ve rubbed your worth in my face since day one?” You took his Gucci x SUPREME collab black wallet with the signature GG logo and a Kingsnake painted on it that held four of his very heavy credit cards and shoved it in his face like he did with you and his entire existence.

“Yo, chill! The friction isn’t good for the credit cards!”

“I’m sure you have your emergency billion dollars stashed up in your penthouse suite just in case.”

“Yeah, but I hate carrying cash, so stop it,” he whined, snatching his wallet back. His phone vibrated on the table. “Oh, he’s almost here.”

“Who?”

“One of my friends. He asked to borrow the Versace belt you love so much.”

“You have two dozen Versace belts,” you scoffed. “Which one?”

“The one with the Barocco print.”

“English, Felix, English.”

“The floral one.”

“Oh my God, he wants to borrow that six-hundred dollar color-clashing mess!? Shouldn’t you people with money have some sort of fashion sense?”

“You are so mean. Stereotyping ‘my people’ is not cool, _____. Not cool! And my fashion sense is A-1!” he scolded, poking you harshly with his embossed fountain pen. “Can you at least try to be nice to him when he comes? You’re always so distant when you meet my friends.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Remember when you met Changbin?”

“Changbin told me he wanted to fly me to Paris to wine and dine me and rent a room in the Palace of Versailles like a Diamond-Grade prostitute, of course I try to stay far away from him!”

“But isn’t that the nicest thing a guy has ever told you? Isn’t it tempting to want to say yes? If I were you, I would’ve taken the offer.”

“Not surprised.”

It was then an impossibly handsome guy walked through the door. That had to be him because all of Felix’s friends were hot, but it was hard to tell. He wasn’t wearing anything ostentatious that screamed he was born into money (unlike your buddy Felix) nor did he wear anything that even resembled expensive brands. He wore all black, and though some items were stamped SUPREME, you couldn’t tell or at least recognize any other brands he wore. His fluffy, curly hair, cut jawline, kind eyes, and a warm million-dollar smile let you know he wasn’t like Felix’s other friends at all.

“_____, this is Chan, a family friend of mine. Chan, this is _____, the sole reason I haven’t flunked school yet.”

Chan was raised to judge every person he met by their looks and what they wore - it was an old habit his parents and grandparents embroidered in his brain, like silver thread on fine silk, that he was trying to get rid of since he started college. You wore nothing that indicated you were either from old or new money, nothing that said anything about your family name or bloodline, and no jewelry that looked like you inherited your great-great grandmother’s jewels that were gifted to her by a Prince. You were ordinary - quite possibly one of the only ordinary people he’s met thus far at this school.

Yes, you were nothing special material-wise, but you were pain-painstakingly stunning. How was that possible? Maybe it was your cute nose, or your pink lips, or the adorable way your brow quirked that caught his attention. Your curious eyes met his wide ones, sending his heart up to his throat, stopping him from breathing. It took him a minute to realize you had your hand out, waiting for him to connect. Quickly and awkwardly, he took your hand in his and felt his heart drop back into his chest cavity. But now he was sweating.

The effect you had on him was dangerous.

“Nice to meet you,” you said politely for the sake of Felix’s plea. The boy only nodded silently, trying not to look too affected by your infectious, beautiful smile. Great, another weirdo, you thought. Why were all the rich kids in this school so fucking weird!? Maybe it was your fault for accepting a scholarship to one of the country’s most expensive schools.

“Here’s the belt you requested.” Felix pulled out the belt a unicorn vomited on and handed it to Chan, who had snapped out of his trance. Your disgusted look doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he’s afraid you’re judging his choice in accessories. He wondered what kind of style you liked if you didn’t like this belt because all the upperclassmen born into old money that had girls falling on their knees had this belt. He’d have to ask Felix some other time.

“Thanks, dude. Mom said if I didn’t have Versace to wear at the charity event this weekend that she’d write me out of her will.”

So dramatic, you thought. You didn’t want to listen to boys talk about what pieces of clothing they had that cost more than tuition, so you sat back down and went back to studying.

“You owe me. Don’t get any champagne stains on it. And I better not see any wrinkles or stretches in the leather.”

“Yes, Dad. I can’t believe you let me borrow this. What are you gonna wear then?”

“I don’t know, something vintage probably, but I’ll figure it out. Got a date?”

“That’s requirement number two in order to stay in Mom’s will. I’m bringing Sana. What about you?”

“I’d rather go stag than bring some clingy arm candy to a simple charity fashion show. Unless _____ wants to be my date ~?”

“I’d rather die than be your arm candy,” you snorted.

To your dismay, Felix ruffled your hair playfully. “She hates it when I talk about this stuff. Don’t tell anyone I’m not bringing a date or else I’ll get kicked out, they’ll figure it out once I get there.”

“Gotcha. I’ll see you then.” After their bro handshake, Chan mustered up the courage to say, “It was nice meeting you, _____.”

“Nice meeting you,” you said in a sickly-sweet tone.

He saw right through you - you didn’t like him. He’s not sure why, when you barely talked to him for those two minutes he was there. Was he being too weird when you shook hands? Maybe he was talking too much about the show, since Felix mentioned you hated those kinds of talks, but why? Surely, you had to be used to this kind of stuff, right? Really, it shouldn’t bother him so much to know you didn’t like him already, but that famous Bang Pride coursed through his veins because everyone loved Bang Chan! It didn’t help that even knowing he didn’t need your attention, he was still so intrigued by you. To have those feelings not be reciprocated for the first time, to have you not eyeing him like you wanted him so badly, to you being completely disinterested at the simple mention of a high-class charity event that everyone was attending… It was exciting.

He accepted the challenge. He was going to win you over, whether you liked it or not.

“So what’d you think about Chan? He’s not so bad, right?” Felix asked before snatching up the last madeleine.

“He’s a little weird.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why, though...”

“You mean he’s not a space case all the time?”

“Not at all. If anything, he’s the one with the most confidence and focus out of our group of friends. Usually, people become a space case because of HIS presence, never the other way around. Did you cast a spell on him, or something?”

“I must have if I got one of your cocky millionaire friends to fall silent. I can feel the power in my veins.”

“Hey man, you better not flaunt that big ass head of yours. If word gets out that Chan was like that around a lil ol’ ordinary Olivia like yourself, you could be in big trouble.”

“You never warned me like this when it was Changbin. What makes Chan different?”

“Chan’s wealth has a long history. Like, really long. Almost pre-1800s long. His great-great-great-grandmother was one of the most well-regarded doctors in the country in her time. She was very well-off with the money she made, lived happily on her own, did her duty as a citizen and helped heal the soldiers during some war, and captured the heart of one of the most honored war heroes. Chan’s fortune began with a doctor and a war hero who gave birth to some inventor guy who married a luxury hotel heiress, whose history of wealth even I can’t trace back, and gave birth to the hotel heir that expanded its locations to eighteen different countries who then married the founder of a children’s charity, much to everyone’s surprise, and they gave birth to Chan’s grandmother, the sole heiress to the number one luxury hotel chain in the world. His Mom, who is currently sits at the head of the charity organization, is next in line. Then Chan gets to lead the organization until he inherits the hotels.”

Your brain struggled to wrap around Chan’s pedigree. “So he’s rich just like the rest of you.”

“Yeah, but he’s filthy rich. He’s been the Asia'’s most eligible bachelor under twenty-five twice in a row. What I’m saying is Chan is probably the number one most sought after guy slash son-in-law right now, and if anyone knows he’s taken even the slightest interest in you, they’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you two don’t happen.”

Well, that was terrifying. “God, this sounds like Cinderella on steroids. You better make sure we don’t happen!”

“I refuse to mess with fate, so this is all on you, babe.”

The F in Felix stood for Fake Friend.

Chan couldn’t find anything about you.

Google told him nothing, your social media showed him zilch, hell even his family private investigator only got as far as your great-grandparents owned a restaurant together which your grandfather and then your father happily took over. Really, he should have known from the start when he saw your clothes and lack of jewels that you didn’t come from the same background as him or Felix. This only made you more interesting.

After his thorough research on your social media and accidentally hitting the ‘add friend’ button (to which he shut his laptop and refused to look at the app for at least twenty-four hours out of pure embarrassment), you added him back only a couple hours later and he couldn’t stop the goofy smile growing on his lips. He felt like a little kid with a crush on his classmate! Your pictures were very silly, but you were still so pretty, and your captions were goofy with a touch of your wit peaking through and God, Chan had never been so struck by someone before, let alone by someone whose family history didn’t have their own Wikipedia page.

He needed to get to know you - to pick your brain, figure out your taste, and see that smile again. He needed to.

Poor Felix had to deal with texts like this:

issa banger [11:03 am]: wyd

yung felix [11:05 am]: eating lunch, why?

issa banger [11:06 am]: is _____ with you?

yung felix [11:09 am]: ??????????? no, why??

issa banger [11:09 am]: Read at 11:09 am.

And this:

issa banger [9:23 pm]: is that _____ in your snapchat?

yung felix [9:26 pm]: yeah u creep, we’re studying.

issa banger [9:32 pm]: what a coincidence, me too! i’m coming over.

yung felix [9:55 pm]: oop, she just left.

issa banger [9:47 pm]: ………..…. well i’m already here, so open the door.

And most recently this:

issa banger [2:15 am]: she’z sooiioioo cute felix…………

yung felix [2:17 am]: oh my god can u shut the fuck up.

This was all within one week of meeting you! Felix had to end this. He had never seen such a sad, desperate, puppy-loving side of Chan before, it was disgusting! What happened to the ‘I-don’t-care-about-love-I’ll-just-fuck-around-for-now-because-I’ll-probably-be-arranged-to-be-married-and-have-a-mistress-on-the-side-before-I’m-thirty’ Chan he knew since they were in diapers!? And like, no offense to you, but Chan was like this because of you, of all people, who came from a working-class family. The Bangs were groomed to date and marry only the best, so you two would never work out for even a day if it even got that far. But whatever, if meeting you again was all it took for Chan to stop bothering him, then so be it. You might kill him later for setting this up, but he’ll take the fall - anything to get his filthy rich and lonely friend to stop breathing down his neck.

fungus [5:43 pm]: hey u at the coffee shop?

you [5:57 pm]: yeah why?

fungus [6:01 pm]: i told chan to drop off The Versace Barocco-Print Belt with u if that’s cool

you [6:02 pm]: uuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh fine

fungus [6:05 pm]: thanks bro.

fungus [6:06 pm]: play nice ~ he’s a cool guy.

On cue, the ever-so handsome, front cover of GQ magazine, most eligible bachelor under twenty-five who added you on social media at three in the morning last week walked through the door. Again, he didn’t wear anything that stood out or any brands you didn’t recognize, so he didn’t necessarily look like he had any type of money Felix had informed you the first time, but the way he walked made up for it. Back straight, broad shoulders that swayed, chest out and peaking through the white satin button-up that was buttoned too low, flexed jaw and pursed lips that said ‘move, bitch’, and his expensive dress shoes that clicked and echoed on the floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the cafe. He may not have dressed to stand out, but that didn’t matter because he drew everyone’s attention anyways.

He paid no mind to everyone else because all of his attention was on you. The second he laid eyes on you was when his annoyed expression melted into a mix of something sweet and thankful.

“_____,” he greeted simply in his honey voice. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hi,” you said casually. “Likewise. Do you have the world’s ugliest belt with you?”

He chuckled lightheartedly, which sounded more like a cute giggle. “Is it really that ugly?”

“Too avant garde, if you ask me.”

Chan invited himself to a seat next to you. When you didn’t object or look noticeably disgusted by his presence, he took it as a sign that you welcomed his company. One foot through the door. “I’ll have you know it was a hit last weekend.”

“I’m sure anything you wear is a hit, even if it is something so atrocious.”

“It’s called couture.”

“I suppose my taste isn’t as high-class compared to your couture.”

“What is your taste?”

“I don’t think the lack of zeros in my bank account qualify me to answer this question.”

Another silky laugh escaped his curled lips. _____, stop looking there! “You don’t need to have a lot of money to know or have good taste.”

“There’s a whole world of clothing, food, and architecture that I didn’t know about before meeting Felix, so the expanse of my knowledge when it comes to a taste of anything isn’t as vast as those who do have a butt-load of money.”

“Even so, I happen to like your style.”

You did that cute little brow quirk he liked so much. “My t-shirt and jeans? You’re kidding, right?”

“What? I’m wearing a shirt and jeans, too.”

“Your shirt is made from the finest silk China could afford and mine is a mix of cotton and polyester.”

“Close enough. At least our jeans match.” Chan placed the belt free of champagne stains and leather wrinkles on the table. “Here’s your favorite belt of art that’s been passed around our friend group like a blunt.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to hold something that’s touched nine millionaires’ crotches.”

“I bet,” he teased. “You look busy, so I’ll leave you alone.”

Normally, you’d be more than happy to bid a man farewell, but something came over you. “Actually, I’m not. Are you busy?”

“Me? No, why?”

“I’m kind of hungry. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

Chan had to stop his grin from growing. He couldn’t look too excited, or that would creep you out. And to think he doubted himself about winning you over. You even beat him to asking you out! “I’d love to. I know the perfect place.”

“I’m sure you know this by now from my impeccable style but please choose somewhere affordable.”

“This place is cheap, I promise.”

“Like two dollar signs on Yelp cheap?”

“One.”

“Now you’re talking my language, Mr. Chan.”

He’ll talk all your ‘languages’ - your food language, your money language, your love language - he’ll come to know all of them like the back of his hand.

Despite picking a place to eat for the both of you to enjoy without denting your bank account, Chan ended up paying for both of your meals with his black metal credit card.

“Hey, why’d you do that!?” you whined.

“I never let my friends pay when they’re with me.”

“Well, I’m not one of your money-hungry friends! I have pride and dignity! This means I owe you a meal next time.”

“Ok, it’s a date.”

Chan was making his way towards the door before you could fully process the exchange. A date? Oh God, was tonight’s dinner a date!? No way, right…? Out the door, you saw him chuckle at how confused your face must have looked and he ushered you with his hand to hurry and follow.

Smooth move, Mr. Chan… I’ll let that one slide.

two years ago:

Falling for Chan was effortless. After dinner the night he returned Felix’s belt, spending time together happened so frequently that you didn’t even notice how fast you were falling. You hate to sound cliche, but Chan wasn’t like all the other rich kids within their massive social circle. He didn’t flaunt his worth, he didn’t judge you for your lack thereof, nor was he some dumb ass kid going to school to just party and hook up every other night.

Chan was kind. He’d always put your needs above his, like wanting to pay him back for all the food he’d buy, but that got hard to keep up with real fast. He never wanted you to pay him back in the first place, but if buying him a cup of coffee would make you happy, then so be it. He’d always walk you back to your dingy apartment after dinner or drive you home in his blacked-out Ferarri after studying at the library so late because he worried about you walking alone in the dark. You fell faster on the days you were sick and he’d stop by with the best chicken soup in the city, packets of fragrant teas to chase the Nyquil, and the fancy tissues with vapor rub and soothing lotion. But he must do these kinds of things with all of his friends, because that’s the kind of person he was.

Chan was intelligent. He told you about his childhood spent in private schools with private tutors while playing sports and instruments and learning multiple languages and if he didn’t rank in the top 5% every year, he got his ass handed to him by his mother (fourth year of high school was rough). What amazed you even more was how he retained all of the languages and talent.

“I took five years of Spanish and I can speak at a child’s level,” you pouted. “How the hell do you know seven languages!?”

“Gotta learn the languages of where the hotels are located, y’know?”

“Of course…”

Chan was passionate. Not just about the charity work his family does, not just about the hotel business, but every little thing that interested him sparked a little fire inside. Chan put his mind, body, and soul into all his projects, his work, and everything he ever cared about. When he’s focused and has a goal in mind, he won’t stop until he gets it done and the execution is perfect. You thought it was kind of hot - the way his pupils dilated, the satisfied smirk after completing something, the dangerous little sparkle in his eyes… So hot.

It was the little things that solidified his place in your heart. All the times he tucked your hair behind your ears, when his hand was on the small of your back to guide you, and when his breath tickled your ear when he leaned in close to whisper were all little catalysts to your already-aching heart that beats for him.

What were you to do? You, a simple woman growing up nowhere near his and Felix’s type of lifestyle. You didn’t have diamond-encrusted pacifiers, or ten maids and nannies, or a yacht that you got on your eighteenth birthday. You lived a simple teenage and young adult life that you wouldn’t change for the world, yet you fell for someone who had everything served to him on silver platters and fine china. You thought that there was no way you two could ever work even if he reciprocated your feelings.

But he didn’t see you as the simple woman you saw in the mirror. He saw the extraordinary, goofy, diligent, beautiful you all the time. Your background or financial status didn’t matter to him. The way you smiled at him mattered; the way your hand lingered on his arm a little longer after you hit him for something funny he said mattered; the dreamy look in your eyes that you had whenever you looked at him mattered. Nothing else mattered.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” he asked you one evening while hanging out on his massive penthouse porch.

“Like what?”

“With your wide eyes and that soft little smile that breaks all the boys’ hearts,” he teased. “Did I do something? Am I that sexy?”

“Shut up,” you blushed. “I’m just thinking about how it’s weird being friends with you.”

“Why weird?”

“I don’t know. I’m not used to being around all of this.” Your arms widened to showcase Chan’s apartment that was at least ten times the size of yours.

“Ah, you mean my butt load of money. Even after two years of being The Dynamic Duo?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I just feel out of place, you know? I see the way some of your other friends look at me. It shouldn’t bother me so much, but I can’t help it. I feel like I don’t have the prerequisites to be your friend.”

“Who’s looking at you funny? Is it Bambam? I’ll kick his ass -”

“Stop, don’t kick your friends’ asses.”

“They just haven’t gotten to know the wonderful, thoughtful, dumb ass _____ yet.” Chan pulled you into a tight bro-like hug and ruffled your hair like a little kid to mask his rapidly-beating heart. “Don’t pay attention to them. You should know by now I don’t care about money.”

“But -”

“None of that about you matters to me, ok? Only you matter.”

You learned by now to not be affected by his poetic words, but tonight you fell back into your old habits. Only you mattered to him - that felt good. Feeling defeated by your dumb feelings, but comforted at the same time, you lazily wrapped your arms around Chan’s tiny waist as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“You’re so corny,” you muttered.

He ruffled your hair once more. “Only for you.”

It was then you thought to yourself that maybe this could work. Maybe falling for him wasn’t a mistake and being together wasn’t so far-fetched and being loved was something obtainable. For the first time, you thought having Chan by your side wasn’t as ridiculous as it seemed.

But of course, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing was simple when it came to Bang Chan. It was always out of the ordinary. Extraordinary. The night you realized you and him would never be was the same night you witnessed what life was like when you could drown in your own gold and jewels.

“Singapore?” you repeated to your two Aussie friends incredulously. “You’re going to Singapore just for the weekend?”

“We’re going to Singapore,” Chan corrected.

Felix called you and said to come over immediately because it was an emergency, which was Felix talk for ‘I have a trip in a couple of days and I need you to help me pick out my outfits.’ Really, you never actually helped with the picking process, he just wanted you there to tell him he looked good. So as usual, you sat in one of his oriental-style bright red cushioned chairs that were placed on both ends of the ten-by-ten foot mirror in his massive walk-in closet and Chan stood next to you, wondering how you ever put up with Felix’s outfit changes. Tonight wasn’t the usual packing agenda when they broke the news to you that yes, you were definitely joining them on a weekend trip to Singapore for Choi San’s birthday this weekend.

“I can’t afford that!” you screeched. “I can’t just book a flight and a hotel like this on the spot!”

“Oh, _____, you’re so cute ~” Felix teased, adjusting the collar on his shirt. “Like hell am I going to let us fly like the locals. We’re using my Dad’s private jet and staying in Chan’s private Black and White bungalow, of course. And none of us have to pay a dime.”

“But I don’t even know San like that.”

“You will this weekend. C’mon, it’ll be so much fun! It’s going to be the party of the century! He always throws the most extra parties.”

“Even if I did want to go, I don’t have the clothes for it. I don’t own anything high-end like you guys. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I already got that covered.” With his shirt half-buttoned, Felix ran to the other side of the closet to open a door you had never seen before. Inside of his bedroom, which held a 500 square foot closet, held a smaller 300 square foot closet. A closet within a closet - closet-ception, if you will. You didn’t have to go inside to see all the crystal-embroidered tulle gowns and the silkiest shirts that hung on black velvet hangers. “My older sister keeps her clothes here sometimes so Dad doesn’t see it. Just borrow some of her stuff.”

“I can’t just take her clothes!”

“Actually, she already picked out the ones she thinks would look best on you,” Felix showed you her incoming text messages as proof that one, you definitely had her permission to wear whatever you’d like and two, she thought you looked best in Valentino.

“Ooh, Valentino ~ I agree,” Chan piped in.

“I don’t know…” you hesitated. You could handle Felix and Chan and their riches when it was just the two of them, but to be surrounded by hundreds of people who had the same kinds of bank accounts? And you, floating among them in clothing that wasn’t even yours, faking your way into the social circle? It sounded like a suicide mission.

“You’ll have one of us by your side the whole time, we promise. We want you to meet our friends and show you that not all rich people are assholes like our parents.” Chan stuck out his lower lip and clasped his hands together like a kid begging for some ice cream. “Please come?”

Felix joined in with the begging and now you have two golden retriever puppies begging you to go on what should be a multi-million dollar vacation for the weekend with them, dressed to the nines twenty-four seven. You had to be crazy to not immediately scream yes, but the whole idea of this weekend was just terrifying. But you’d be with Chan, vacationing in a beautiful country, with him by your side. You couldn’t pass this opportunity up.

“Fine,” you sighed in defeat.

“Yes! Ooh, this weekend is going to be so much fun! Hey, we should all match for the party! _____, I know exactly what you should wear -”

Chan snickered at the excited boy pulling out piles and piles of clothes to dress his new life-size doll. You already deeply regretted your decision.

As Felix held up pastel-colored tulles and jewel-toned satins up to your body in front of the ridiculously-sized mirror, Chan couldn’t help but fantasize about the weekend. He already had it all planned out - you would take the front seat in his cherry-red convertible and breathe in the clean Singaporean air with the biggest smile on your face as you all pulled up to his Black and White bungalow, your eyes would widen at the decor, you’d claim the bedroom right next to his, you’d take tons of pictures and capture every moment together, eat the foods he grew up with when he spent his summers here, and then party ‘til the sun rose. You’d look so beautiful in whatever Felix chose, and you’d link arms with him like you two were together. Then you’d dance, drink, and laugh the night away in his arms for hours. Felix would probably stray away to find some poor soul to bother and that’s when it’d be just the two of you. When the party was too much to handle or the alcohol was too strong, he’d walk you home. If you were stumbling over little bumps, he’d pick you up and carry you the whole three blocks distance and you’d be so cute and giggly that he, too, couldn’t help but laugh because the warmth of your blushing cheek pressed against his made his heart ecstatic. Once you arrive home, he’d take you to the backyard and you two would stargaze or watch the sun rise, depending on how late you came home. You’d start out with some space in between. Then he’d get closer. Then he’d brush his hands against yours. Then he’d hold them, fingers laced loosely at first, hoping you’d squeeze back tightly. Finally, he’d confess that after two years of knowing you, he’s fallen for you harder every single day since he met you at the coffee shop. If you felt the same, then perfect, the night would end with a soft kiss. If you didn’t, he’ll run to the pier and sail his yacht all the way back home and claim he was blackout drunk, or something.

Yeah, that sounded like a solid plan. What could go wrong?

It was six in the morning when you were dragged out of bed and thrown into Chan’s Ferrari. Felix’s private jet only had you, him, and Chan as passengers. You thought for something as big as a damn plane that maybe the whole friend group would be tagging along, but apparently they insisted on flying on their own and leaving a larger carbon footprint, but hey you weren’t surprised in the least. That just meant less arguing over what to watch on the eighty-inch flat screen and more champagne for the three of you.

“Holy shit,” you muttered after taking the middle seat in front of the television.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Felix boasted, hopping on the seat to your left. “Have I not introduced you to JASMINE before?”

“I think I’d remember if I’ve been on your private jet before.”

“Ah, maybe I’m remembering the time you went on my yacht, ROSEMARY.”

Chan joined in to your left with a handful of flute glasses filled with bubbly, golden champagne and a single raspberry at the bottom for you and Felix. He raised his glass in celebration. “Cheers to the weekend.”

“It’s six thirty in the morning,” you groaned tiredly.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“You can’t keep using that excuse, Chan, your liver will fail you one day.”

“A wise man once said YOLO, my dearest _____, so let’s drink to that!”

“Ugh… cheers,” After taking a sip, your face twisted sourly. “Oh, that’s not good…”

“It’s terrible, but it gets the job done.”

“You’re both crazy, I love this stuff,” Felix said, chugging the whole glass. “Forget water, make sure only champagne and 1738 course through my veins for the next two days.”

For the duration of the six hour flight, the three of you watched one horror movie (to which Felix cowered under his fluffy monogrammed blanket) and one romantic comedy (to which Felix cried while holding his Rilakkuma bear). Then after the smoothest plane landing you’ve ever experienced, you finally landed in the beautiful country of Singapore. The skies were so blue, the skyline was gorgeous, hell even the airport was voted the most beautiful airport in the world. A red convertible pulled up to the three of you waiting at the arrivals section and the driver tossed Chan the car keys. As the driver put your luggage in the back of a separate car, Chan opened the passenger seat open for you like a gentleman.

“Your chariot awaits, my darling,” he smiled cheekily. “Her name is Cherie.”

“Do all rich people name their motor vehicles?”

“Of course, it’s only right.”

The crisp afternoon air felt good flowing between your fingers. Chan caught glimpses of your smile and knew then that inviting you to this weekend was the best decision he’s made concerning you. His plan was going swimmingly thus far - now to survive the next couple days.

The Black and White house was quite literally a Black and White house, but it was nothing close to being monotonous. It was a beautiful symmetrical white bungalow with black trimming and a tanned overhanging roof. All of the shutter-style windows were wide open, allowing the same beautiful breeze to pass through the house, wafting the smell of fresh scones and muffins as you walked through the door. The inside of the house got more extravagant with every step you took. The walls were all white (porcelain white, not daisy, of course), the tiles a glossy pearl, every corner filled with the greenest potted plants and too many antique potteries to count, high ceilings with a crystal chandelier dropping in the living room, and a deep mahogany wood door that led to the backyard that overlooked the entire city.

“You vacationed here in the summer!?” you gasped.

“Yup, every year.”

“It’s beautiful!”

“You should see Changbin’s bungalow,” Felix interjected. “He demanded the house to be repainted black instead of the classic white.”

“My childhood summers were spent on my grandparent’s farm. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to wake up every morning to freshly-made scones and fruit jam.”

Chan led you up the stairs to show you the bedrooms. You lost count of how many there were by the time you got to his. His room was enormous, with a king-sized bed right in the middle covered in the fluffiest white covers. He had his guitar and other music-related toys on one wall of the room with a soft yellow neon sign that said ‘CB97’ mounted high on the wall with posters beside it. His room was decorated very Chan-like, and you thought it was quite charming.

“I didn’t like being by my siblings, so I asked to get the one at the very end and the spares were used whenever Felix and the guys came over. Felix’s is across the hall and your’s is the one next door.”

“Ah yes, Chan’s room - where all the magic happened,” Felix teased, jumping on the bed. “I’ve heard way too many stories about the girls you’d take up here -”

“Ah ha ha ~! No need to relive that!” Chan blushed deeply.

“You’re suddenly shy about it now? You sure didn’t have any problem boasting about it every summer.”

“That was so long ago.”

“Please, two years was not that long ago. Didn’t you come her last year, too? God, who knows what happened then.”

Your heart sunk. So he’s taken girls up here before. A lot of girls, according to Felix, and by the way Chan blushed from embarrassment, he wasn’t denying it, either. It wasn’t right for you to feel jealous, you didn’t even know him during those times, unless he had a fling last summer that no one knew about. No, it definitely wasn’t right for you to feel jealous, but the burning in your chest was a little difficult to ignore at one in the afternoon.

“Gross,” you say as light-heartedly as you could. You left sourly without another word to unpack your belongings.

Fuck. Damn Felix and his big ass mouth! You probably thought he was a disgusting playboy now. This was one of several things Chan was afraid of when you were introduced to this side of his life - that his scandalous, rebellious past would come back to haunt him and hit you in the face and you’d be so turned off by it. Well, that’s exactly what happened, not one hour on the island. He couldn’t help that he was a horny teenager back then! Chan chucked one of the embroidered silk pillows at his cowering childhood friend before hastily following you.

You held up a jewel-toned satin piece that Felix chose from his sister’s closet. It was different than the one chosen a couple of nights ago (“_____, I change my mind, wear this one instead.” “Wha - Felix, we’re leaving in ten minutes!” “Just trust me!”), but Chan thought this one suited you much better. The look on your face said you thought otherwise.

“Not a fan of Valentino?” he teased.

“Quite the opposite. I think it’s beautiful, it’s just I don’t think it’ll look beautiful on me.”

“Nonsense. You look beautiful in anything.”

“There’s no need to lie.”

“Who’s lying? You look especially dashing in t-shirt and jeans.”

“My impeccable sense of style,” you giggled. “Is the party tonight really going to be this fancy? Isn’t it just a house party?”

“My dear _____, it’s not just any house party, it’s the house party,” Chan corrected. “San owns the biggest Black and White bungalow in the country. He decks it out to the max with unnecessary decorations, hires Singapore’s multi-Michelin star restaurants to cater, ships in expensive wines and spirits, and hires those exotic dancers that hang from the ceiling. San’s parties make international headlines, and this one’s extra special because it’s his birthday, so yes, fancy is just an understatement.”

“Yeah, I really don’t belong here…”

“Don’t worry about it for now. What we need to worry about is lunch, ‘cuz I’m starving.”

“Hey, I’m gonna be with Jisung and Changbin until the party. I’ll just see you guys there,” Felix waved off casually.

“Guess it’s just you and me.” Chan hoped he didn’t look too glad Felix was gone. “I want to take you to a restaurant I always ate at in the summer.”

“How many dollar signs on Yelp?”

“Not telling ‘cuz I’m paying.”

“Chan, you ass, you said you’d make things even from now on!”

“A man just wants to fly his friend to a whole new country and treat her to his favorite restaurant, is that too much to ask for!?”

You didn’t answer while following a happy-go-lucky, skippy Chan to his red convertible. You’ve never seen him so happy before. He must have missed being on the soil that held his summer-y childhood memories. Being in the hot sticky sun in the house he loved the most with the widest, dimple-iest smile on his cute lips let you know that Chan was at home. Spending every moment with him for the next two days watching his smile grow as he revisited memory lane would make it hard for your heart to stop fluttering.

It was no more than a ten minute drive from his house, but from where you parked, you couldn't spot any restaurants.

"It's a bit of a hole in the wall. I hope you don't mind walking a bit."

"Not at all! The best places to eat are always hidden well."

The surrounding area reminded you of the more crowded and space-efficient parts of home. The buildings were all kind of squished together with tiny alleys in between and there was a ton of foot traffic, but it was probably because it was the weekend. You almost lost track of Chan until he grabbed onto your hand and guided you through the sea of locals.

"It's a little overwhelming if you haven't been here before," he said apologetically. "It's worth the journey, I promise."

"You used to come here a lot over the summer?"

"Almost every day. The woman who runs the place was like another grandmother to me. She is the sweetest thing. Oh, there she is!"

Chan sharply turned the corner of the street and you were taken to a whole other dimension. It reminded you of the beginning scene in Spirited Away when Chihiro and her parents stumbled upon the empty street filled with different tents of food, only this time you couldn't even see past the second tent. Even in the daytime, a place like this seemed so magical that it was no wonder a kid wanted to come here everyday. The different spices and aromas marinated in the air and it was so heavenly, you couldn't wait to get a bite! Somewhere in the middle, the tent that Chan had been dying to go to all year round was right where he left it.

"Auntie!" Chan called from the back of the endless line.

"Eh?" A cute little woman with a floral bandanna and red apron squinted in your direction. The second she saw Chan's handsome face, her grumpy expression smoothed to that of a grandma seeing her grandson grow so much in just a single year. "Channie! You're back for the summer!?"

"Just for the weekend, auntie."

She didn't miss a single beat as she continued to serve her loyal customers. "Ah, you're too busy to visit me everyday now, huh?"

"Sadly, yes," he pouted.

"You want the usual, Channie?"

"Yes, please! Can you make that two?"

"Eh?" Again, the little woman squinted in your direction. Chan had let go of your hand and placed them on your shoulder, indicating that you were his guest of honor this afternoon. A teasing twinkle gleamed in her youthful eyes. "Ah, I see ~"

Chan didn't deny her teasing. He didn't say, 'nah, it's not like that' or say 'she's just a friend'. Instead, he hung his head down embarrassingly, his grin not faltering, neither yours. You wondered what he was thinking.

The line was long, but it moved quickly when Chan was by your side telling you stories of his childhood spent with Felix and his other friends making a ruckus in the streets and buying up all the meat skewers until not a single shop had any left.

"Jeez, growth spurt much?"

"Hey, a man's gotta eat, ok?"

Finally, it was your turn in line, and the Queen of the shop already had two plates full of noodles slathered in a dark, sweet-smelling sauce and two large styrofoam cups.

"Channie never ate anything else besides my kway teow noodles,” Auntie told you. “The first few years of eating it as a little boy, he thought there were no vegetables, so I never told him there were any because it was the only way he'd eat them - covered in my special sauce.”

"No need to relive my unhealthy childhood…" he muttered while you laughed.

"It's fine now, since you've grown up to be so~o handsome!" she pinched his chubby cheek. "Finally, you have yourself a girlfriend. 'Bout time! Even San beat you! But that’s no surprise, the ladies love that bad boy."

"O-Oh, we're not…!" you stuttered nervously, unable to finish your sentence. She really was like an embarrassing auntie…

"We're not together like that," Chan concluded. “She’s just a close friend.”

She scoffed incredulously. "Yeah, for now."

"Auntie!"

She ignored her favorite customer’s whining and turned to you once more. “Watch out for this playboy, he’ll be hard to tie down.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Chan needed to get you out of there before any more of his past was brought up. So much for his stellar, fool-proof plan. He handed Auntie what looked to be a lot of money, but you’re not sure what the conversion is to their dollar. A quick kiss on her cheek and he whisked you away. “Bye, Auntie! Love you!”

“Visit me more often, you stingy brat! And by, sweetheart, it was nice meeting you!” she called out sweetly.

Chan hastily grabbed one of the wooden benches just outside of the long street of vendors. He seemed quite relieved to have left his favorite food stand before Auntie revealed too much of the past summers. Your feelings clashed with a sense of jealousy and a bit of pride that she thought you were his girlfriend. Yet again did you have to remind yourself that no, _____, you cannot be jealous, you dumb ass!

“Sorry about that,” Chan sighed. “She doesn’t have a filter.”

“I like her. She’s very spunky,” you laughed. “Does she do that to all the girls you bring to her?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“It seems like she’s met a few of them.”

“I’ve told her stories, but I’ve never brought any of them to this place. Now that I think about it, you’re the first girl I’ve brought to her. That’s probably why she thinks we’re serious.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You took your first bite of the savory-sweet noodles. It’s chewy, glutenous gold. “Holy shit.”

“Crazy good, right? Auntie makes them the best. And you’re asking why I never brought anyone else here?” You nodded silently, too preoccupied stuffing your face with Chan’s childhood favorite dish. “This place holds a special part of my childhood. I can’t just bring anyone here.”

“What’s makes it so special?” You took a sip from the styrofoam cup. It’s sugarcane juice!

“When I was a kid, I didn’t come here to bask in the sunlight and play at the beach all day. I’d go to summer school during the day where I was taught math and economics at least two grades ahead of me and attend Mom’s business and charity meetings in the evening. I was always so tired, no matter what time of day it was. One time, I was being so bratty and was crying so much from all the unwanted stress and my parents didn’t like it because I’m supposed to be the Charity Chairman’s perfect son and the perfect heir to the hotel franchise, you know? But I just wanted to be a kid. My family got so mad at me for being selfish that they kicked me out of the house for the night without dinner and I couldn’t come back until the morning.”

“That’s crazy! Where did you sleep!?”

“The pool house behind the main house,” he stated obviously.

“Oh, of course. Silly me.”

He threw his crumpled-up napkin at you before continuing. “That’s when I met Auntie. I was crying and wailing and sobbing like a baby on a Wednesday evening, so it wasn’t busy and no one really saw me. I sat at this very bench with my head down crying until I could fall asleep because I really didn’t want to return home. Then I felt someone nudge me awake. It was Auntie, and she gave me a bowl of curry with some paratha and I thought, ‘an old lady wouldn’t try to poison me, right?’ So I inhaled that whole bowl and chugged all of the chocolate Milo. I tried paying her with all the cash I had because I was so thankful, and she couldn’t believe a young kid like me had so much in the first place, but she never took it. I came every week to order from her and she remembered me every time. I tried everything on the menu by my tenth visit, and the kway teow is my favorite. I’d come here after a rough day with my parents, after I failed an exam, after I cried over some girl I had a crush on, after I found out my Dad had a mistress, you name it. Sometimes I came for no reason at all - I just didn’t want to be home.”

A shaky sigh escaped Chan’s lips. His eyes were glossy and it broke your heart to see Chan on the brink of tears, but he’s smiling. His upbringing was rough, but he’s smiling because he wouldn’t have survived his childhood without the spunky woman behind the food stand in the middle of the street. You dared to reach across the table and hold his hand, hoping he’d find some comfort in your touch. He does, and you know so by the way he squeeze it back so tightly. There were no more tears in his eyes.

“This place was my secret hideout for a good chunk of my life. I can’t just bring anyone here.” Chan began to trace little circles on the back of your hand.

“What am I if I’m not just anyone?”

“Special,” he replied. “To me, you’re special.”

The air was filled with your cute giggles and you took your hand back to cover your blushing, glowing face. Chan always had a way with words. “You’re a cornball!”

“I’ll have you know that the ladies love cornballs!”

“Not this one.”

“Oh, hold still, you got a little of the dark sauce on your cheek.” Chan leaned over the table with a napkin in his hand as you sat still. The very last second, he drops the napkin, scooped up a hefty dollop on his finger, and smeared it on your cheek.

“EW!”

“That’s what you get!”

Your special man began running to the car with you on his tail laughing like two young lovers on their honeymoon. Both of you failed to see someone taking pictures as they sent them to San’s entire guest list.

“Bro, you look hot.”

You jumped at Felix’s comment and chuck a pillow at his almost-shirtless torso. He had a weird habit of not buttoning up his shirts until the last minute. One of his many idiosyncrasies.

“Chill, that’s a compliment! Didn’t I pick out a hot Valentino piece? Chef kiss, m’lady.”

“You’re so gross… But you do have taste, so thank you. You really didn’t have to ask your sister to let me borrow this, though. I still feel terrible.”

“Shut up, you’re fine. She’s never going to wear that, I promise you. Besides, I can’t have someone not wearing designer stand next to me, that’d be blasphemous.”

“Can you please button up your shirt?”

“Why? These Hawaiian Sweet Rolls too much for you to handle?” he teased, flexing his six-pack. You dry heaved dramatically.

“You two are like siblings, it’s so funny - whoa,” Chan stopped mid-sentence, completely stunned by your presence. Of course he’d love how you looked if you wore a hoodie and jeans because he never even imagined you wearing something like this, but you blew him away.

“Good whoa or bad whoa?” you panicked.

“Definitely a good whoa… U-Uh, I mean, yeah. Yes.”

“Thank you,” you grinned. You eyed the man in the black and gold polka-dotted Muslin Yves Saint Laurent button up (buttoned too low, as usual) tucked loosely in Yves Saint Laurent cuffed trousers. Certainly, Chan was bound to be the center of attention at one point, regardless of whose birthday it was. Felix sported Louis tonight and you thought to yourself that you three were quite a sexy trio. “You two don’t look too bad yourselves.”

“Straight from the runway,” Felix boasted.

“Straight from my closet,” Chan shrugged.

“Can we get drunk before I cry about how much money I don’t have?”

Chan’s driver sported a white Rolls Royce to take you all there, despite it being only three blocks away (Felix was more than happy because he didn’t want to scuff his shoes). You thought you were fashionably late, but it turns out San was just showing off his cars and leaving them parked on the circular driveway. The size of his house made the cars look so, so tiny, but his house was truly enormous, way bigger than Chan’s. Couples among couples began to file in the house, making you feel nervous and very, very single.

“Do people usually bring a date to these parties?” you asked the boys.

“Yeah, for clout. Two shots later and suddenly everyone’s up for grabs,” Felix explained, walking up the driveway without waiting. “I’ll see y’all back at home. Or not. Don’t wait up for me ~”

When Chan saw that what Felix said didn’t lessen your nerves one bit, he held his arm out for you. “Wanna be my date for tonight?”

“You won’t ditch me after two shots?”

“Two, no. Five, maybe.”

How could you deny his dimpled grin? You couldn’t, so you slipped your arm through and walked into San’s palace. You were taken to a whole new world; a whole new dimension of luxury and riches that you only tapped into upon landing here. There was indeed dancers twirling on ribbons from the ceilings, loud music from some famous DJ that headlined at EDC, and liquor of every shade of gold in crystal glasses. Everything was so magnificent and expensive, it was like you couldn’t even afford to look at anything or even anyone. Everyone who was anyone was here, and you recognized a lot of their faces from Chan and Felix’s social media. You couldn’t even pronounce the brands they were wearing! Again, Chan sensed your anxiousness, something he was so unbelievably good at, and slipped his arm down so that he could grab on to your hand. He figured if you were able to let all his past worries go away by just holding his hand across the table that he could do the same, only this time he was by your side like he always wanted to be. You always predicted that his hand would fit so nicely in yours.

“CHAN! MI AMIGO!” San screamed into the mic from the dance floor. “Everyone, the sexiest bachelor of the hour has arrived!”

“Oh, boy,” he sighed.

He was surprised to hear you giggle at his friend’s nickname. “Looks like we came a little late.”

San stumbled in front of you before falling into your arms for a tight hug. You weren’t used to such an affectionate San - you shared multiple classes with him and you’re surprised he even remembered you, if you were being honest.

“Happy birthday, San,” you struggled to say as you held the boy up.

“Hi, _____! Thank you! I’m so glad you’re here!” San’s foxy eyes widened at the sight of his questioning friend. “Chan! I missed you!”

“Miss you, too, buddy,” he chuckled, hugging the sloppy man. “Happy birthday, bro. Making Mina work hard, I see.”

“Why, do you see her!? Don’t tell her you saw me!” And that was the last time you saw San.

Chan shook his head at his childhood friend. Then he took your hand and lead you deeper into the party. “Let’s go find people we actually know.”

As you slipped between the crowd, you felt eyes staring. A bunch of eyes, actually. A lot of them. The owners were mostly girls, ones you recognized, and that’s when you knew it was because of Chan, the bachelor of the century. They eyed you maliciously, switching between judging you from what you were wearing and your hold onto Chan’s hand. Where was that handsome waiter with a tray full of shots? You needed that right about now.

On cue, Chan handed you liquid gold. “Cheers to a fun night.”

“Right… Cheers.” Bottoms up! Oh God, that burned! But the warm finish was quite nice. “More, please.”

“Jeez, what for? You trying to leave me after two shots already?” he teased.

“No, I’m just trying to blind myself from all those… eyes…”

“Huh?” Chan caught a glimpse of what you meant when he caught the eyes of familiar flings and old friends. His jaw clenched. “Don’t worry about them, ok?”

“I’m trying, but you’re holding me back if I can’t take at least one more shot.” Reluctantly, your handsome date gave you what you wanted and he followed suit. “Bottoms up!”

Bottoms up indeed, several times too many, if Chan thought so himself. But you were loosening up and not worrying about another thing he feared about this trip - that you would meet his exes, or worse, they would do something to hurt you because that’s just what girls with tons of money do. He soon forgot about all his worries when you dragged him on the dance floor and had your body pressed up against his. You were so goofy and cute when you were drunk just by itself, singing to all the songs and taking silly selfies, but when you were dancing? He could hardly keep his hands off of you.

Chan pulled away and you pouted, not wanting the warmth of his body to leave even for one second, but he told you he had to go to the bathroom and that he’d be right back, so don’t you move! But your intoxicated self didn’t listen and you found yourself wandering to the backyard where Hyunjin, Woojin, and a bunch of people you were familiar with gathered around the open-pit fire and having a little party themselves.

“Did _____ get her Rich Bitch ID?” Hyunjin teased, looking at the label of your dress. “Shit, I guess she has.”

“It’s Felix’s sister’s, so no, it’s just a fake ID to last me the night.”

Woojin swung his arm around you boyishly. “You’re always welcome to OUR Rich Bitch club. No cover for girls,” he winked.

“How generous of you.”

Chan didn’t take long in the bathroom. He made sure to come back to you as quickly as possible to pick up where you left off, but after a couple of minutes searching the crowd, he couldn’t find you. He’s not surprised you wandered off somewhere, he just wished you sent him a text, or something. He felt a tap on his shoulder, thinking it was you, but it ended up being Sana, his old fling.

“Channie!” she squealed happily, throwing her arms around his neck. “I missed you ~!”

“Hey, I missed you, too,” he hugged back awkwardly. “Long time no see.”

“I’m glad the feeling’s mutual. Whatcha doing?”

“I’m just looking for someone…” he said, continuing to scan the crowd like she wasn’t there. He shouldn’t have drank so much…

“You mean _____?”

How did she know your name? Not important. “Oh, yeah. Have you seen her?”

“She’s outside with Woojin.”

“With Woojin…?”

“Yup! Take a look.”

Sana took Chan by the hand and lead him to the back door. His tunnel vision, though quite blurry, found you with your back facing the door and Woojin, his childhood rival, to your right, where he had his arm around your shoulder. Oh, he was such a Kim! He always snatched whatever was his when he wasn’t looking, just like that modelling contract! Normally, Chan would be the bigger person and not care, but this was you, someone so important to him. He couldn’t let this go that easily. There’s this uncharacteristic rage and jealousy that built up in his chest, making his heart hurt with every beat. You weren’t even doing anything, but seeing you in someone else’s arms just as he left for the damn bathroom? After trying to make you his for so long? It hurt. It really, really hurt...

Sana took the opportunity to pull him away from you. “Hey, let’s dance. Like we used to.”

Without hesitating, Chan took the lead and went to the dance floor.

Time passed like it meant nothing while you caught up with some good friends, but sobriety was kicking in at three in the morning and you wondered how long Chan needed to go to the bathroom.

“I’m going to find my damn date,” you waved off to them.

Even at three in the morning, the house was still as crowded as ever, bumping music like the sun wasn’t going to rise in a couple of hours. You searched every room, every face on the dance floor, near every waiter that had a platter of liquor on it, and he was nowhere to be seen! Even the rooms that held couples making out (and then some) luckily didn’t have him in it, but where could he be? You ended up in the front yard last, perhaps he was looking at San’s cars, or something.

But that wasn’t where you saw him. At the end of the driveway, where it met the main street, you saw Chan walking some girl dressed in diamonds and crystals on the way back to the house.

That was the moment you knew you and Chan could never be. Even when he was with you for ninety percent of the night, he chose someone else. He was made to live his life in luxury, and that meant his love life was meant for luxury, too. No matter what you did, no matter how much you thought he liked you, how much you thought you were special to him, you could never live up to any of these other women at this party. You were nothing compared to them because you had nothing. You should have known better than to think otherwise.

“Hey,” you heard someone behind you. It was the ever-so handsome and dashing Woojin. Even in the dead of night, he looked so handsome. “Did you find Chan?”

“Um…” your voice was shaking. “Yeah, I think I saw him go home.”

From the tears in your eyes, Woojin assumed he didn’t go home alone. Typical heart-breaker Chan, always leaving girls behind to cry over him. Things never change. “Do you want me to walk you back?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

You and Woojin walked the three blocks in silence. There was a considerable amount of space in between as Woojin figured you didn’t want any man to be near you at the moment. Of course he understood - he’s had a fair share of his heart-breaking days. Those days were now over because he was getting tired of this lifestyle. His liver didn’t function like when he was younger and he craved something deeper than just one night stands. God, he sounded like a total douche.

The walk up Chan’s porch made you nervous and made Woojin nostalgic. He remembered coming here everyday after summer school when he was a kid. He kind of missed it here. Woojin was about to knock on the door but stopped when he realized you weren’t beside him. You stood by step, not wanting to go any further.

“Everything ok?” Woojin asked.

“Yeah… No. Not really. I don’t want to go to bed.”

“Why not?”

“Our rooms are next to each other and I don’t know how thin the walls are.”

Woojin didn’t laugh nor try to convince you otherwise. Instead, he walked up to you and stopped so close that you could smell his Gucci The Voice of the Snake cologne. Then, he smiled sweetly, a trait of his that you always thought was so cute, and sat on the stairs.

He patted the seat next to him. “I’ll keep you company.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t want to go home and I really don’t want to go back to the party.” His bottom lip pouted. “Please let me keep you company.”

You could use the distraction. “Even without trying, rich people get whatever they want.”

“Hey, we’re not all bad!”

“That’s what they all say,” you slurred, remembering that’s exactly what Chan said earlier.

“Yeah, you’re right. We’re pretty bad.”

“Maybe I should stop hanging around you guys and start hanging around my people.”

“But I like hanging out with you.”

“You know, before I met Felix and Chan and all your little yacht club friends who make fun of me for the clothes I wear -”

“Hey, that’s just Hyunjin, don’t lump us together like that! I like you no matter what you’re wearing.”

“- my life was so much simpler! I lived a simple life without luxury, I ate foods without truffles and caviar, I drank cheap soju like a regular poor delinquent instead of champagne and top-shelf liquor, and I didn’t like boys whose yearly income were worth ten times as much as I’d make in ten years!” You cried out to the skies above and buried your face in your hands. “Biggie was right… Mo Money Mo Problems…”

“There there…” Woojin comforted awkwardly.

“Woojin, can you be honest with me for a sec? Coming from a sad, average girl seeking advice from a rich bitch like yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Was I stupid to think I was anything special to Chan?”

Again, the handsome man beside you wrapped his arm around your shoulder like a good friend. Woojin was always a good friend to you. Outside of Felix and Chan, he was the only other man who was kind, despite you not being like the rest of his social circle.

“You said I can be honest, right?” he asked nervously.

“Oh my God, I’m an idiot.”

“Hey, that’s not what I was going to say. I was thinking naive was more of an appropriate word choice.”

“I’m so dumb, I might as well drop out.”

Woojin’s grip around you tightened. “Stop, don’t say that. You’re the smartest person I know, did you know that? Remember when you tutored all of us that one time? If you can tutor nine idiots in one session and we all somehow passed the class, you’re not an idiot.”

“Being book smart and Rich Boy smart are on two totally different levels of intelligence! Why am I so dumb in the latter!?”

“You aren’t. We’re the dumb ones. We let amazing people slip through our fingers because somehow this lifestyle sucks us back in. Some of us are able to overcome it, but most succumb to it.”

“... You’re right, you guys are the dumb ones.”

You and Woojin sat on Chan’s summer Black and White bungalow for hours, talking about the most useless things until the sun rose above the horizon and the light was almost blinding. It started out crying about how boys were stupid and ended with laughing until you couldn’t breathe from the stories he told you about his old flings.

“She said the mitochondria was the trap house of the cell,” Woojin tisked.

“She must have been kidding.”

“I can assure you she was not.”

“Wow,” you giggled. “You’ve dated a lot of… exciting people.”

“I wouldn’t say exciting…”

“Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I heard about some poor girl coming out of your place from Felix. He likes to whine about how lucky you are. Has Woojin lost his touch?”

“I will never lose my touch, don’t get that twisted,” he warned. “Maybe I’m tired of hook-ups. Maybe I’m trying to settle down.”

“Ha! Good one!”

“No, really!”

“Yeah, ok ~”

“Let me prove it. Let’s go on a date.”

Your laugh got caught in your throat. You’re stunned silent, looking at the man beside you like he was delusional. He had to be talking nonsense - it was six in the morning and neither of you had any sleep or anything to eat for several hours, he’s just talking crazy, right!? But the slight smirk on his lips told you that no, he wasn’t joking. He was enjoying that you were probably thinking about it right at this moment - what it’d be like to go on a date with Mr. Kim Woojin. He’s not wrong.

The front door to Chan’s house opened and startled you to death, but you’re so, so thankful that the girl Chan took home stumbled in between you two and you could avoid Woojin’s proclamation for a little longer. Both of you turned to see Chan in his pajamas bottoms and no shirt standing in the doorway, hair disheveled with droopy eyes, looking like he didn’t get any sleep at all.

Woojin helped you to your feet before greeting his old friend. “Good morning, Chan.”

The sleepy boy’s jaw tightened. Why did he look so triumphant? If you two were here the whole night, it’s not like you two did anything… right?

“Hey,” he greeted shortly.

Woojin turned to you. “Think about it. I’ll see you later?”

You nodded silently, still too stunned to move. Then, taking advantage of your frozen form, Woojin swooped in for a quick kiss on the cheek.

Oh shit, this man was serious.

You’re completely sober and you really wished you weren’t because now you were going to reflect on everything that happened yesterday, from the time you landed until just this very second. On top of that, you were probably going to have to deal with Chan’s grumpy ass right now because when you walked right past him to the kitchen to chug a whole bottle of water, he followed right on your tail.

“How was last night?” he asked bitterly.

“Not as good as yours apparently,” you replied, trying to stay light-hearted and calm. Don’t get jealous, _____. You don’t have a right to.

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh?”

“She was puking all night. I barely had any sleep while taking care of her.”

“Did you bring her here just so she can puke in the comfort of your home, or was that just an inconvenient coincidence?” The words made you sound jealous, but you were genuinely curious. He claimed that nothing happened as if he knew you’d care if something did. Well, you didn’t!... you said, lying to yourself.

Chan stayed quiet. That was more than enough to answer your question.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled. “I’m going to bed.”

Chan wouldn’t let you. “What were you and Woojin doing?”

“Uh, talking?”

“On my porch?”

“Yeah? You left me at the party and I was all alone! So he was nice enough to walk me back here. I didn’t want to go inside to my room because God knows what you and her were doing there -”

“Nothing happened,” he repeated.

“Yeah, now I know. But if she wasn’t puking, who knows what would have happened, and guess what, I didn’t want to hear that or deal with it or even think about it, so we sat on your porch for hours until you opened the door.”

“You were the one who left me first. I thought you and I were having a great time! I was having so much fun with you and I wanted you back in my arms as soon as possible, but then I saw you in his. Do you know how much that hurt? I have liked you since the day you took my breath away when we first met, and I thought I could finally tell you that when you were back in my arms. But then I saw you in his and panicked. I swear to you, nothing happened with me and Sana. Nothing was going to happen, not when all I could think about was what you could possibly be doing with him. I thought you left me for him, and I got scared. I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, ok? Can we talk about this over breakfast?”

That was what Chan wanted to say. But he’s tired, and he’s hurt, and the tears in your eyes were too much for him to handle. With his head down, he said,

“I hope you had fun.”

Chan brushed passed you to get to the coffee maker. He might as well stay up - what was the point in sleeping now?

You rushed up stairs so he didn’t see the tears rolling down your face.

The day was silent. Everything seemed to stop, but that was the last thing you wanted. You wanted to pack up, get in the damn cherry red convertible, and fly all the way home where you could forget about this whole weekend and the people involved. Felix finally made it home around noon, chatting nonstop about the yacht party that happened at four in the morning and all the girls he was talking to and thankful he couldn’t sense the tension between you and Chan.

The drive to the airport was silent. The flight back home was silent. The drive to your apartment was silent and the only noise you made that night was crying yourself to sleep.

Where did you go wrong? Was it when you wandered off to Woojin? Was it when you agreed to go on this trip? Was it when you fell for someone so unattainable for someone in your social class? Was it when you weren’t born with a billion dollars to your name?

Life was unfair and it had a funny way with playing with you and your heart.

You didn’t see Chan much after tonight.

#chan #bang chan #skz #stray kids #skz chan #stray kids chan #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #chan scenarios #chan imagines #i love making chan look like an asshole LOOLLLL #sorry if some of the suggestive stuff was uhh explicit?? idk #also sorry it's in two parts HAHA i did not wanna post something more than my seungmin fic ._.#omg i hope yall like this :/ im not so confident w this one

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deiacontraria · 5 years ago

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So anyway, I don’t normally talk politics. I don’t normally talk about anything from the real world at all, most of the time. But let’s talk about colonies, shall we? Not naming any innocent countries, of course, since apparently that bothers them...

So anyway. Imagine you're just chilling in some islands, minding your own damn business, farming and building and kinda writing, and I don't know, DOING CIVILIZED THINGS, and these (for all you know) SPACE-DWELLING MOTHERFUCKERS crash into your shores. They have scary weapons that go pew pew and they look so different from you. Are they gods? Maybe they're the gods?! But hold up, why do these gods keep taking us away from our families to "take care of us"? "Teaching us to be civilized", you say? Wait, hold up, IS THAT A PYRE? WHY ARE YOU BURNING SOMEONE? Now, now, some space-dwellers may tell you, "no one ever actually burned anyone, hush hush hush", but they definitely burned someone.

A couple of our chiefs have their doubts, you see. We're not 100% sure, but we're willing to take the risk. We're going to try to drown one and see if he gets up. It's been 3 days. He didn't get back up. SO THEY AREN'T GODS, THEY'RE JUST ASSH- Oh no they just went pew pew on our chief. And our people. Oh well there goes that. And now now, at least they're bringing us civilization and all these wonderful cre- HOLD UP WHAT ARE THESE SPOTS ON MY SKIN? WHAT'S HAPPENING? Hey why did half of my population just get sick?! Hey? Hey, @space dwellers: wtf?! Well, who cares, most people who remembered that are gone by now.

Huh the space dwellers sure seem to have adopted a lot of our words. Hold up, why does everyone say they're words from the space dweller language? Huh? Oh well at least we're now in the CIVILIZED WORLD where we have SOCIAL RANKS based on completely irrelevant color features oh and we have THE SPACE DWELLER CHURCH. Nothing could possibly go wrong with the SPACE DWELLER CHURCH. Hold up why are the slaves turning the space dweller religion into something closer to their actual religion? NO THAT'S NOT HOW THIS WORKS. And hold up since when are we slaves? Since when do we have slaves?

Oh, don't worry, there's plenty of free people in these island. PEOPLE WHO DESCEND FROM THE SPACE DWELLERS. No, no, no, there's plenty of free people who don't descend from the space dwellers! They have rights too! We record those rights in separate books and they're separate rights, of course, since those others are GASP not the same color as the space dwellers GASP, but the space dweller government and the space dweller church is very very nice to them OF COURSE. Very nice! And we don't have slaves anymore! Hold up why are the descendants of the space dwellers suddenly against the space dwellers? Is this about rights?

Well, they weren't born in SPACE like REAL SPACE DWELLERS so really, at the end of the day they're the same as those who are NOT space dwellers, since they haven't had the honor and glory of BEING FROM SPACE so they're all the same, who cares? Hold up why are all of these lands we RIGHTFULLY CLAIMED FOR THE SPACE DWELLERS suddenly not wanting to belong to the glory of SPACE anymore?

Hey guys where did all our lands go?! Anyway, listen up, space dwellers. We're tired. Would be a shame if something happened to these last 2 remaining lands you have there... WOULDN'T IT BE A SHAME IF SOMETHING HAPPENED, SPACE DWELLERS? Oh, yes, yes, you can have some extra rights, of course of course, JUST PLEASE DON'T LEAVE THE SPACE DWELLERS. PLEASE. Yes. Yes. You can even be a bit more sovereign. JUST DOn'T LEAVE THE SPACE DWELLERS PLEASE.

Huh did those other space dwellers really just offer to BUY us. Oh well OF COURSE our space dwellers said no, they love us. Hold up what are those new spaceships? Our space dwellers are at war with those other space dwellers? Huh? HOLD UP WHY ARE THE OTHER SPACE DWELLERS ATTACKING US? And the space dwellers just told the other space dwellers that they can just have us? GASP what? Hey. Hey space dwellers. Hadn't we just agreed we had RIGHTS? Oh great so now we got rid of the space dwellers but got some new space dwellers.

Hold up. The newest space dwellers just said our flag is illegal? And we have to learn their language? And we'll be arrested if we talk about what it would be like to NOT BELONG TO NEW SPACE DWELLERS? ???? ?????? ??????? Oh it's okay. You can talk about that now. It's been some years and no one remembers. GUYS I'VE GOT A GENIUS IDEA. We should become a part of THE NEW SPACE DWELLERS. I know they took away our rights just like the first space dwellers did but THESE ONES ARE BETTER. They're so CIVILIZED. We should join the NEW SPACE DWELLERS. We told the space dwellers we want to join! They said they'll be ignoring us! Wow! The NEW SPACE DWELLERS are so GREAT.

That tirade aside, you may say, I LIKE BEING A PART OF THE CIVILIZED WORLD. Ok? Weren't we already part of that? WE WOULDN'T BE CIVILIZED IF IT WEREN'T FOR THE SPACE DWELLERS. Sure, Susan, I'll tell my great^15-grandparents that their entire family died so YOU COULD HAVE FUCKING NETFLIX. And of course, of course, we can't change the past. Shit happens. Shit happens. AND THAT SHIT HAPPENED. PEOPLE DIED, SUSAN. But oh, oh, we should become a part of the NEW SPACE DWELLERS so we can be GREAT and have more OPPORTUNITIES. Ok? That definitely justifies everything, right? RIGHT? Of course, of course, YOU weren't there, and neither was I. No one here killed our great^15-grandparents. So of course, nothing matters? Right? Right? We SHOULD be glad to belong to new space dwellers, right? Just like we should be glad we once belonged to the space dwellers? Right? RIGHT? I mean, they brought us CIVILIZATION, so it wasn't all that bad. That more than makes up for THE ENTIRETY OF A FUCKING CULTURE DYING.

But oh, you’re a citizen of the GREAT NEW SPACE DWELLERS. You could pass for one, if you TRY REALLY HARD. It’s been hundreds of years. What attachment could you possibly have for ancestors you never met? That’s dumb. WE’RE CIVILIZED NOW. Oh, yeah, of course, Susan, maybe I could have a concrete attachment to them and their culture IF THE SPACE DWELLERS HADN’T FUCKING KILLED THEM. But oh, now we have HD TV and the convenience of a dozen fast foods, so of course, Susan, DEFINITELY worth it and I have absolutely NO RIGHT TO BE MAD. RIGHT? IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME?

Anyway, have I ever mentioned I really hate the colonial status of my country? Because I don’t think I’ve mentioned that enough. :)

#colonization #colonisation #anticolonial #colonialism #rant

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muesliforbreakfast · 4 years ago

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Pilgrim’s Trail

Sometimes I write... As y’all have seen. I’ve put two pieces up on HFY. A subreddit which I guess celebrates aspects of humanity. This is the first – It's based on an existential nightmare I had a few years ago and wrote about, but with a HFY flavour. Little bit of trivia... I gave the original writeup a conventional ending - this is much closer to the way the nightmare ended, but Ratel the Mercenary made some fucken lemonade.

Setting – Not really important, but if you insist... Picture a bastardized amalgamation of Kirill Eskov's version of Middle Earth, and Novigrad/Velen then you have the right idea.

- - - - - - - - - -

Years after his first quest he sits at the spring of the hawk under the white tree. He sharpens his silver sword, holding it across his thigh, as he watches the travellers on their journeys. A tall young woman in a weathered cloak approaches him.

"You look familiar to me, have we met?" she asks, with no other greeting.

"I have travelled far... it's possible."

"What is your name, if you will? I am a collector of stories, and I would have yours."

With a weary sigh, he replies "They just call me the Mercenary, call me that, if you like."

"Mercenary... How did you become a mercenary?"

He looks at her now and sees an elf, not a girl. She is only young in elf years.

- - - - - - - - - -

The caravan had stopped. He jumped off the cart to stretch, and admired the view of the mountain range, from the shade of the valley. Purple in the distance, it would take them another three days to reach it, and having reached it, the tunnel that would take them to the other side of the range. From there, it is another month until they reached the stronghold of the Assassin king known only as Tzerlag.

It was his first quest, and he was excited and apprehensive.

The command to walk the perimeter came from Brother Edmund, the heart and brains of this quest.

He took up his sword and began to walk the perimeter.

~ ~ ~

He had wanted to find his true love. "Eat the fruit of the white tree, and you shall find your true love." The book had said. His people had confirmed this decree, so he had sought the tree at the spring of the hawk, but the tree bore him no fruit. He had waited for three days, and on the fourth a wise man had said that an offering was necessary.

"But I have nothing, sir." He replied. The wise man had advised him to crusade. "Crusading will grant you a reward in this life." So he had walked the Pilgrims trail, to the first outpost. There he had waited for a group of crusaders, so he could begin his offering.

~ ~ ~

The very first group of crusaders to take the Pilgrim's trail had been the group that he had joined. According to the Master of the Guard, their mission was the most important one they had coming through there in years. A thief had stolen codex pages from the Assassin king Tzerlag, and to prevent continued skirmishes between the kingdoms, a group of crusaders were returning the codex pages that had been found.

He had been there when Brother Edmund had put the codex pages into a basket woven of cables, and he had been there when Brother Edmund and the Master of the Guard had discussed the route, and the dangers along the way. Their caravan numbered four hundred strong. Four hundred strong was more than enough, even for a mission of this importance.

~ ~ ~

The ambush had happened at the entrance to the tunnel through the ranges. The soldiers and crusaders had circled Brother Edmund's carriage, and they had all fought to the death.

Only he had survived.

While the battle had raged outside the carriage, he had smashed the lock on the cable basket with the pommel of his sword, and stuffed the five codex pages, wrapped in wax paper, up his gambeson sleeve. He had then tied a piece of cord around his wrist and sleeve to seal it, and then, outside, he had joined the melee again.

The bandits had outnumbered them almost two to one, and had quickly slaughtered all but the best fighters; the professional soldiers and seasoned men at arms. Under the weight of numbers, the best fighters would fall too. But not before he reached the entrance to the tunnel, his pursuers dead by his sword, and the sword of the four deceased comrades who had followed him.

The tunnel was unlit, and he had no torch, but he knew that it was dead straight with no branches, and so he stumbled into the darkness.

~ ~ ~

Torches in the darkness behind him warned him of his pursuers. They were too far to see him, so He took refuge in a crag in the rocks of the tunnel. As they passed, their quiet conversation made his blood run cold with fear.

The bandit Warlord, in his fury at having had the codex pages taken during the battle had ordered the wounded crusaders be piked to death where they lay. Meanwhile he had sent a dozen of his remaining men into the darkness of the tunnel, to reach the end and then hold the exit, as his main force scoured it thoroughly from behind. All this he had learned whilst following them through the tunnel. He had considered waiting for them to pass in his hiding place, but now was glad he had not.

~ ~ ~

The tunnel was long, and the scouts had set a fast pace for hours. When they stopped for a rest, they were exhausted.

So was he, but to rest was to die.

They made camp in the middle of the tunnel, and had posted two sentries for the night; one facing the entrance, and one on the other side facing the exit.

He had stealthily made his way past the first sentry, into the camp. He had killed both sentries and then killed the ten remaining men in their sleep. By his estimate, he would have six hours to make it to the other end of the tunnel. He hoped it would be enough.

~ ~ ~

Near the end of the tunnel he had encountered some traders. He looked like hell.

"Don't go that way." He had told them. When pressed for information he told them what he could without giving too much away. They had decided to take him to the stronghold of the Assassin king, and he had been picked up by Assassin scouts not four miles away from the tunnel.

The scouts had taken them all to the court of the Assassin king, and he had given the king the pages.

He had refused his reward.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Those were my first kills, my first crusade."

"Then you're Ratel... Ratel the Mercenary... The last time I heard this story you singlehandedly cutting through swathes of outlaws and delivered Tzerlag's daughter yourself."

"Hah. Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story. What happened was trial enough."

"The march through the desert, Seven years in the Eastern Marshes, The Marshal of Umber? Are those stories true?"

"It just depends on which version you've heard."

She pauses to think for a moment. He begins to sharpen his sword once more, and then speaks.

"I spoke to a man, a middle aged man, but scarred, withered to the bone by sorrow and hardship. He was gored by a boar, but killed it in return. It took him weeks to crawl to help. When he ran out of water, he drank out of muddy puddles and filthy holes. He ate raw fish when he could catch them. Insects and moss when he couldn't. When help found him he was weak and feverish; his recovery took months, his experience took years from his life. He's been tried far more than I. I've travelled and fought but I am paid, and well, for it. These passing peasants - I've seen and lived their lives, but briefly. Backbreaking labour for their feudal lords, and they receive just enough to scrape by in return."

"Losing everything but your waterskin, boots and a sword when you crossed the desert... Turning the tables on the Marshal of Umber and his hundred men as he tracked you through the forest... And they've suffered more?"

"The Marshal didn't even have twenty... Yes. My life is easy; I travel, I fight, I'm paid. Occasionally I am hurt, but I don't go hungry, I don't wake before the dawn and labour until after dusk, day in day out. This life is dangerous, but I know naught else. I will die before I'm forty; an early death is the price I will pay for never tilling the soil and toiling for every scrap of food I eat. If anything I am fortunate, aside from this."

The she-elf pauses to consider his words once more.

"Then I don't know how you humans do it. Live your lives I mean, day after day."

"I don't know how you elves came into this world. By all accounts you weren't here, and then you were. And the elements always bent to your will. It's not so for us; If we build a house from wood we cut down the trees for lumber. We carry the wood and saw it and nail it into a house. Whereas I've seen your treetop cities grown from the trees themselves."

"I still remember when my kind thought your kind were primitive brutes for doing so. Some still hold that we were bested because we became too civilised."

"Whereas our historians will tell you that your kind never needed steel until our kinds met in battle, which is why you never sought it, and didn't have it until you needed it."

"Please don't take offense! Your species is relentless, but that is admired by my kind!"

"Relentless... Did you know that our first hunters were persistence hunters?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Before we had steel, or fire, or even stone tools, we would chase our prey down. We would run them to death."

"Chase down... A deer?"

"That's right... You see they can run faster than us, but we can walk all day. We would chase just slowly enough that they could get away, but just fast enough that they were never out of sight. We would chase them until they were so exhausted that we could kill them with our hands. When we had nothing we still found a way. Now we have... Steel... And writing, and poetry. We've traveled the oceans. Maybe one day we will travel the skies. My ancestors survived a history of suffering because we were made to endure; the ability to suffer has been with us from the very beginning. No matter what it takes, no matter the cost."

#HFY #Humanity Fuck Yeah #Fiction #An Exercise in Writing

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alonely-dreamer · 5 years ago

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Dangerous Creatures | Chapter 24: Creatures of Forgotten History

Summary: Mackenzie Alemaund is an unlucky 18 year old teenager whose life changes drastically after she gets kidnapped by two vampires and learns, in the same day, that she is not human.

Pairing: Elijah x OC

Words: 2990

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there, besides I couldn’t have it edited! I hope you’ll like it!

Masterlist

It was a cold night in the Forest and the moonlight barely filtered through the thick mist that had settled above the trees. Most of the castle was asleep, and only the servants were running around cleaning and making sure everything was perfect enough to meet the queen’s standards. The kitchen was wild awake doing the dishes and preparing for the next day. A page ran out of there after the chef caught him stealing leftovers. He launched himself in the dark hallways and though his steps were heavy and loud, he didn’t wake anyone, not even the vampires that resided there. Only one vampire heard him, and it made him pause as he wondered if he were trying to run away from a dangerous situation.

“Did you hear something?” Mackenzie whispered in the dark.

“It’s nothing,” he assured her as brought her closer to his chest.

The silk of her red nightgown collided with his silk black shirt and the feelings of being tangled in her bordeaux silk bedsheet convinced her that she hated the material. It felt cold on her skin, but she stopped shivering when he joined her in her bed.

He almost scared her as he appeared at the doorstep of her bedroom. It was unlike him not to knock but it was his understanding that a servant would usually be present to open the door and announce any visitor, and that it wasn’t too surprising that she hadn’t heard him come in from where she stood in the other room.

Nightmares were his reason to visit this late. He was pleased to hear she had less of those since Klaus took him away from her, but she was pleased to hear he wanted to spend the night with her anyway. He took her in his arms, wrapped them around her as he brought her back to his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. He seemed a little sad, but he assured her otherwise before he changed the conversation back to the previous dinner.

“He’s in good shape for someone who’s over seven hundred years old.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’m a vampire,” he reminded her. “His… unwillingness to age is… a mystery to say the least.”

“I didn’t dare ask him.”

“Me neither. It seems like… such a rude question to ask.”

“Maybe I’ll gather the courage to ask him tomorrow night.”

“Is it going to be just the two of you?”

“Dinner,” she nodded. “At his… manor or… castle or I don’t know where he lives,” she chuckled.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I mean… I’m expecting to learn some crazy things about my ancestors and in exchange I hope he’ll answer my questions.”

“Maybe you should make a list,” he joked.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

“Could you ask him what he knows about Avery Alemaund? I don’t even know when he was alive.”

“That’s already on the list.”

“Thank you.”

Mackenzie brought a hand to her mouth as she yawned then st arted to rub her eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” the vampire said. “You should rest. I’m sure no one will blame you if you oversleep.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Good night, ‘lijah.”

“Good night, Mackenzie,” he said before he placed a gentle kiss on her temple then turned off the light.

***

“You look beautiful.”

“I look ridiculous!”

Elijah laughed as the ultimate turned around herself like a cat trying to catch its own tail. She was wearing a light green dress and getting her into that corset had been a nightmare. The servant that had been appointed to her did an amazing job at dressing the elemental, but all Mackenzie wanted was to get into a pair of jeans and sneakers.

“It would be rude not to wear the dress he sent you.”

“I could always say I never got it.”

The vampire raised an eyebrow. “That would also be rude.”

She sighed and whined. “I hate it, I can’t breathe in this!”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Says the man who never wore a corset, ever!”

“Well, that’s true,” he admitted. “It’s only for tonight, you’ll be fine.”

“I can barely move.”

“You’re invited to a dinner, you won’t have to move much,” he reminded her with a grin.

“What are you gonna do?” she asked as she tried to pull on her corset.

“Alexander agreed to show me the library, I will be reading.”

“Well, you have fun,” she mumbled.

He chuckled before he took a step forward and took her face in his hands. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated gently before pressing his lips on hers.

The gesture surprised her. She was not used to it. He seemed to do it like he had done it a thousand times before, or had wished to. She gave him a shy smile and hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as the walls. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs before placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Have a good night, Mackenzie.”

“You too, Elijah.”

She hugged him tight for a few seconds before walking away from him. She turned to give him one last look before she disappeared in the hallway.

***

The manor was small compared to the land it rested on. The car stopped in front of stone stairs on which two servants were waiting. The black Mercedes seemed out of place here and Mackenzie felt weird as one of Cornelius’ men, who was wearing a uniform so green it almost seemed black, opened the door for her like she was some kind of princess.

“Thank you,” she shyly said to the man who didn’t even dare look at her.

“Lady Alemaund,” the other one greeted her with a bow, “please follow me. My Lord is expecting you in the dining room.”

She followed him without a word, her eyes capturing images her brain had difficulty to make sense of. She felt the electricity of the house as she walked pass lit candles and below a chandelier heavy with diamonds. There were plants everywhere, huge vases of fresh flowers on almost every shelves and old wooden drawers that seemed to belong to another century. The manor was similar to the Forest or even Margo’s castle: a mix of the last five centuries.

She entered the dining room, the servant bowing again before leaving her there, in the vast room where Cornelius was waiting for her at the end of the large wooden table. She counted 16 chairs but only two plates had been placed there, along with dozens of plates of sweets and other confectionaries of all colors.

Cornelius smiled as he saw her and quickly stood up, pushing his chair away in a loud and unpleasant noise. He was wearing a light green vest with dark green trousers and brown loafers. His hair was as radiant as it had been the day before, and somehow seemed even longer.

“Mackenzie!” he greeted her. “Welcome.”

She awkwardly smiled at him as he approached her and let him put his hands on her shoulder as he kissed her left cheek first then her right cheek, the gesture leaving her quite surprised.

“Good evening,” she managed to say.

“How have you been?” he asked as he led her to the table, “how are you liking the Forest so far?”

He pulled her chair and gestured her to sit and she wordlessly obeyed his silent request.

“I… I’ve been fine, thank you,” she replied as she sat down. “The Forest is… curious,” she chuckled nervously.

He laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

“So I’ve been told,” she smiled politely.

“Now, now, my dear, I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing, and if I had any idea as to where you were I’d have come to you right away.”

“My mom’s told me about you. She said you helped her while she was here… nineteen years ago.”

“She’s talked to you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware… that Aella had told you about your powers before she died.”

“Oh, she didn’t,” she said and that confused him even more, “I… I saw her… after. She’s in the Other Side.”

“Ah, is she now? Poor Aella, I was hoping she had managed to move on… I suppose one cannot find peace when one leaves a daughter behind this young.”

“I… suppose not.”

“My apologies,” Cornelius chuckled. “I’m sure she’s very proud of what you’ve become. Alive, that is,” he laughed awkwardly. “It’s a miracle you’ve managed to live this long. And accompanied by an Original vampire no less. Other ultimates have not been so lucky I’m afraid.”

“How many have you met?”

“Two. The first one, very powerful, he was in his sixties when I met him for the first and last time. He was an Engelbrecht. He told me that night that, when he was 8, he had set fire to the wooden horse he was playing with. His father had first suspected his wife to have cheated on him and that he wasn’t really his son, but one of the Hayes boys living next to them. I wish I’d have seen his face when the oracle of their village told him his son was an ultimate.”

“An… oracle?”

“You’ve never heard of oracles? They’re very powerful witches, though they’re not talented at spells or potion making, they have one gift many ‘regular’ witches wished they had: divination.”

“They can see the future?”

“Yes. Among other things,” he nodded. “Some say it’s a gift and that one is born with it, others say you can work for this power, though I’ve never met an oracle who ‘worked’ for her gift.”

“I… I’m sorry to ask but… Can I ask…”

“What is it, my dear?”

“Well, I don’t mean to be rude but…”

“Oh,” he laughed. “Of course, you’d want to know my age, everyone does. Well, like your godfather, Alexander, said, I am your 20th great grandfather, now, if you do the math, I am…”

“Over seven hundred years,” she cut him off.

“That’s right,” he laughed.

“How are you… still alive?”

“Ah well, that’s a secret I’ll never tell,” he winked at her, “not even Her Majesty the Queen knows.”

“Mom said she suspected Marg… Queen Margo helped you with… a spell or a potion.”

“Well, I’ve only known her for five hundred years, so I had to fend for myself way before that.”

“Alright,” she cleared her throat, “you said you were the eldest Fay alive, which I have no problem believing,” she said and he laughed, “but are you the last Fay?”

“Oh no. There a few Fays here, in the Forest. My children are all dead, I’m afraid, but I watch over their descendants. Their resemblance is uncanny sometimes,” he said as he drank from his cup of wine.

“And… what about Alemaunds…”

“You father, my dear, stays a mystery to me. Your mother refused to tell me anything about him.”

“Margo said she’s met him.”

“Maybe. I doubt it. She’s probably seen a picture.”

“Mom never talked about him…”

“To be frank, I haven’t met an Alemaund in centuries. The last one was Robert, or maybe that was his brother? I don’t remember. But he was an ultimate. He was in his early thirties. Good looking but not so good behaved I’m afraid.”

Mackenzie was surprised to hear he couldn’t remember the name of one of the two ultimates he had ever met. But what he said next helped her make a little bit more sense of it.

“There were twins, but they hated each other. Jealousy is a terrible thing. Let’s say, for the sake of this conversation, that the ultimate was indeed Robert and that his brother’s name was Roger, yes, I believe that’s right. Well, Roger hated, even despised his twin brother for having more power than he did. When Robert was confirmed ultimate, Roger was furious that he wasn’t one himself,” he paused, then scoffed. “Alemaunds were never sane, I’m afraid. Power hungry little fellas. I’m glad to see you inherited the soft heart of your mother. Us Fays have always been the heart of elementals.”

“I was told Avery Alemaund was… crazy.”

“Oh, of course you were told that,” he chuckled. “Let me guess, a witch told you so?”

“… warlocks… yes?”

He laughed again. “Yes. Witches hate our kind, it wasn’t hard to convince them that an elemental, an Alemaund, had sequestered several witches and forced them to create a whole new species.”

“Are you saying that’s not what happened?”

“My dear… Avery Alemaund never existed.”

Mackenzie’s eyes grew big as she breathed out: “What?”

“Have you ever heard of Pandora and Ambrosia?”

“I…,” she shook her head in an attempt to recollect herself, “yes, they’re sisters. They helped my mom when she was pregnant with me.”

“Yes, they are very helpful,” he chuckled. “I believe they are about three thousand years old. They were born in Athens. Their mother was a slave, their father their owner, and Ambrosia is no doubt the owner’s son’s daughter. But the probability that they may only be half-sisters never posed problem to either of them. They were born of rapists, that they were certain about. As their owner had no use for them, he sold them, to some Roman pervert who preferred young girls. They were 16 and 14 at the time, Pandora being the eldest one. But as they were on their way to Italy, they were rescued by a coven of witches. They lived with them in the forest for a few months but all they wanted to do was to go back to their mother. As they found out that they were witches themselves, the coven took them in and taught them everything they could. So, when they went back a year and a half later to get their mother, they’d also be ready to kill their previous owner. Unfortunately, when they arrived there, they learnt that their mother had died after a particularly brutal beating. So, they burned the whole house down with the masters inside. It is speculated that their power comes from their rage. They are, no doubt, the strongest creatures I’ve ever met.”

“Stronger than ultimates?”

“That remains to be determined,” he smiled at her.

“So… what? What does that have to do with… Avery Alemaund?”

“Well, I lied just know, Avery did exist, he just never sequestered anyone, nor was he crazy. In fact, he had nothing to do with the creation of your kind. So, no, the Avery Alemaund you were told about never really existed.”

“Did he know Pandora and Ambrosia?”

“He did not. I mentioned them because they are the ones you were told about. They are the witches who created ultimates.”

“Of their own free will?”

“Indeed. The eldest you are, the wisest you get,” he said with a laugh, “or so we’re supposed to. Though, I doubt they ever had a problem with elementals. They wanted to help, you see, after several elementals begged them to. They needed to be stronger than witches, they needed the fight to at least be fair, so they gave them the same weapon the witches had: witchcraft.”

“What about… the other elements? The element of darkness?”

“Ah yes, the element of darkness,” he repeated as if it were funny, “well, you see, in a fight, it is also very ideal to disarm your opponent, do you understand?”

She nodded. “An ultimate can steal other people’s magic away.”

“When word got around that an ultimate had been created, rumors started to spread as well, and I’m not surprised witches still believe, to this day, that an elemental had forced a witch to make them more powerful.”

“So… they never were an element of light or darkness.”

“No,” he shook his head, amused. “Witches are so gullible.”

“Wow…” she breathed out. “When… when was that?”

“Mmh, let me think… It was before the Forest was founded… and after my birth as I remember the day I was told an ultimate had been created like it was yesterday… I would say… about six hundred years ago.”

“But… they were Alemaunds… the first ultimates?”

“Five ultimates were created that day. One from each family of elementals, do you know them? The Alemaunds, the Fays, the Hayes, the Dallimores and the Engelbrecht. Only Alemaunds managed to produce more ultimates, I’m afraid. At least, that I know of.”

“So… the Dallimores are elementals of water, right?”

“Indeed.”

“What if a Dallimore and a Hayes had a child? Would they control water or fire?”

“Both or only one,” he replied. “Very rarely both. Only Alemaunds had multi-talented children. In fact, when a woman married into another family and her child was multi-talented, it was the custom that the child in question would take their mother’s name, Alemaund. That’s why you’ll never meet a Dallimore that can control fire, they’d have taken their other parent’s name, Hayes,” he laughed as if it were funny. “Actually, my mother was a Fay, my father was an Engelbrecht, but I could never manage to control the wind, I’m afraid.”

“Are all Fays related?”

“Yes and no. Honestly, I couldn’t tell. But there are so few of us left now that it doesn’t matter. You’ll be lucky if you meet another elemental outside of the Forest.”

“How many elementals are there here?”

“Only a few hundreds, I’m afraid. But of all families, I’m happy to say.”

“I was told elementals were extinct…”

“Well… we’re on our way there,” he said sadly. “But enough of this,” he waved his hand. “Please, eat. I like to start with dessert,” he told her as he took a pink macaron out of the mountain in front of him, “you don’t mind, I hope?”

“Not at all,” she smiled back at him.

“Then, bon appétit.”

*********

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!!

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @captainam-erika-trash @silver424 @monetfatalia @vaniileiinkeks @valeria-winchester @favimag @colie87 @hamiltonmadesomemistakes @s0nh4dorasblog @poemfreak306 @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @thegingerthatwaited @therealwatermelon @dark-night-sky-99@aubri1313 @jardinsecos @gymnastgal1997-blog @thearaviagrace77blog @caelst13 @casedoina @nyxestia

#the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvd #the originals #fanfiction #fanfic #elijah mikaelson #elijah x oc #elijah mikaelson x oc #dangerous creatures #gal gadot #natalie portman #oc #imagine #reader #elijah x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader

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