#like it’s his death row mean his last supper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wreywrites · 1 year ago

Text

Tiger Shark

Part 1: The Shark

Chapter 1

I sleep in that morning. We are the last district, so there is no point in getting up early, unless you want to watch the others live. But why? There will be a recap later, complete with commentary.

So I sleep in, then lay in bed for another half hour, because I can. Most days I either get up early for school or to go out on my father’s fishing boat. I enjoy the work. My father is the manager of a fishing company. He actually owns his own boat, and oversees a fleet of about a dozen Capitol-owned boats. He hires the crews, organizes sales and shipping, the whole hook and sinker. It’s nice, really. We make enough money to be quite comfortable, and my father is well-known and well-liked, so we get along well.

Ever since I was big enough to manage my own fishing pole, he let me come along on weekends to fish for fun and learn the family business so someday I can take over. When I was twelve, he decided I was big enough to start actually helping, so he put me on his most experienced crew so they could keep me out of too much trouble while I learned the ropes. When I turned fifteen and there were some staffing changes due to retirements and a shipwreck with no survivors, he let me pick a crew from the existing group, and from then on, I was in charge. Since then, we have been one of four crews on the largest fishing boat, the one my father captains personally. I love it. I love the sea air, the camaraderie, the sheer effort of fishing. Every weekend I am exhausted—going to school during the week is almost a vacation.

So the reaping is a special day. After being sufficiently lazy, I get up and get dressed. My father bought me a new dress for the occasion.

“Your last reaping is something to celebrate, I think,” he said, when he handed me the box last night after supper.

The dress is sea green and gorgeous. I leave my hair down, letting it fall all the way to my waist, and tie my seashell necklace around my neck. It was my mother’s, and after her death, it became mine. A single white shell, perhaps an inch in diameter, strung on a simple cord. I smile at my reflection, then walk downstairs.

My father hands me a plate of broccoli, rice, and seabass. Not my favorite, but he always does this. Reaping lunch is mediocre, reaping supper with our neighbors is extravagant and delicious.

We have just finished when there is a knock at the door.

“Yeah!” my father calls down the hallway without getting up.

The door opens and Mako steps inside. He winks at me as he pulls up a chair.

“Lunch?” my father gestures at his own plate.

“No thanks,” Mako says. “Mom had us finish last night’s salmon, so I’m full up on that. You’re still planning on supper tonight, right?”

Dad and I both nod.

“Good,” Mako continues, “Because Mom’s making seafood.”

“You’ll have to narrow that down,” I say with a mouthful of broccoli.

“Can’t. She’s making all of it. Lobster, clam, oyster, calamari, shrimp. She even said she found some caviar on the… in town.”

We all know what he isn’t saying. Just because we have all the seafood doesn’t mean we get to eat it all. The good stuff goes to the Capitol, and we get the leftovers, but the black market thrives here, and Mako’s mother supplies the whole neighborhood with her finds.

When my father and I have finished our lunch, we sit in silence for a moment, considering what is about to happen. Finally, my father says, “Well, you two have to be there earlier anyway, so how about I do the dishes this time, and I’ll see you after?”

Mako nods. I give Dad a quick hug, then follow Mako out the front door. He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Happy Hunger Games, my love.”

“And may the odds be ever in your favor, my dearest,” I laugh.

We separate before reaching the square, he to the boys’ side and I to the girls’. I register, then walk to the very back of the square with the rest of the eighteen-year-old girls. As tall as I am, I make for even the back row of that group. I have just settled in place when Jade and Coral hurry up to me.

“Oh, your dress is beautiful!” Jade gushes. “I wish my dad would buy me a new reaping dress every year.”

“We all know you’d never wear it again though,” Coral says with a grin.

Jade smiles. “Okay, true, they’re not very multi-functional. I’d feel silly wearing it to school, and it would just get caught on everything at work.”

Jade works in her parents’ net shop, designing and making the fishing nets that fishermen like my father use. Coral is training to be a teacher, so much of any conversation Jade and I have about fishing techniques goes right over her head, but we love her anyway.

The square fills in quickly. We are nothing here if not punctual—though usually only on reaping day. At two o’clock, the speeches start. They mayor talks for a little while, then Casca says a few words as well, and then it is time.

Casca walks to the first bowl, reaches in, and pulls a slip of paper. He walks back to the microphone, opens the paper, and says, “The female tribute from District Four...”

I give the customary sigh of relief. Another year, another tribute. I am done. I turn to smile at Coral and Jade, but they are not smiling back. They are staring. Coral has tears in her eyes. And then it hits me. They have called my name.

“Annie Cresta?” Casca says again. He has no idea who I am. But most everyone else here does. Heads turn toward me. For some reason all I can think about is how beautiful this would look from above. The funnel of faces all turning to one point, and that one point is me. My red hair and green dress. Striking.

I walk through the crowd in a haze. There is silence. On the stage, I see Four’s six surviving past victors. They are sizing me up already, deciding if I am a contender. Last year they had a pair of thirteen-year-olds. Both dead within twenty-four hours.

I reach the stage, walk up the steps, stand awkwardly while Casca moves to the other bowl, pulls another piece of paper, reads another name.

“Mako Silther.”

I do not react. I cannot react. I hope very much that no one else reacts either. That is the last thing we need.

Mako walks forward. Like me, he was at the back, and watching him move through the crowd, I realize how painfully long it took me to reach the stage. And he didn’t stand there gaping like a fish for several seconds before starting.

When he reaches the stage, Casca has us shake hands, and the people of Four applaud dutifully. Then we are escorted into the Justice Building, into separate rooms, to say our goodbyes.

My father comes in first. He is not crying, but I can see the pain in his eyes. We embrace, silent at first, but then I remember.

“No one can know,” I whisper. My voice is more frantic than I would prefer, but given the circumstances, I think I am doing alright.

“I won’t say a word. And I’ll pass it on to everyone else.”

“Thank you.”

Then he steps back, hands on my shoulders, just looking at me. Looking at me like it’s the last time he’s ever going to see me. Which, in fairness, it probably is. I’m eighteen, strong, and good with pointy objects, but in the arena, anything can happen.

After at least a minute, I can stand it no longer. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Goodbye’ seems so final.”

“Your mom always told me, you don’t have to say goodbye, just make sure you don’t leave anything unsaid.”

I shrug. “I guess that doesn’t leave much for us, does it?”

He laughs, then pulls me into a hug. “I love you so much, and you have always made me so proud to be your dad.”

There are tears running down my cheeks. “I love you too. I couldn’t have wished for a better dad. And I’m gonna come home.”

Dad nods. “I know you can do it.”

And then the Peacekeeper opens the door and says our time is up. Dad gives me one last hug, then walks out.

As he exits, Jade and Coral come in. They are both crying.

“Please don’t,” I say, because I know I can be strong for me, but I’m not sure I can be strong enough for all three of us in this moment.

They run to me and wrap me in their arms, still sobbing, but Jade has the good sense to speak so quietly I can barely hear here when she says, “What about Mako?”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Coral says, squeezing my hands. “We’ll get all the kids who know and make sure nobody tells.”

Jade nods, but doesn’t stop staring at me. “Annie, what are you going to do?”

I shrug. “Hope someone else kills one of us before it comes to that. The odds are at least in our favor that way.”

Jade nods again, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “You have to come home.”

“I will,” I say. “I can do it.”

“We know,” Coral says. “If any girl we know can win, it’s you.”

The Peacekeeper is back. Jade and Coral hold my hands all the way to the door, where the Peacekeeper stops me and pushes them away. I can hear Coral sobbing.

Mako’s parent’s come in next. They have been crying. I don’t blame them. Before I can say anything though, Mr. Silther says, “No one will say anything.”

I nod. We are all on the same page then. That’s good. I will not be like the pair from Ten.

We sit in silence for several minutes. None of us know what to say.

When the Peacekeeper opens the door and the Silthers start to leave, I practically shout after them, “Take care of Dad! Make him come to supper! Please!”

Mrs. Silther turns back to me and nods, her eyes brimming with tears, and then the door shuts again.

My last visitors nearly aren’t all allowed into the room because there are too many of them, but the Peacekeeper takes pity on us, and lets my entire fishing crew crowd in.

Circled around me, they say a rushed Fisherman’s Prayer, asking for calm seas, fair winds, and a worthy ship. Then Rizz claps a hand on my shoulder and says, “Annie, you can win.”

“I know,” I say.

“No, listen to me. You can win. I’m not saying that to comfort you as you go to your death, and I don’t want you saying it to convince yourself that there’s hope. I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re our Tiger Shark. You can win, and you will win, if you remember that. Nobody messes with tiger sharks. You just have to show them that.”

I nod. Rizz means it, and his confidence has given me confidence. He is right. None of the other tributes are brave enough to swim with tiger sharks, but I am. I will win.

The Peacekeeper tells my crew it is time, so we quickly shake hands all around, and they file out. Once Rizz has followed the rest of them, the Peacekeeper escorts me out of the room, down the hall, out of the Justice Building, and onto the platform at the train station. He gestures at the door of the train, so I step inside, and the door closes behind me.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Inside, sitting at a mahogany table, are our mentors. Before getting on the train, there’s no way to know who they will be this year. Well, that’s not entirely true. Mags has to be there. Mags, the seventy-five-year-old who won the Eleventh Hunger Games. Mags, who suffered what the doctors said must have been a stroke last year and whose words are now garbled. Mags, the woman who is so kind to everyone. Mags, who somehow won her Games and who helped mentor five others to victory. Mags, who has never been able to keep a girl alive. But the man is a mystery. Nobody really knows how mentors are chosen once you have a pool of potential mentors. It’s been Finnick Odair every year since he won, and before that it was Beck, who won something like forty-five years ago. To my knowledge, the other two have never mentored. But Cellin is a slobbering drunk and Manta had a ferocious temper before he won fifteen years ago, and victory only made it worse. Dad told me Manta has never been a mentor because one of the rules is you have to treat your tributes well, and even the Capitol thinks Manta would be too cruel to be allowed. Cellin, though… District Twelve has a drunk for a mentor every year. Then again, he’s their only surviving victor. Maybe if Beck and Finnick both dropped dead, they’d drag Cellin out. Or maybe Mags would just do it herself like she did for twenty years. Who knows.

I am jerked back to reality by Finnick. Finnick, who is only a year older than me, but has already mentored four groups of losing tributes. I am sure he’s already coming up with a plan. Already hopeful, maybe even confident, that he has a winner this year. A pair of eighteen-year-old fishermen. The odds may not be great, but they are at least in our favor that way.

Finnick gestures at the chair across from him. Mako is sitting across from Mags, staring at nothing. I sit as Casca enters from the front of the car and announces that we will be leaving in five minutes. He walks past us and exits out the back, into another car.

Once Casca has closed the door behind him, Finnick speaks.

“All right, what are you good at?”

“Lobster diving,” I say dryly.

Finnick nods. “Breath-holding,” he says to Mags, who is scribbling on a notepad.

Finnick turns to Mako. “You?”

“Math,” Mako says even more dryly.

“Angles, trajectory, force, velocity.”

Mags nods and keeps writing.

“You again,” Finnick looks back at me.

“Reaching high shelves.”

“Damn it, that was gonna be mine,” Mako says, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“We’ll write it for both.” Finnick turns to Mags, who is decidedly not writing.

“Why?” she says. And then says something else that takes me a few seconds to realize was “It’s obvious.”

Finnick nods again, drums his fingers on the table for a few seconds, then says, “Come on, help me out. We can’t help you if…”

He is still talking, but I am not listening. I am counting fingers, rapid taps and pauses, the occasional use of the thumb. Finnick is saying something about how we will need to focus on the things we don’t know, like edible plants and building fires—and knowing when it is safe to build a fire and when we should never under any circumstances build a fire—when it hits me.

Stop that, I tap.

Stop what? Finnick taps back, still talking, but I can’t concentrate on both conversations.

Alphabet backwards. No point.

Yes point.

And then he stops tapping and is still talking about fires and learning what food is okay to eat raw and what needs cooked.

The train starts with the smallest of lurches. I stare out the window, watching District Four pass us by. After ten minutes, Mags stands up and takes Mako’s hand, leading him to the door at the back of the car.

“Where are they…?” The door closes behind them, cutting me off.

“We have to strategize. Mags and I flipped for it, and this year, honey, I get you.”

This makes me distinctly uncomfortable. For one thing, “honey” is not a term of endearment thrown around by nineteen-year-old boys, or anyone in Four for that matter. Second, I don’t really like the way he is looking at me. I’m sure he’s probably just sizing me up, but something about it is…

“I’m not a piece of meat,” I snap.

Finnick smiles. “No you are not. In fact, I hear you’re a tiger shark.”

I stare. “How do you know that?” It’s just a nickname. Nothing bad. But it is a nickname Rizz and the rest of the crew gave me. It doesn’t get thrown around in school. My friends don’t call me Tiger Shark, my father doesn’t call me Tiger Shark. I start to wonder if Finnick has been stalking me. Maybe the reaping is rigged, and they have known it will be me for months now, so Finnick has studied up. Maybe-

“Don’t flatter yourself, honey. I hear things. Actually, I’m glad they pulled you.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t expect you would be. But think about it this way. Your crew knows you’re a tiger shark, I know you’re a tiger shark, you know you’re a tiger shark, now you just have to show twenty-three other people that you’re a tiger shark. Understand?”

I tilt my head to the side, scrutinizing him. Maybe Finnick Odair isn’t just a pretty face, though I suspect that is still most of his talent. “A shark won’t mess with you unless it has a reason.”

Finnick nods. “And what did they just give you?”

“A reason.”

“Exactly. So that’s gonna be our strategy.” He pops a grape into his mouth. “I know it was Rizz, and I know the sacred bond a crew has, but we’re going to take that and run with it. Everything is about the Tiger Shark now. You act like one from now on, even more than you already do. You tell Caesar about it during your interview. You exude that confidence, that strength, that will to fight, that unshakeable…”

“Cold-blooded killer instinct?”

“Yeah, that.” A smile spreads across his face. “I just realized—I’ve got two sharks this year. We’re gonna play that. Now, back to business. Who taught you Taps?”

Why that is relevant, I don’t know. “My father.”

“Good for him, makes my job easier.”

“Why?”

“You remember the pair from Ten? Cally and Alvan?”

How could anyone forget them? “Yes.”

“Well, that made me realize how helpful a little secret communication can be. And Taps is all Four has, so I’m glad one of you knows it.”

“How do you know Mako doesn’t?”

“I was watching him after I did the first run of the alphabet. I could see in your eyes you’d get there eventually, so I ignored you until you tapped back. He didn’t have a clue though. Not even a good blank expression to hide it. Just confusion that there was a pattern, but he had no idea what it was.”

“What, and that makes me better than him?”

“No,” Finnick shrugs. “I figure we’ve got an even shot for either of you, but it does mean I can tell you this.” Then then he taps, It has to stay secret. If they find out, they will make you the next pair from Ten.

I nod.

Finnick thinks for a moment, then says, “It puts you at a disadvantage, because you will have to work twice as hard. You have to act, which means your focus will be on acting, on looking normal, and it’s hard to look normal if you’re trying.” He smiles. “But that’s why Mags and I are here. It’s our job to help you.”

I nod again. “Then help us.”

“Don’t worry honey, I will.”

“And stop calling me honey.”

****

NEXT CHAPTER

#wrey writes #the hunger games #thg: tiger shark #annie cresta #finnick odair #i'm sure you all know where this is going #but it's a slight au so keep the guesses coming

7 notes · View notes

ti-bae-rius · 3 years ago

Text

Following on from @imherongraystairstrash’s amazing Thomas and Kit fic (which is here: https://imherongraystairstrash.tumblr.com/post/654901507028828161/i-know-you-write-about-relationships-in-tlh-and) here’s my addition to this lil fanfic universe, in which Thomas and Christopher discuss love and what love means.

Some period-specific discussion around sexual and romantic orientation but pretty darn positive!

Christopher dropped his carpet bag down on the bed in the room opposite Thomas’s with a sigh.

“Mam went to visit Uncle Henry, and he said that we should be able to go back to the house tomorrow by tea time. Mam and Dad have taken Alex to Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will’s. I haven’t a clue where Anna went. Mam asked if she’d somewhere to go and Anna said ‘I’ll find someone’ and Mam said ‘you mean somewhere?’ and Anna said ‘If you like’ and that caused an almighty row, so I’ve come here.”

Thomas glanced up from where he’d been filling the basin for Christopher, and grinned at him in the looking glass hanging above it.

“What a palaver.”

“Not half. And then Mam made me get rid of all the clothes I was wearing when the experiment went awry, so that’s another shirt gone to buggery. Anna’s inherited wardrobe is waning by the second.”

“I can’t imagine Anna would be seen dead in your old clobber, Kit.”

“Not anymore, but she used nab it all. I’m sure she thought I didn’t notice, but I did.”

“You never asked her about it?” Thomas asked. A knock at the door made him pause before he got an answer, accepting the plate offered by one of the maids. He handed Christopher the tea cake, pooling with melting butter, and stretched out on the rug as his cousin ate.

“Well none of it mattered a jot to me. They were just clothes. They meant something to Anna.” He set down his tea cake in indignation. “Oh, and I was pretending to sleep in the carriage here, but I heard Mam and Dad talking about Anna. Apparently the Clave are kicking up a fuss again about her, saying she could be muddling foolish shadowhunter girls. But Anna in spats and a waistcoat is still Anna. I hardly think a pair of trousers is going to baffle ladies out of their heads, and if they think girls are so easily duped, then it’s not the girls who are the foolish ones.”

Christopher understood Anna so well, Thomas thought, watching as - now serene after his outburst - Christopher happily tucked into his tea cake, fingers slick with runny butter. He understood Anna, so he’d understand Thomas. At least, Thomas thought, he hoped that was the case.

“I’ve something I want to tell you,” Thomas said, and his voice trembled a little with the nerves as he said it. He picked up his teacup but the saucer clattered against the base as his hands shook.

“Mind, you’ll drop that,” Christopher said, and Thomas put the cup back down. “Well whatever it is, it sounds frightfully serious.”

“It’s not all that serious,” Thomas insisted. “I don’t suppose it is anyway. Unless you find it serious. You might do.” He forced a breath between clenched teeth and reminded himself why he wanted to tell Kit. Because he’d understand. Because he was Anna’s brother. Because he was Thomas’s best friend.

“I...don’t fancy women. I fancy...other boys. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

Christopher’s violet eyes widened behind his spectacles, brows shooting up towards his hairline.

“Are you surprised?” Thomas hazarded nervously.

“Hugely.”

“You didn’t guess then?”

“About you...I didn’t give it a fig. I mean, I’m surprised you told me first. No one ever tells me anything first.”

“Well, you’re my best friend.”

If possible, Christopher’s eyes widened further, huge saucer-like circles of shock.

“I’m your best friend?”

Thomas almost laughed. “Of course you are. ‘Course, Kit. Besides, you can’t possibly be more surprised by that than...than the other part.”

“Well that is interesting news,” Christopher nodded. “Certainly interesting. Lots of recent scientific papers have been published on the subject. I tried to show Anna but she asked if they had any advice for seducing women, and then when I said it wasn’t a how-to guide she said it sounded dull.”

“Well I’m not to be experimented on,” Thomas said, and Christopher glanced across, wounded.

“Of course not. I didn’t mean...It’s just how I explain things I...” He patted Thomas’s shoulder helplessly. “It’s all alright with me, old boy. Any of it. Because I’m your...best friend.” He said these last two words with such earnest, such pleasure, that it set Thomas’s heart alight.

“You won’t tell the rest of the lads, will you?” he asked nervously and Christopher shook his head so firmly his spectacles shifted down his nose.

“Of course I shan’t,” he said, pushing them back up with a finger. “I’ll probably forget by supper tomorrow.”

They both knew that wasn’t true, but Thomas ruffled Kit’s hair in thanks anyway, muttering some gruff comment about that being about right. Nevertheless, he could see Christopher grinning.

“Thomas? Are you up?”

Setting down his book, Thomas padded over and opened his bedroom door, admitting a Christopher who was squinting without his spectacles. Thomas pulled him into the room and closed the door behind them. The candle he was reading by was starting to burn low, so he activated his witchlight lantern and set it on the bedside table. Christopher peered at the book and then back at Thomas.

“Couldn’t you sleep either?”

“You look like a mole when you don’t have your eyeglasses on,” Thomas replied instead, evading the question. His heart still felt as if it was leaping out of his chest, like he’d been infected with demon poison. He felt lighter and heavier all at once. His secret didn’t feel quite so suffocating now he’d told Kit, but speaking it had made it somehow more real. There was no hiding from it now.

“I had a question for you,” Christopher went on, tucking his knees up into his nightgown. Thomas, in a pair of striped pyjamas his mother had bought him, didn’t know how his cousin didn’t freeze to death.

“Which was?” Thomas prompted.

“When did you know that you liked other lads, not girls?”

Thomas tried to swallow the shock of the question. When did he know? How did he know? Didn’t everyone just somehow know? “I suppose...I’ve always felt it. But it became impossible to ignore when I was about 11 or so.”

Christopher seemed to heave a sigh of relief, though Thomas was half-inclined to believe he’d imagined it. Was his cousin wondering whether he was out of the woods to fall victim to Thomas’s own proclivities?

“I suppose it’s the same as you knowing you fancied girls.”

Christopher didn’t say anything for a while, and Thomas presumed that was all, when Christopher suddenly spoke again into the silence, voice dropped to a hush.

“Well, you see, that’s sort of it. I’m not sure I do know that. I don’t really know that I’m fond of...anyone in that way, girls or boys.” Though the light was low, Thomas could sense Christopher wrinkling his nose the way he did when he was puzzled. “I suppose that makes me awfully peculiar,” he said quietly.

“Not peculiar, at least not any more so than me,” Thomas told him. “Besides, you’re only 14. Perhaps you’re just a late bloomer. You’re ever so studious, you’re probably just too busy for courting. You have plenty of time to court girls.”

“I just...” Christopher cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m fond of lots of people. I’m fond of you, and Jamie and Matthew. I’m fond of my family - even Alex and his relentless grizzling. I’m fond of lots of people. But...I don’t think I can really imagine wanting to kiss anyone - and I definitely can’t imagine wanting to do anything in a marriage bed.”

“Well,” Thomas began, not really sure where his answer was going to lead him. “Like I say, you have plenty of time. But, even if you didn’t ever want something like that, you’d still be Christopher. It wouldn’t change anything for us, all of us who know you.”

“You don’t think that would be a tremendously odd life? Never being in love?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one to comment on what’s odd or not, especially not in matters of love,” Thomas pointed out, smiling. “But...I don’t see why it should be. Like you said, you’re fond of so many people, and they’re all so fond of you. It wouldn’t be as if your life was without love. By the angel, you’d be lucky to even escape it for a day with so much family around you who dote on you. Just because you wouldn’t want to take a wife...that shouldn’t mean you would have a life without love. Not when we all love you so.”

“And even if you were in love with some lad, we’d still be friends, wouldn’t we?”

“‘Course we would, Kit. You’ve seen what Aunt Tessa and my mother are like; Shadowhunters stay friends for life, especially when they’re family. We’ll always be best friends.”

“Well then, I don’t suppose the rest of it matters,” Christopher said, and Thomas’s heart wriggled free of the iron grip of anxiety, just a little, because Kit still loved him. And, Thomas agreed, the rest of it didn’t matter.

#thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #tlh #the last hours #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #anna lightwood #fanfic #fanfiction

48 notes · View notes

petersasteria · 4 years ago

Text

Reversed Curse - Tom Holland (Royal AU)

Pairing: Tom x Princess!Reader

This is my second entry for @hollandsrecs‘ fic bingo x

6.8k words

* * * *

"Your Highness, we found the culprit!" The Royal Guard announced as he entered the throne room with two other guards and a man with his hands chained. The man was as old as the king and he was dirty because of the grease. He was bravely looking at the King.

The King was very angry. "How dare you stand there with a brave face as you look at me!" The King seethed.

"I stand here with all the dignity I have left, sire." The man said. "For I have done no wrong. I would never lay my hands on any other woman because I have a wife. Nor will I ever lay my hands on someone's daughter for I, too, have one at home."

The King scoffed, "How dare you lie in front of my face. I know that you touched my daughter."

"Are you certain it was me?" The man raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did she say?"

"She said that a man had touched her whilst she was having an afternoon nap under the tree in the garden. She described the man and it matched your description. I, therefore, conclude that you were the bastard that groped her!" The King shouted.

The man said nothing. Just then, the Princess and the Queen entered the throne room. The Princess was shocked to see a dirty man in the throne room.

"Darling." The King said to his loving daughter. "We have found the dirty rascal who touched you. No sin will be forgiven for I have set a punishment already."

She frowned, "Father, that's the wrong man."

"What are you talking about? Yes, he is! The description matched him perfectly!"

"I'm afraid I very well know who the culprit was because I saw him myself!" The Princess argued. "Believe me when I say that he is not the man who groped me."

"You shall be sent to your room without supper as punishment for disrespecting me." The King said with no emotion, no heart. He looked at the man, "And as for you, in the morning bright and early, your punishment will be waiting. Send him to the dungeon."

The Princess was escorted to her room and the man was escorted to the dungeon. She didn't know what to do to help the innocent man. She knew he wasn't guilty, but she also knew that her father wouldn't change his mind.

The very next day, the sun was shining brightly despite the horrific act that will soon follow. Princess Y/N wondered if the sun would still shine as bright after the man's punishment. She wondered if God would forgive her father for being vicious and cruel. She and her family sat in a booth that had the perfect view of the stage where the man will be standing.

"Father." She pleaded. "This is not right. He's innocent, I swear on it."

The King looked at her and said, "I don't care. Whatever happens, happens." He had no remorse in his body. The King proudly looked back at the stage and smirked when he saw the guards escorting the man on stage.

Princess Y/N looked at the audience when she noticed a woman wailing in the front row. She heard the woman shouting as if trying to get the attention of the King. Y/N glanced at her father and became annoyed when he chose to ignore the woman. She looked at the woman again and she saw that she wept harder when it was announced by the guard that the man will be hung to death.

"Father, you can't do this." Y/N shook her head as she cried. "It's not right for an innocent man to die. God won't allow it. That man has an innocent soul!"

"God wouldn't care!" Her father yelled angrily. "He took your brother's innocent soul with no pity and no hesitation. I shall do the same."

"I'm sure God had a reason." She argued. "But this is different. You're not God!"

"I have a reason too! Now, shut your mouth!" The King ended the conversation and focused on the man's hanging. The noose was already around the man's neck and everyone watched as the man stepped on the stool, accepting his fate.

"Any last words?" The Royal Guard asked.

The man nodded and took a deep breath knowing that it would be his last. He looked at his face and offered her a small smile. "I love my wife and I love my daughter. Both of you are the first ones I think about as I wake and before I sleep. Now that my fate has been sealed, I shall think of both of you for the rest of the time that my eyes are closed. I will miss both of you very much and I wish I could hold both of you one last time before I go, but we know that isn't possible. I love you."

The support of the stool was taken away causing the man to dangle and struggle to breathe. After twenty minutes of struggling, he was announced dead.

A few days later, the King sent out invitations for the monthly check on his people. He wanted to know what his people need and want. Obviously, most of them were empty promises but the people would still say what they need and want, anyway.

"I will see what I can do for your crops." The King said with a faux smile plastered on his face. "Next!"

The next was a woman in black colored attire. She was a sinister stranger that nobody knew. She had the aura of death and around her and it didn't feel right. Despite that, the King shrugged it off and asked what she wanted.

"I want justice." The woman said.

"Justice?" The King said. He was confused.

The woman nodded, "I want justice for my husband. You hung him to death a few days ago. He was the love of my life and you killed him with no ounce of pity. He was innocent. I want to avenge him."

The King let out a scoff, "And how could you possibly do that?"

The woman smirked and raised her arms to unleash the cruel aura around her. "My husband's death became the source of my sadness. In order to avenge his death, I shall curse the Queen to die with a terrible illness and for the Princess to never find true love." She put her arms down and vanished in thin air.

The King didn't seem too fazed by it, but the Queen was scared. "We must do something." The Queen said.

"Yes, father. We must." Princess Y/N pleaded. "It was your fault anyway. I warned you! I told you he was innocent!"

"Fine." The King said. "I don't believe a single thing about what that witch said, but we'll do something."

Later that night, the Royal Family took a short carriage ride to another witch whom they knew personally. Queen Y/M/N had fascinations about magic and she befriended the witch. His name was Charles.

The Queen knocked on his door and the door was slowly opened. Charles looked shocked, "Your Highness! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We came to ask for your help, Charles." The Queen said sweetly. Charles nodded and opened the door wide enough for the Royal Family to enter. They all sat down in the small dining area and they began to talk about the curse.

Charles nodded and said, "I can't undo the curse. The only person who can undo the curse is the witch who inflicted it. I can, however, reverse it. I just need a few things."

"Like what?" The King asked.

"Leaves as green as moss, bird as colorful as a flower, dust as fine as powder and a diamond." Charles said.

Y/N looked at her ring and saw a diamond on it, "I have a diamond right here on my ring. Will that work?"

Charles shook his head, "The diamond must be searched for. Speaking of searching, the princess must look for all of these things before the sun sets the day after tomorrow. That potion is for reversing the death of the Queen. She won't die, however, she'll get sick."

"But what about my curse?" The Princess asked. "I want to find my true love."

Charles snorted, "Does true love even exist?" He looked at the Princess who was frowning at his words and he cleared his throat, "Well I do have something in mind."

"What is it?" The Princess desperately asked.

Charles gulped and said, "You must sacrifice the thing you love the most."

"Sacrifice?" She asked. "What? You mean... kill?"

"Precisely." Charles nodded. "Do it after you've found everything needed for the potion."

"How will I know that the curse has been lifted?" She questioned.

"Your heart will ache when your true love gets hurt." Charles said. "If I were you, I'd start now. Time is ticking and the woods can be a dangerous place. Come straight here once you've collected everything and sacrifice the thing here too as I create the potion."

"Thank you, Charles." The Queen smiled. "I shall forever be in debt."

The Royal Family quickly left and went back to the palace. The Princess hastily went to her room and grabbed her satchel. She changed into a simple red corset dress and she neatly tied her hair with a ribbon.

She walked out of her room with the satchel and quickly walked to the palace's door. The Queen, her mother, stopped her.

"Mother, please get out of the way." The Princess said. "You heard what that man said. Time is ticking and-"

"I know. I just want to give you my scarf." Her mother wrapped the scarf around Y/N's neck and said, "I won't be able to protect you out there, but I hope this scarf will make you think of me whenever you're scared or whenever you miss home. Just promise me you'll come back to me in one piece."

"I promise, mother." Princess Y/N smiled. She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek before she fled out of the palace and into the stable where she got on her horse.

The Princess rode on her horse into the woods with only the moon's shine as their source of light. The horse, Vixen, decided that she didn't want to run anymore and abruptly came to a halt. The Princess fell forward and into the still river. She thanked God because the river was calm and it wasn't rushing through. She hoisted herself up again coughed up water.

"What a good way to start the trip." She muttered to herself. She squeezed out the water from her hair, her dress, her scarf and she turned her empty satchel upside down so all the water could fall out. She looked at Vixen and sighed, "We'll start tomorrow, okay? Let's get some sleep."

She settled Vixen down and she laid her head on Vixen's body as a pillow. "Good night, Vixen. We shall wake up bright and early for our adventure." After that, Vixen and the Princess fell soundly asleep.

The next morning arrived and the village shops were already starting to open. The Holland family had a talent for carpentry and baking. Their home was just the right size with the first floor as the bakery and the backyard as the place for carpentry.

"Thomas!" His mother shouted from downstairs. "Wake up and fetch some water from the river! I'll be washing the clothes today and a lot of people are fetching water from the well now."

Thomas groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and slowly sat up. "I won't ask again, Thomas!" His mother shouted again. "You better be awake! Bring the cart with you."

"That cart is bloody heavy." He whispered to himself as he got up and stretched. He walked downstairs and said, "Why can't Sam do it?"

Sam glared at his older brother and grabbed a pinch of flour and threw it at him, "I'm bloody baking, imbecile."

"Sam, don't say that. Tom, get to work." Their mother said. "We have so much to do! Harry is with your father outside. They're making a table for Elizabeth's family." She walked away to gather all the clothes in the house.

"Thomas, is it true?" Sam whispered. Thomas looked at him with a confused look. "Is what true?"

"Word on the street is that you deflowered Elizabeth Carter. Is it true? What you did?" Sam asked as he rolled the dough with a rolling pin.

Thomas couldn't believe his ears. Who on earth made up a rumor about him?

"You know, if she ends up having your child and if you don't marry her, you could be executed and that's stated in the law." Sam said.

"It's not true, Sam. Don't believe what other people say." Thomas said. "I didn't deflower anyone and I don't plan to, not yet. Besides, if she's with child, that's her problem. Not mine. I'm not the father."

He grabbed six big buckets and stacked it all together. Thomas wore his boots and said goodbye to his brother. He put the buckets in the wooden cart and went on his way to the river in the woods as he pushed the cart.

He reached the river and saw the Princess with her horse. Thomas stopped in his tracks and stared at her in shock. The Princess was sound asleep and Thomas drifted his attention towards the sparkly ring on her finger.

He slowly tiptoed to the Princess and sneakily took off her ring so that he could examine it. Just as he was about to put it back, the Princess stirred awake causing him to panic and put the ring in his pocket and backed away.

The Princess adjusted to the light before she sat up. She looked around to see a boy about her age. She looked surprised, "Oh, I'm sorry. Was I in your way?"

Thomas stared at her and shook his head, "N-No. In fact, I'm sorry for bothering you in your sleep."

"Non-sense! This isn't my property." The Princess waved him off and stood up. She looked behind him and saw a cart, "Were you going to fetch water?"

"Yes." Thomas nodded as he grabbed a bucket before scooping water to fill the bucket and going back to the cart to put the bucket there as he repeated the process five more times. The Princess just watched him as she thought of something.

Thomas looked at her and nodded to her, "I have to get going. Have a good day." He slowly pushed the now heavy cart and walked away.

"Wait!" She ran up to him. "You can borrow my horse. Her name is Vixen. In return, I need your help."

"I don't even know who you are." Thomas said. "Besides, I have to go."

"I know, but it's quicker if you borrow my horse. I really need your help." She pleaded. Thomas thought about it and nodded, "Fine."

With that, both of them tied the horse to the cart and both of them made their back to the village. "I never got your name." Thomas said.

"Likewise." The Princess smirked slightly.

"I'm Thomas."

"Y/N." She smiled. She wasn't offended when Thomas didn't know who she was. In fact, she was glad that she wasn't recognized. She didn't want to draw attention. They arrived at Thomas' humble home and he brought the buckets of water in the house and out in the backyard where his mother was waiting.

Y/N entered the lovely home and looked around at the bread and pastries. She loved the aroma wafting through the air and she took notice of an attractive lad making them.

"Excuse me." She said as the boy looked at her. "Did you make all these?"

He smiled and nodded, "Yes. Some of them are my own recipes."

"Oh, how wonderful!" She smiled as she looked around.

After Thomas finished, he looked between his brother and Y/N. "I see you've met. That's my brother Sam and this is Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

"Pleased to meet you too."

Y/N turned to Thomas and said, "I'm reversing a curse inflicted upon my mother and I need your help to find the things I need for the potion."

Thomas stared at her, "Are you mad?"

"Of course not! It's the truth. My mother was cursed and I need to get the things to reverse it. I have until tomorrow's sunset." Y/N explained. Thomas thought about it for a while and shrugged, "Alright, but you'll have to tell my mother."

Just then, Thomas' mother came in. "Sam, where's- Thomas, who's this?"

"This is Y/N. We met at the river." Thomas said as Y/N smiled politely. His mother smiled back, "Oh, my! How gorgeous, you look. To what do we owe the pleasure of having you here, darling?"

"My mother was cursed and I've come to ask for your permission if it's alright with you if I bring Thomas with me for my mission. I don't know the woods very well like he does." Y/N explained.

"Of course, he can help." His mother smiled.

"Wait. You're not surprised that my mother was cursed?"

"No." His mother shook her head. "It's quite normal to get cursed in the village. Anyway, I wish both of you luck on your mission."

"Thank you." Y/N said as she quickly left. She untied Vixen from the cart before getting on it. Thomas followed quickly after saying goodbye. "Hop on, Thomas!"

Thomas sat behind her on the horse and he didn't know where to hold on to.

"Hold my waist. It's alright." Y/N said. Thomas' face flushed red as he held on to her waist. Vixen galloped back to the woods and Y/N looked around for leaves as green as moss; the first on the list.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Thomas asked.

"Leaves as green as moss, bird as colorful as a flower, dust as fine as powder and a diamond." Y/N sighed. "Do you know where to get those?"

"I know where to get the leaves. My mate, Harrison, is a tailor but he takes care of plants. He might have the leaves that you want."

"Great! Where does he live?"

"Back in the village." Thomas said. "We can just put that on the last part of the list. Let's find the bird."

"I don't know where to start, though." She sighed. She assumed she needed a colorful bird with vibrant colors.

"I always find strange things deep into the woods." Thomas shrugged. "If we keep going further, we can find all of those things. It's beautiful there as well, breathtaking!"

The pair went further into the woods and Thomas was right. The scenery was beautiful. There was a small waterfall, a lot of trees that surrounded the area, the sky was blue and the clouds were white and puffy. Y/N smiled. She had never seen anything like it before.

Y/N stopped Vixen as she and Thomas hopped down the horse. Thomas looked around for the bird as Y/N stared at the view in front of her. Thomas smiled when he saw the most colorful bird that was up on the tree.

"Y/N, I think I found the bird." Thomas whispered. He walked towards the tree and slowly climbed it. Y/N didn't turn around to look. Her gaze was kept on the scenery. She knew that she wouldn't see it ever again.

"Oh, Vixen. Isn't marvelous?" She whispered to her beloved friend. "I will definitely miss this place."

She was too busy to notice Thomas stand next to her with the most colorful bird on his shoulder. Thomas carefully tapped her shoulder and she turned to him and her eyes widened with a big smile on her face.

"Is this the bird you need?" Thomas asked. "I think this is it."

"Same here. We already have one and we need three more!" She cheered.

"What's the next one?" Thomas asked.

"Dust as fine as powder." She said. "I don't even know anymore."

"I saw some of those." Thomas said. "I go out a lot with my mate and we see things out here in the woods. We found dust like that near a mountain. It's a bit far, though."

She nodded, "Okay. We might find a diamond along the way."

"I think Harrison saw a cave there once. I'm not sure if there are treasures in there like gems." Thomas said. "We have to go while the sun's still out. How long do you have again?"

"Tomorrow before the sunset." She answered.

"Let's go, then."

They hopped on the horse again and they went to the place where Thomas found the special dust that Y/N needed. She knew it was a great choice to bring Thomas with her.

"I'm quite fond of your company, Thomas." She confessed. It was true. She's never met anyone as adventurous as Thomas. "How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen." Thomas answered. "You?"

"I'm eighteen too." She said. "How long until we reach our destination?"

"Not too long. I know the path very well. As long as we don't stray, we'll be fine." Thomas reassured. They stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Thomas saw the cave from afar. "Look! There's the cave!"

Y/N looked at the direction he was looking at and she grinned. She has never seen a cave before. It would be her first time. "It looks lovely, Thomas."

"We need to be careful, though. Some people who go in there, never get back out." Thomas said. "My cousin never got back out."

"I'm so sorry." She frowned. "What will we do, then?"

"I'll go in and-"

"No, I will. You already got the bird and you knew where to get the leaves. The least I could do is get the diamond and the dust."

Thomas didn't want the girl to go, but he nodded, "Alright. I'll tie a rope around your waist."

"We don't have a rope."

"Then we'll have a makeshift rope. I know there's a strong vine around here." Thomas said as he hopped off the horse. He immediately looked for a vine and Y/N hopped off the horse too and left Vixen by a tree. She stood in front of the cave and she felt shivers down her spine.

Thomas quickly found a vine and tied it around the girl's waist. He was admittedly nervous for her seeing as he would be responsible for her life if she never came back out. He didn't want that and he didn't need that on his conscience.

"Good luck and stay safe, alright? Just look for the diamond and get the first diamond you ever see and come back out. Come back out for your mother. You're doing this for her." Thomas told her. She nodded and walked in. Thomas was holding on to the vine outside the cave and he watched as the darkness of the cave engulfed her. He couldn't see her anymore and it worried him.

"Y/N! Are you alright in there?" He shouted. He stayed quiet and he grew anxious when he didn't hear an answer. "Tug on this rope if you're still there!" He shouted once more. His anxiety grew when he didn't feel a tug on the vine. He wanted to go after her so bad, but he knew one of them had to stay in case anything would happen.

Just as he was about to get help, he heard footsteps coming out of the cave. Y/N came out and she said, "Let's go!"

Thomas nodded as he got Vixen ready. He hopped on and so did she. "The diamond is in my satchel. Let's go." She said. "Where's the dust?"

"Just near here." Thomas replied. "We'll get there as soon as possible and in the morning, we'll go back to the village and straight to Harrison's home. You'll be able to go back before sunset. I swear on it."

Vixen walked along the path of the woods with Thomas' guidance this time and Y/N sat behind him as she pet the bird resting on his shoulder. "I'll name you 'Iris' because it means 'rainbow'." Y/N said softly as she smiled fondly at the colorful bird.

She couldn't see it due to their seating arrangement on the horse, but Thomas smiled to himself when he heard her name the bird. He didn't know what it was. Perhaps it was her soft voice lingering in his ears or the feeling of being calm or relaxed, but he felt contentment and genuine happiness.

It was the main reason he escaped to the woods in the first place. He didn't go there to hunt or hide. He was there to escape. Sometimes with Harrison, most of the time just on his own. After all, there was no nagging in the woods. There were no annoying brothers or bossy fathers. Just him and nature and the peaceful ambiance that surrounded him. He would be there often and just unwind before going back to the village to another chore that his mother told him to do.

Thomas stopped Vixen and broke the silence. "I'll let you get down now. You'll find the dust here." He said. Y/N went down her horse and she looked on the ground. "Get as much as you can." He added.

She grabbed a handful of dust and put it in her satchel. To make sure, she grabbed one more handful. She turned to Thomas and grinned, "I got it." Before she got on the horse, she looked out into the horizon and saw that the sun was setting.

"One sunset down." Thomas muttered. "One more to go."

"Indeed." She said before getting on the horse. "We better get out of here now. We need to rest at the part of the woods where the village is near."

Thomas nodded, "I know exactly where."

They moved to the place where Thomas would often rest. In fact, he already had a blanket way up high on the tree where no one would find it. They both got down from the horse and Thomas quickly climbed up the tree to retrieve his blanket. Y/N, on the other hand, settled Vixen down. Thomas got down from the tree and set his blanket on the ground.

"I only have one blanket. You can stay there." Thomas said.

"Oh, thank you. I was actually planning on sleeping the same way I slept when you found me this morning." Y/N said.

"You mean... on your horse?" He asked.

"Yes." She nodded. "Besides, it's your blanket. Good night, Thomas." She smiled and positioned herself next to Vixen and rested her head on Vixen's body. Iris, the bird, settled on Vixen's body too.

Thomas laid down on his blanket and yawned, "Good night, Y/N."

The next day, the pair woke up with sun shining way up high and directly on them which meant that it was already afternoon. Thomas hurriedly folded his blanket and climbed up the tree to hide it. Y/N helped Vixen stand up as she waited for Thomas to come down. Iris flew on Tom's shoulder and stayed there again.

Together, they got on the horse and went to Harrison's home. The Osterfields were a family of tailors. They were the best in the village. Not much were said during the whole trip. Vixen was rapidly galloping in the woods to go back into the village.

Thankfully, they did. They stopped in front of Harrison's home and the two got down from the horse. They knocked on the door and Harrison's mother opened it and smiled. "Thomas! I didn't know you were visiting. Please, come in."

Thomas and Y/N entered the home and Thomas asked, "Is Harrison here? We need something."

"He went to the market a while ago. I'm sure he's on his way back." Harrison's mother smiled at him. She turned to Y/N and said, "You look like the Princess, but dirty."

Y/N wanted to be offended, but she found it hilarious. "Oh, thanks I guess." She giggled.

"I've only met the Royal Family once. I made the Queen's gown when her son was born. It's tragic, really. I can't imagine losing any of my children." Harrison's mother frowned before going back to sewing. Y/N frowned. She missed her brother. He was only older than her by two years.

A few minutes later, Harrison arrived. Harrison smiled at Thomas as soon as he saw him. Harrison pulled Thomas in for a hug and both of them were happy. "Thomas! I haven't seen you for awhile." Harrison grinned as he pulled away. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Thomas smiled, "Y/N over here needs leaves as green as moss. Do you have them?"

Harrison thought about it and nodded, "I do! They're outside. Follow me." He led the way and Thomas and Y/N followed behind him. They arrived at the backyard and Harrison smiled. He looked at his plants with a proud look. He turned to face Thomas and Y/N, "My plants' leaves are all as green as moss. Take your pick, miss Y/N."

Y/N thanked him and looked at his plants.

Harrison looked at his best mate and a puzzled look appeared on his face when he saw a colorful bird on his shoulder, "Whose bird is that?"

"Oh, it's hers. She needs it to reverse a curse or something." Thomas shrugged.

Harrison nodded, "Another witch victim, I see."

"Yeah, it's her mother."

"Oh, bless her."

"Bless her, indeed."

She found the one with the perfect shade and took three leaves. After that, she turned to the two males, "Thomas, we should go. It'll be sunset soon." She put the leaves in her satchel.

"Of course." Thomas said. "It was lovely to see you again, mate. I'll come back soon. Hopefully we'll have time to fish again."

"I shall be waiting for that." Harrison said before turning to Y/N. "It was a pleasure to help you."

"Thank you again. I'll come back soon for dresses, this time." She grinned. Harrison chuckled and led the way back to the front door. They said their goodbyes and they went straight to Charles' home. When they arrived, Y/N quickly knocked on his door.

Charles opened and smiled, "Have you got the ingredients?" She only nodded. "Alright." Charles said. "What about the thing you love most? Also here?"

She nodded again.

"Okay. To be quick, give me the ingredients and I'll make the potion while you kill the thing you love most. It'll be worth it in the end." Charles said. Y/N didn't hesitate to hand him the satchel. Thomas quickly walked up to her to give Iris, the bird.

"Go to the backyard and perform the killing there. What will you sacrifice?" Charles asked.

Y/N frowned and painfully said, "My horse, Vixen. She's the one I love most."

"Okay, Princess. Start sacrificing. Sunset will be sooner than you think." Charles said as he directed where the door to his backyard was and closed the front door.

Y/N quickly went to the backyard with Vixen and Thomas trailed behind them. Thomas was shocked that after all this time, he's been adventuring with the actual Princess.

"Why didn't you tell me you were the Princess?" Thomas asked with hurt in his voice.

"I didn't want you to know. Besides, it wasn't important." She shrugged as they arrived at the backyard.

"It was to me." Thomas said. "I should go now."

Y/N sighed, "Thomas, wait." But it was too late. He already ran out. She shook her head and focused. It broke her heart to let go of Vixen, but she had to do what she had to do.

She had no idea how to sacrifice her horse. So, she borrowed poison from Charles. She didn't know why Charles had it nor did she ask. She added the poison in Vixen's food and fed it to the horse.

Her heart broke at the sight of her beloved horse hurting and dying. She had to look away. It was only a matter of time when Vixen dropped dead. She went inside and told Charles what happened.

"Just in time. The potion is ready. Tell the Queen to drink the potion and to eat the bird. I also made a necklace for the diamond. Tell her to wear it immediately and never take it off." Charles said as he put the things in Y/N's satchel. She only nodded. everything was happening too fast.

She put on her satchel, thanked Charles, and ran back to the palace. The guards recognized her and immediately let her in. The Queen wasn't in the throne room, so she went to her parents' chamber. There, she found her mother laying down. The Queen caught a fever.

"Mother!" She ran up to her and immediately put the necklace on her mother. The Queen was surprised by her movements.

"Drink this." Y/N said. "It would help." The Queen did what she was told and drank the whole thing. It didn't taste very nice but what surprised the Queen even more was the food Y/N took out of her satchel.

"Is that the bird?!" The Queen shrieked.

"Yes, mother. I'm afraid you have no choice, but to eat it." Y/N frowned. She handed the small bag, with the bird in it, to her mother. She watched as her mother unwillingly ate it.

The Queen had no choice. She was already starting to get sick and she didn't want the witch's curse to push through.

"What did you sacrifice, my darling?" The Queen asked after she ate the whole thing. Y/N looked at her and smiled sadly, "Vixen."

The Queen frowned and puller her in for an embrace. She knew that her daughter loved that horse very much. Vixen was her only friend and losing an only friend was heartbreaking.

A few days later, Y/N's heart started hurting. She immediately felt a lot of emotions. She was happy that the curse was reversed. She was sad that her true love was getting hurt. She was mad at the person hurting her true love.... whoever her true love was.

She was walking in the halls when she overheard two maids talking.

"I saw them bringing a young lad to the dungeon. He was shouting for the princess' name." One maid said.

"I heard them beating him. I think he wanted to give something to the princess." The other said.

Upon hearing this, Y/N immediately ran to the dungeons where she saw a guard by the door. "Princess! You're not allowed here. Your father, the King, said so." The guard said.

"Let me through. I believe I have something there for me." She said.

"Y-You know the lad?" The guard asked.

She wasn't really sure who it was. It could be any of the three lads she met: Thomas, Sam or Harrison. It could be any of them or some random lad she's never seen before.

"Yes, I do. I've been expecting him actually and I was wondering where he was. Until I heard that you brought a lad here that had something for me. I want to see him." She said firmly. The guard shook his head. She scoffed, "I won't tell my father that you allowed me in. In fact, this can be our secret. Just let me in and let the lad go right after."

Satisfied with what she said, the guard lets her in. She walked through the dark dungeon with only torches as her source of light. She looked left and right until she found the only occupied cell. She stopped in front of it and looked closer only to see Thomas in the far corner of the cell. He was whimpering.

"Thomas!" She whisper-yelled. Thomas shot his head up and saw her. He smiled for a second and said, "I'm sorry you have to see me this way."

"What happened?" She asked.

"They caught me sneaking in and they dragged me down here. I tried to escape, but I got punched in the face and I accidentally slipped and fell on my bum." Thomas explained sheepishly.

Y/N giggled, "What are you doing here? And please, come closer. You're so far back."

Thomas shook his head. She frowned, "Why not? I don't have the plague, Thomas."

"It's nothing personal. It's just that I'm terribly scared of spiders and there's one right there." Thomas pointed. She looked at where he was pointing and chuckled. She called the guard over to get rid of the spider without hurting it and to release Thomas right after. The guard did just that and she and Thomas walked around the palace.

"This is my first time here and I have to say... I love it!" Thomas said excitedly as he gazed at the fantastic columns and intricate designs of every corner and the wonderful paintings. Thomas smiled at the small painting.

"Hey, I know that painting!" Thomas pointed. He proudly smiled, "Did you get it from my brother, Harry?"

"I don't know who he is." She chuckled. "But mother bought it somewhere when she went out in disguise. Maybe she bought it from your brother, but I'm really not sure. My apologies."

"It's alright." He shrugged.

"So, um, what brings you here? Why were you looking for me?" She asked. He stopped walking and turned to face her. He looked extremely guilty. She looked worried.

Thomas looked down in shame and said, "Please don't execute me, Your Highness, but I found your ring in my pocket. It was then that I remembered I took it from you when I saw you asleep by the river. I was meant to return it, but I forgot it was in my pocket the whole time and I panicked when you woke up and saw me. I'm so sorry. I came here to return it."

He fished out the ring in his pocket and gave it to her. "I am deeply sorry and I will forever be sorry. If you'll execute me for my wrong doing, I would like to say goodbye to my family and Harrison first."

She took the ring from him and put it on her ring finger. She smiled at him, "All is forgiven, Thomas. There'll be no execution."

He slowly looked at her, "Really?"

"Really. After all, I can't execute my true love." She grinned cheekily.

"True love?" He chuckled. "Me? Your true love? Non-sense, Your Highness."

"Call me Y/N." She frowned slightly. "I'm the same person you met at the river and I'm still the same person now. So please, call me Y/N like what I told you to."

"How in the world am I your true love?" Thomas asked. "Answer me that, Y/N."

She sighed, "I was cursed to never find true love. To reverse that, I have to kill the thing I love most. I killed Vixen. In order to know that the reverse worked, Charles said that my heart will hurt when my true love gets hurt. My heart hurt when you got punched and I went out to investigate. I overheard two maids of mine talking about a lad in the dungeon. So, I went there and you were there. You're my true love, Thomas."

He looked at her for a long time, "I'm a peasant, Y/N. We can't be together even if what you say is true."

"Then I'll ask my father to change the rules. We could be together, Thomas." She cried.

"I'm sorry." Thomas frowned. "I'll leave now. I told my mother I'll be gone for a while. She's probably looking for me."

"Thomas, please. I know you're the one I want to spend the rest of my waking days with. Please stay." She wiped her tears.

He smiled sadly and shook his head, "As much as I love to, you know the rules. I could be executed just by being here with you right now. Your father's brutal. He has no remorse and he will have no remorse executing me even if you claim me as your one true love."

"When can I see you again, then?" She asked.

"I'm not quite sure." He shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, I'll write you letters."

"That makes me feel so much better." She smiled and embraced him. "Thank you for everything and I thank God that I had the pleasure of knowing you, your family, and your best mate."

"I thank God too." He smiled and pulled away.

"I love you." She said.

"And I, you." Thomas said as he kissed her hand before walking away. She watched as the love of her life walked away taking her heart with him. She didn't know when she'll see Thomas again, but she knew she didn't want to marry anyone unless it were him she was marrying.

* * * *

it was supposed to be a happy ending I swear but I changed it last minute lmao sorry

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @abrielleholland @poguesholland @superheroesaremytea @marshxx @buckys-little-hoe @harryismysunflower @itstaskeen @hollandsrecs @ilarbu @slytherin-chaser @quaksonhehe @lil-mellow-bunbun @turtoix @badreputationlove @swiftmind @sovereignparker @nerdyandproudofitsstuff @pearce14 @xfirstfemale-marauderx

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @petersholland @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @perspectiveparker @hollands-weasley @itstaskeen @call-me-baby-gir1 @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @chloecreatesfictions @holland-styles @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual

#hrficbingo1k #tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shots #tom holland one shot #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

113 notes · View notes

brooklynmuseum · 5 years ago

Photo

Join us as we take a closer look at Giovanni della Robbia’s Resurrection of Christ (ca. 1520–25). Tag along for this virtual tour created by Lisa Small, Senior Curator, European Art.

The sculpture envisions Jesus emerging from his tomb offering salvation to the faithful. Heralded by two angels, in one hand he holds the red-cross banner representing his triumph over death and with the other makes a gesture of benediction. A lush garland of plants, flowers, and animals frames the miraculous event.

This large relief sculpture is made up of forty-six separate pieces of molded terracotta. After being fired in a kiln, each section was painted with the della Robbia workshop’s proprietary glazes, and then fired again, a technique that yielded a colorful and durable form of sculpture perfectly suited to architectural ornamentation.

The lunette, or arched shape, suggests that this work would have hung over a doorway.

Like many Renaissance artists, della Robbia was inspired by ancient Greek and Roman art. In this work, he unites classical forms with Christian symbols.

The arrangement of figures within the compressed space of the relief shows della Robbia’s familiarity with the crowded compositions carved on ancient Roman sarcophagi like this one from the Met.

Marble sarcophagus with the myth of Selene and Endymion, Roman, early 3rd century A.D.. Marble, H. 28 1/2 in. Metropolitan Museum, Rogers Fund, 1947. 47.100.4a, b.

The twisted poses and emotional faces of these two soldiers echo those of the Laocoön group, an ancient sculpture unearthed in Rome in 1506 that soon became one of the most famous ancient works known in the Renaissance.

Laocoön and his sons. Roman copy in marble after a Hellenistic bronze original from ca. 200 BC., 1506, The Vatican Museums, Rome.

Here, Christ stands in the relaxed contrapposto pose frequently seen in classical sculptures of the male nude.

Della Robbia’s workshop couldn’t develop a stable glaze for red, which was the intended color of Christ’s robe and His blood. Those sections had to be covered in red paint, which has since worn off, leaving those areas looking brown.

Ultraviolet reflectance imaging reveals that della Robbia painted glaze onto Christ’s arms, chest, and abdomen to emphasize his muscles!

The hallmark leafy garland of the della Robbia workshop was also a common motif in the ancient world. It signified honor and commemoration, as well as glory and abundance.

Artist James Tissot depicted a typical ancient garland design in this sketch from the Brooklyn Museum collection of a Roman sculptural fragment he saw in 1886-1889 while traveling near Jerusalem.

The flora and fauna throughout the relief reflect the interest in the natural world that emerged during the Renaissance. These plants and animals would have been understood at the time as having symbolic meanings connected with the themes of Resurrection and faith.

Evergreen leaves, gourds, salamanders, and snails were all emblematic of rebirth, renewal, and immortality.

Frogs could also serve as symbols of the Resurrection because they appear to be “reborn” seasonally when they emerge after hibernation in the spring. The crab is the zodiac sign for Cancer, but can also be a Resurrection symbol because it sheds its shell as it grows.

This vignette of an eagle killing a snake references Christ’s triumph over Satan.

Such animal symbolism was complex and often contradictory. Although squirrels were sometimes associated with evil, they could also be positive symbols of diligence.

Della Robbia or someone in his workshop must have been particularly interested in this small creature; conservation analysis has revealed what appears to be a small preparatory sketch of a squirrel scratched into the wet clay on one of the garland tiles.

A blooming fruit tree represents Paradise and the regeneration of the world through Christ’s sacrifice.

Grapes conjure abundance as well as the wine the disciples drank at Christ’s Passover seder (otherwise known as the Last Supper!).

In this work grapes probably also allude to this praying man. Who is he and how did he get a front row seat to the Resurrection?

He is likely Niccolò di Tomasso Antinori (1454–1520), whose family coat of arms appears in the lower corners of the relief. The Antinoris were wealthy merchants and winemakers, and they commissioned della Robbia to create this work for their estate and vineyard outside Florence.

As the patron, Niccolò could emphasize his own salvation by specifying that he be included in a position of devotion right next to the Risen Christ.

Della Robbia’s Resurrection remained at the Antinori estate until 1898, when the family sold it to A. Augustus Healy, the Brooklyn Museum’s first board president.

When he gave it to the museum the next year, The Brooklyn Daily Eagle proclaimed: “Every lover of Italian art will value . . . this treasure.”

It hung for years in the museum’s “Renaissance Hall” but by later in the twentieth century it had gone into storage.

In 2015 it was completely conserved at the Brooklyn Museum thanks to a grant from the same Antinori family that originally commissioned it 500 years ago! Now, della Robbia’s early sixteenth-century masterpiece looks better than ever!

Thanks for joining us! Tune in next Sunday for another virtual tour of our galleries!

Installation view of The Brooklyn Della Robbia. (Photo: Jonathan Dorado)

(Source: brooklynmuseum.org)

#virtual tours #brooklynmuseum #brooklyn #art #artmuseum #Dellarobbia #Virtual tour #bkmtours #tours #della robbia #brooklyn museum #renaissance art #italian renaissance #european art #virtualtour

251 notes · View notes

latveriansnailmail · 3 years ago

Text

Favorite Movies as of 2021

Subject to updating because surely I’ve missed a few. This is not supposed to be a list of meritorious films but rather just a list of movies I genuinely enjoy. It runs from Shakespeare to Bill & Ted with heavy doses of 80s fantasy, superhero schlock, and pretty much anything with Kurt Russell in it. Enjoy.

1- Harvey No contest, my favorite of all time.

2- Big Trouble in Little China It’s always a great joy to introduce a new viewer to this film.

3- Flash Gordon (1980) In which they totally lean into the camp and low budget.

4- The Thing I watch this annually upon the first major snowfall.

5- Titus (Taymor) One winter break Titus would be on one of the movie channels each day when I woke up, so I watched it daily for a month and it didn’t get old.

6- Death to Smoochy “Are you alright?” “I’m a little fucked up in general so it’s hard to gauge.”

7- Blade Runner (The Final Cut) So there’s this dude Deckard and he hunts robots but it turns out HE’S a robot, oh so very clever, little film

8- Tombstone I recently learned that Kurt Russell directed this film in all but name.

9- The Dark Crystal Immersive fantasy, though I’m sure it appears plain, drab, and simple now after the Netflix prequel.

10- Somewhere in Time I’m a romantic, I guess. Thus all the John Carpenter movies.

11- Grosse Pointe Blank So good, I used to think I liked John Cusack.

12- The Producers (musical) You heard me. Wilder and Mostel were great but the musical version had decades to mill over and expand the premise.

13- To Be or Not To Be (Brooks) Surprisingly suspenseful.

14- The 13th Warrior Saw it again recently and it holds up. Horror, only it happens to viking warriors who would rather chop the horror down than run.

15- The Mighty Thor I mean, Black Panther is objectively the best of the lot but subjectively this is my personal favorite superhero flick. I must have seen it a half a dozen times at least.

16- Lost Boys A billion Chinese can’t be wrong.

17- Die Hard A Christmas tradition. As a postman, it’s cathartic for me to watch Christmas get blown up a little before all the hugging and sentiment.

18- The Blues Brothers Deadpan hilarity cut with performances by legends of blues and soul.

19- The Sting The best heist film. It keeps you guessing until the very end and no twist feels arbitrary or leaves a hole.

20- Interview with the Vampire Fun fact, I looked like Pitt’s Louis when I was a young man in the goth scene.

21- Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure “Be excellent to each other!” “Party on, dudes!” *air guitar*

22- The Seventh Seal See? This list has its high points.

23- Revolutionary Girl Utena Note: Read the entire manga, watch the entire anime series, and read Adolescence of Utena BEFORE watching this or you’ll be left confused. Dazzled but confused.

24- The Nightmare Before Christmas So good I got the tarot deck.

25- The Last Unicorn It’s still a damn shame they never made that live action remake. Christopher Lee was set to reprise King Haggard.

26- Chasing Amy Honestly changed my life.

27- Excalibur It’s weird though how they’re always in armor. Wedding? Armor. Dinner? Armor. Deathbed? Armor.

28- Ginger Snaps A cut above any other werewolf movie I’ve seen.

29- Top Secret! My sense of humor distilled.

30- Clash of the Titans (Harryhousen) Yeah it’s dry but then there’s the monsters.

31- Monty Python’s the Meaning of Life People are not wearing enough hats.

32- Shadow of the Vampire Nosferatu nearly made this list but it’s hard to pinpoint a definitive cut. Try instead this film about the making of Nosferatu with an actual vampire as the vampire.

33- Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust Look, we as a culture had the unfortunate experience of Twilight. This is the same premise but actually good.

34- The Last Supper This film challenged and changed me as a young man more so than any other work of art.

35- The Princess Bride The perfect film, but I’ve seen it so much it’s down at 35 now.

36- Blazing Saddles What can I as a white guy say? Just watch the movie.

37- Streets of Fire Always suspicious to me how Final Fight premiered within a year of this movie.

38- Gremlins More Christmas havok. Yum?

39- The Beastmaster Forgotten and underappreciated.

40- Ladyhawke A thing of beauty.

41- Willow C’mon. It’s Willow. I have nothing to justify here.

42- Speed Racer I know you heard it’s bad but hear me out: it is the strongest narrative I’ve ever seen on film and it’s exactly the way you played with your toy cars when you were little.

43- Angelheart You’re supposed to know that de Niro is Lucifer. The rest is mystery and the final reveal set up a trope that’s been done into the ground nowadays.

44- The Hunger More atmosphere than plot, but hey, vampire Bowie!

45- Zoolander My partner’s favorite.

46- Faust (Murnau) You will be shocked to see what was possible to achieve in film in 1926.

47- A Muppet Christmas Carol but a cut that includes the fiance’s song This finishes out my traditional Christmas films.

48- Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein Y’know, I’ve got two Branagh films on here and neither are what you would expect given his catalog. The other one’s Thor for crying out loud.

49- Highlander I noticed in recent editions of Vampire: the Masquerade that it’s still possible in that game to hide a katana in a trenchcoat. This movie is why.

50- The Name of the Rose One of only a few instances where I prefer the film to the book. That book loooooong.

51- Robocop (1987) Of all the damn science fiction, why must we be in Robocop?

52- The Prophecy Now we’re getting into films I demoted since the last time I updated this list. This film’s a slow burn unless you get turned up for angels and Christopher Walken like I do.

53- The Warriors Would be higher if the opening wasn’t so slow.

54- Legend Tim Curry kills it as Darkness.

55- Black Panther Objectively the best superhero movie and the Academy backs me on that one.

56- Wonder Woman I do wish they’d trot out Vandal Savage as a Wonder Woman villain.

57- Captain America: The Winter Soldier Just rewatched this one earlier! It is heavily marked by the height of the War on Terror.

58- Blade The ancestor of all modern superhero movies and a solid vampire flick to boot.

59- Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Nostalgic for me? Maybe, but I hold that this is the first comic film worth a damn because they stuck with the comics when they wrote it.

60- Captain America: the First Avenger This movie is a real test of character. If someone doesn’t like Cap it’s because they think goodness is unrealistic.

61- Four Rooms Really just rooms 3 and 4.

62- Reservoir Dogs Hey, two Tim Roth films in a row!

63- Event Horizon Do you see?

64- What Dreams May Come Kind of an emotional ringer, especially after William’s death.

65- Monty Python and the Holy Grail Have I watched it into the ground? Yes. Is it still hilarious? Yes, and it gets funnier the more you study Arthurian myth.

66- Pulp Fiction I’m kinda over this now.

67- The Crow People who liked the comic passionately disagree with me but I still like this one.

68- Akira Still.

69- Ghost in the Shell Still, though the farther you get from 13 the less titties you need in your art.

70- Beetlejuice Why not? Let's just tack this on there.

Honorable Mentions:

Fight Club A suburb film but one I grew out of, as should everyone. If you meet a man who’s passionate about Fight Club, run!

American Psycho Ditto. I grew out of this but it’s still excellent.

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape A horrible caricature of my brother’s life. I don’t get along with my brother any more.

Rocky Horror Picture Show Not actually a good film if you watch it straight with no commentary. Still, it’s a cornerstone of queer culture.

Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 2 Of all the superhero films, this is the one that resonated with me the most. I was in a weird place at the time. It still resonates with me now because I’m a foster dad.

2 notes · View notes

local80smotel · 4 years ago

Text

All knowing love

pairing; V x Trans Man! Reader

summary; being under V's loving and watchful eye.

requested; Anonymous

rating; T

warnings; transphobia, parental abuse (physical), hints of suicide (but never outright said)

word count; 2185

A/N; this isn't wasn't the fluffiest thing I could write but once talking to my trans boyfriend I couldn't help but feel having a bit of angst was acceptable.

When Y/N was still just a child, he knew something was off about him. Not something "bad" or "wrong" that people would call this feeling when he'd tell them. "It's just a phase" was a comment that was thrown at them mostly by their parents when they were still in their teens, just before high Chancellor Sutler was ever in the eye of politics. Oh, how those days would seem like a humid southern summer walk compared to when Sutler came into the picture. The transphobia he had experienced grew like how weeds grow in futile soil.

The comments like "You're confused" slowly started to warp into something more demeaning to the boy as the Chancellor candidate's toxic grip on the people of England started to squeeze any "unwanted" life out of it. "Undesirable" life as he would call it. When hair was cut after Sutler was elected, there weren't small arguments anymore that would be fixed when he'd be asked if he were hungry and wanted to eat supper with them. It became violent and unlike the people who had raised him for the last 15 years. Having handfuls of freshly cut hair be ripped out because his mother was holding him by his scalp just to yell in his face how much of a monster he was broke his heart.

Was it fear that caused this? Were they scared of losing their only child as many other families had? Was their bundle of joy in their life really an undesirable and the cause of this virus outbreak? Just why? He'd ask himself that as he was packing his bags in preparation to leave the family home for good.

Three long years had passed and at the ripe age of 18, he moved out into the busy streets of London. A small pit in his stomach began to form as the sickening feeling came back. The cause of it was from one simple but yet complex question; could he survive in this fascist regime? Sadness also fueled this emotional fire, sadness from knowing he'd have to use so many things he knew was wrong and didn't describe him truthfully just so he could get a place to come to when curfew hit; The name that was long dead to him the second it was given to him and female pronouns. He'd be signing his own death certificate if he put Y/N instead of his deadname on his application to rent.

They'd look it up and find no Y/N L/N in England and call the police on him in a split second. Shivers ran down his spine as he imagined what would happen to him if that became a reality. No one knew what happened when you were deemed "undesired" but everyone after having Sulter for three years knew that they would go missing and would be never seen of or heard from again. You were just wiped off the face of the Earth.

Y/N lucky had enough money saved from working in retail for the past 2 years to get a small apartment. When he was finally given the keys to the place he couldn't help but sigh in relief. At least in this tiny space, he could be his true self without shaking in fear as he had in his past while being stuck in his parents' home. The next three years were some of the worse when it came to dysphoria. Being forced to go to work almost every day and be called ma'am or miss and be deadnamed constantly damaged his mental health to the point it felt easier just to be open with his identity.

Anything would be better than being forced to hide in this shell of terror. Nights of panic attacks and sobbing that sounded like a wounded animal as he laid on the rotten wooden floor became a routine. On the morning of his 21st birthday, he woke up in the late afternoon. There was no panic in him when he realized he was late for work, how could someone care when this would be their last day on Earth?

With scissors in his hand, he grabbed his hair and began to chop it off sloppily but that didn't matter to him as long as it was finally short like it was when he was a child, and that was enough for him. The thought that when the police would see him, that'd see a man instead of what society had deemed him brought a smile to the young adult. The feeling of freedom pumped through his veins as he went on with his day. It felt odd but refreshing to feel the cold air from his AC on his neck as he fixed himself some bacon and eggs. It wasn't the fanciest thing someone could eat on this day, but it was enough for him.

Around ten AM he left his flat, walking with newfound confidence due to his hair and now his wrapped chest. He had heard from the grapevine that wrapping one's chest in medical bandages could cause serious damage like nerve loss but one this final day he decided to risk it so he could pass in normal daily life. Being called sir by ticket seller at the movies brought him so much joy as he grabbed his "Count of Monte Cristo" tickets and wished them a good day as he went deeper into the movie theater to find theater four to watch the movie. Y/N was somewhat surprised to see only one other person in the audience. Sure, he was 10 minutes late but this was a classic film that was finally being let out of the vault to be watched again! Nevertheless, the man sat down a few rows in front of the figure, settling down into the uncomfortable chair.

“I didn't expect you to come.”

He could tell from how the figure's words were muffled that they were wearing a mask. Y/N turned to them with a confused look on their face.

“Excused me?” Y/N asked but their confusion just deepened as he saw that the figure was wearing.

A Guy Fawkes mask with a matching hat while wearing pitch-black clothing. The man under the mask chuckled as they stood up, Y/N couldn't help but be slightly intimidated by the height of this masked figure.

“I should have done this first so you wouldn't be so perplexed, ” he cleared his throat as began monologing, using many words that start with the letter V in his speech which in turn slightly impressed the 21-year-old.

“But you can simply call me V.”

"V" said while taking a bow

Y/N couldn't help but snicker at this display of some kind of knightship which in turn had V cocked his head in slight confusion on what could be so funny

“Well, Mr. V, might I ask why you're here alone?”

“I could ask you the same thing, but as I am apparently on a tight schedule I won't elaborate”

“Tight sch-” the man interrupted them by placing his leather glove covered finger on top of their lips

“Yes, very much tight schedule as I only have 2 hours till your self made demise am I correct?”

He was blown away at the fact this random stranger knew of his most shameful plan, but the feeling of shock was soon replaced with anger. This creep was stalking me! He thought as he slapped away the masked man, getting up from his chair as he did so.

“You have some right talking to me like that!” he yelled as he started to march away from them.

V reached out and grabbed their hair in a somewhat gentle way

“Y/N wait please, ” he sighed as Y/N stopped who's face was twisted in bitterness “I understand how you feel Y/N, I truly do. I was labeled an undesirable so please don't think that I've been keeping an eye on you in for any other reason than just to keep you safe.”

When he said this Y/N rage seemed to melt away slowly. How was he able to survive being an undesirable? So many questions filled the male's head but the only word he could speak was

“How?”

V let go of his hair as he straightened his posture “If you come with me I'll tell you.”

The more sensible side of the man told him to run away from this masked freak and enjoy what little time you had left in peace but something stopped him. After a moment of silence, he nodded to V's pleasure. He took the 21-year old by the hand and lead them to the back exit. The two walked down the alley and what drew Y/N's eye other than the 6'3 black mass was the posters. Every single one they pasted seemed to have a V cut into them.

He broke the long silence with another question “Did you mark those posters?”

“Does a raven speak?”

“But why?”

V didn't stop walking but he could feel his eyes on him. For being an undesirable he sure seems fine being out after curfew Y/N thought as they waited for the answer.

“The people deserve a symbol. Something to get them through this.”

He opened his mouth to ask what he meant by that but quickly shut it once the meanings of the words came to mind. Maybe he wasn't this creep, more like this country's guardian angel that would save them all from high Chancellor Sutler. It didn't take long for him to reach what Y/N guessed as V's home which turned out to be an abandoned Victoria station. Y/N looked over at him with an eyebrow raised as V opened the hatch that kept the station locked to the public who had originally thought it was abandoned. V turned back to the man and gave him his hand simply saying "follow me, sir Y/N".

Once V was given the curious man's hand he rubbed his thumb over their knuckles before tenderly pulling them inside. He held the hand as they walked in the pitch black, guiding them until they found a giant door which to Y/N's touch felt like it had complex carvings in them. When the masked man opened the door Y/N couldn't help but wince as golden light hit his E/C eyes that had just gotten used to the dark. He had expected V to let go of his hand once they reached his "lair" but he didn't. Oh, what a perplexing and mysterious man he was.

Y/N would be lying if he said his face wasn't blushing at this moment in time. V led them deeper into his beautiful home until both of them to were behind his couch which was black leather. In front of the said couch was a glass coffee table with a box on it. Y/N's hand was finally let go of as V sat on the couch.

“Come sit, I have something to give you.”

“But you said-”

“Please?”

He sighed as he complied, arms folded as he sat next to him. V opened the box and to Y/N's surprise, there was a biner in it. Once again, all he could ask was "How?" as all production and selling of items that could help trans folk was banned just as the Koran was. The masked man took the folded bundle into his giant hands and gave it to them once again shocked male.

“Life has been tough enough on you even if we don't add our government into it. Thank you for holding on. For surviving this long and not letting them take away your love for life and your fighting spirit.”

Without any hesitation, Y/N pulled V into a tight embrace with tears threatening to fall. No one had ever put their life in danger to give them this piece of happiness like this stranger had. All he could do was whimper out a "thank you" as a sob shook his chest deeply.

“Since I showed you my lair, you're going to have to stay till the next November the fifth, is that okay?”

Y/N couldn't help but nod immediately. He could finally be somewhere he was truly accepted for who he really was; a man who was just simply given the wrong body at birth.

V placed his hands on top of the weeping H/C man, stroking the uneven hair and placed his head onto the others.

“I'm cooking ham, is that okay?”

“mmhmm..”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

#v for vendetta x reader #v for vendetta imagine #v for vendetta #anonymous #anon ask #anonymous request #anon request #imagine requests #imagine #imagine request #trans reader #trans!reader #V x reader

101 notes · View notes

spnsmile · 5 years ago

Text

Strike (My Heart)

SPNSTAYATHOME @pray4jensen @helianthus21 @bend-me-shape-me

Monday: Thunder

When Billie came to the Bunker, she found the couple pressed by the control panel in a messy tangle of heat skin, legs wrapped around naked waist and flushed faces— silence fell upon the earth.

Not a pin drop could be heard from the distracted couple who stares Death in the eyes. Death who didn’t bat an eyelid before pulling her eyes to survey the empty vicinity. When she looked back, Dean was making a face, certain now that Death wasn’t going anywhere. There’s a staring contest until Castiel nudges the hunter’s chin with his cheeks. They whisper at each other. Dean’s face contorting even more, then both stare at her again. When Billie didn’t disappear, a very annoyed hunter glares and says—

"Do you mind? Can't you see we're a little caught up here?"

Billie flickers impassive eyes to Castiel who quietly presses his lips and turns to hide his face on Dean's other shoulder, the tip of his ears red. Dean scowls at her. Next thing, the angel pushes Dean away and ducks to grab his discarded pants on the floor. Dean grumbles after him and follows suit.

Death ignores the sounds of belts and zippers around her until both are decent enough to face her untimely visit.

“I need to speak to Jack.” She says.

“Well, why don’t you pop up where he is and stop getting in other people’s way, how about that?” Dean says, clearly unforgiving. “There’s plenty of room in the house, right?”

“I told you this was not a proper place,” Castiel mutters, trying to pat away the wrinkles on his shirt where Dean’s hands had been. Dean moodily helps him with his tie while Billie’s eyes narrow at the two.

"I need you both to concentrate."

“No shit.” Dean arches an eyebrow. Castiel elbows him but too late. Billie transfixes Dean a cold stare and yes, when you’ve started two Deaths in the eyes it makes things a little cliché, so what makes this any different?

Except Death doesn’t discriminate. Wielding her scythe, she propels it to the floor with a flash and bang— a loud crack of thunder overhead and then she’s gone, leaving Dean taking steps back from Castiel, feeling the air around the angel zinging in a familiar way. He makes a move to approach Cas again but the angel, blue eyes striking and all, glares at him with jaws clenched.

“Don’t.”

Dean stares.

Shit. What did Billie do?

“What do you mean you can’t touch Cas?” Sam demands later when he and Castiel figure out what happened.

“I mean it in every literal way, Sammy.” Dean smiles despite it all. Sam wasn't amused. The brothers are sitting by the library table while across them, Castiel and Jack are listening quietly. Dean catches Cas’ eyes and they both grimace at the space apart.

“So you mean, if you touch Cas— fuck you , stop grinning!”

“Let me strike you an example.” Dean stands up and heads to where Castiel is sitting. The angel sits straight and frowns when he sees the hunter approach him.

“Dean.” He warns in his gravelly voice.

“Don’t worry, Cas, let’s just show em—”

“I don’t think it’s safe—”

“Just hold out your hand, or a finger, okay?”

Castiel is obviously very much against it but he did. Sam and Jack watch as Dean raises one finger to touch the pad of Castiel’s hand. The instant he did, thunder rumbled in the walls of the Bunker and a strike that doesn’t appear to be physical seems to hit the hunter.

Strike 1.

Dean grimaces with all the hair in his body standing on ends. Sam gapes, Jack’s eyes are round while the angel squints at his boyfriend with an I-told-you-so expression.

“She made Cas— untouchable?” Sam guesses but there’s Jack patting Castiel’s shoulder and nothing happens. The Winchesters exchange looks, then there’s Sam stepping close to Castiel.

“Sam.” Is the only thing Castiel said but then Sam is also patting his shoulder and nothing happens.

That’s when all three eyes fall on Dean whose frown deepens, finally understanding Death’s curse. Even Castiel looks lost for a moment.

“What exactly did you do?” Sam asks suspiciously, though there’s an edge in his tone that suggests he knows exactly what. “Dude, you’re an idiot. Do you really have to go piss off all the gods in this universe to make a point?”

“I didn’t know Billie was gonna make house-calls for her daily job. But more importantly, what are we gonna do now? How do we fix this?” he throws the question straight to Castiel. The two of them stare at each other, mutually trying to communicate how the hell they’re going to go around it.

“I think this is the part where they say, ‘save yourself’ .” Castiel offers in the silence, a feat which everyone knows Dean sucks at.

***

By supper all the research and summon come fruitless so Cas and Dean are forced to stay away on corners of the kitchen table. It didn’t bother Sam and Jack because they can still approach Dean and Castiel without literally getting hit by lightning. It didn’t seem to bother Castiel too because the angel is immune to any lightning strike, leaving Dean a pile of rejection because Castiel won’t let him any nearer until they find a way to ‘ not get Dean hurt,’ .

“That’s bullshit!”

Castiel lets Dean get struck by lightning three strikes in a row. The fourth strike he tells Dean to fuck off where the man sulks in one corner not talking to anyone.

Dean is left to admire Cas from the side, sulk even as Castiel has fun with Sam and Jack on the table where Dean chose not to sit. Castiel glances his way when he is not preoccupied and stares, he gives Dean is apologetic and sad. There was nothing they could do less Dean embrace all the lightning strikes and claps of thunder— something Castiel would never approve of so they separated. For Dean’s sake.

Dean hates every second of it. There are times he can’t control it. Be it an accident or simply on purpose because Dean likes trying his luck.

Castiel knows what Dean was doing. It didn’t take him long to guess when Dean yet again tried standing behind him from the sink or when Dean extended his hand on the table with Castiel at the other end, indicating that Cas reached out too. The angel ignores him.

“I’m leaving for an indefinite period of time,” Castiel tells Sam one evening when at the last straw he escapes Dean’s arms when Dean tries to tackle him in the kitchen again, leaving the hunter shutting himself off in his room in frustration. “I can’t take this, Sam. Your brother just keeps throwing himself at me, if I stay here, he’ll eventually gets toasted—”

“Is that smarter?” Sam asks with a pointed look at the angel, “Cas, Dean’s been… dying to hold your hand. You think running away will hold him back?”

“I’m not sure anything can hold him back.” Castiel gives a shaky laugh. “I just want to protect him, Sam… even if it means pulling away…”

“So is the same song we sing every time we care too much, Cas. But at the end of it, Dean will be hurt. You’re just choosing another way for him to feel it.”

Castiel stays silent, Sam lets him. After a moment, he turns a somber look over the entrance to the corridors where his ears can pick up Dean’s sharp intake of breath.

“Must be hard to have a pain in the ass lover?” Sam’s smile is teasing. Castiel bows his head with a chuckle, before glancing up to meet Sam’s eyes.

“I’ll take Dean in any way.”

“Thank you, Cas… for always looking after Dean.”

“You know I’d do anything for him…but… why do you think Dean thinks he’s the only one desperate to touch?” the question leaves his mouth before he can stop himself. Sam gives him a small smile and like a real sympathizer, Sam grips his shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“Hang in there, Cas. You and Dean can get through this too.”

Castiel nods, trusting Sam’s words of wisdom.

Three days later and still no solution, Dean has had enough. He is painfully aware of the time that he isn’t holding Castiel or kissing his back, his shoulders, his lips too soft and plush—

Enough.

He chances Castiel along the corridor where the angel’s blue eyes flicker in familiarity, a smile upon his lips that quickly disappears when Dean walks straight to him and embraces him tightly.

A rumble comes—another crack of thunder. Followed by Castiel shouting Dean’s name in both stricken and exasperated tone.

Sam and Jack glance at each other from across the table in the library. Light nights strike again and more shouting. Sam shakes his head, giving up as he looks back at his research, sighing.

“Idiot.”

Inside the Dean Cave is a lightning show. Dean traps Castiel in by standing in front of the doorway with a determined look, his arms wide open like a goal-keeper in some frenzy soccer ball. Castiel stands at the end of the room with the couch and table between them.

“Stop it, Dean!” Castiel grates, blue eyes flashing. “You’re only going to hurt yourself!”

“I don’t care! Three days is long enough! A man’s gotta feed!”

“Feed—?”

“You!” Dean takes a step forward and every time he draws closer, the air around Dean spins.

“You’re being ridiculous! You know we can’t!”

“Oh, yes can ! Give up, Cas! Just come here and gimme a nice little squish!”

“Forget it, Dean! Why don’t you find someone else to scratch your itch!” Color leaves Castiel’s face the moment he says it. Dean grins.

“You want me hitting on some hot girl outside?”

“If you’re that desperate!” Castiel growls. Dean’s eyes glints playfully.

“Fine.” He lowers his arms and stands straight. “I’m going then.”

Castiel falls silent with a flash of hurt in his eyes. Dean laughs and takes several steps to the distracted angel who finds himself immediately trapped with a wall behind him. Dean’s upon him the second he looks back. Damn hunter agility.

Still, his eyes are on Dean speaking volumes of uncertainties.

“You’re going, Dean?”

“Of course not, dummy. Come on, man! We’re not children to play who’s gonna be more mature, think we’ve done enough!”

Castiel bristles. “Stop it.”

“I want you!”

“You’ll hurt yourself!”

“It’s fine!”

“NO!”

“Cas— dammit, I’m already in pain—if I’m gonna die then at least let me kiss you one last time!”

“You’re not going to die, Dean, but I won’t let you get—"

They’re both being dramatic and silly but the cracking of thunder is unforgiving and lightning over Dean won’t stop striking. Castiel watches in horror as every bolt hits Dean solid—they haven’t figured out why the lightning seems both tolerable and painful for Dean at the same time The only truth Castiel knows is that every time Dean gets a strike, his whole body turns white to the point you don't need to be an angel to see through his body. Something about Dean burns.

It wasn’t a fun sight to see.

“Dean, let go!” Castiel shouts trying to pull away but won’t budge, “DEAN! LET GO!”

"No!" Dean's arms trembles.

"Why are you doing this!?" Castiel watches in terror.

"Don't play dumb, Cas! I know you want-- shit!"

"DEAN!"

Lightning dances in Castiel’s eyes and Dean gets toasted.

“NO!”

All the lightning bolts suddenly get siphoned by Jack who acts like a conductor. He draws all the lightning and rolls of thunder his way, consuming all the energy with hands clutching Dean’s shoulder until they go away.

Leaving Castiel with an unconscious Dean wrapped in his arms. He heals Dean at one embrace, keeps healing Dean just to make sure there was no damage on any of his organs or nerves. He kisses Dean too for good measure.

The warning roll of thunder never came. Dean remains safe in his arms so Castiel holds him closer, buries his fingers on Dean’s side. Jack helps him put Dean on the couch with the angel setting Dean’s head on his lap. There he strokes Dean’s soft hair quietly. Jack returns to tell Sam what happened and that everything’s okay.

Finally, Dean stirs. Castiel holds his breath as the familiar green eyes find his.

He strokes Dean’s cheeks and when the man opens his eyes, the angel beams from ear to ear.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean takes Castiel’s face for a moment then smiles sleepily. He reaches for Castiel’s hand and pulls it to his lips. Castiel smiles warmly, butterflies in his stomach spinning like it’s been hit by a light bolt. That’s just it. They don’t need any thunder or lightning. They are enough.

“Can we kiss now?”

Castiel gives Dean the longest, sweetest kiss he can muster.

Dean Winchester yet again was able to strike home in the angel's little heart.

@verobatto-angelxhunter laaaatteeeee ;p

AO3

#spnstayathome #destiel crack #destiel ficlet #destiel fics #romance #fluff #dean is in pain #dont touch castiel's baby

59 notes · View notes

dandiesunzipped · 4 years ago

Text

A Series of Unfortunate Debaggings, Chapter the First: The Wretched Reunion

If you are looking for happy-go-lucky Tumblr posts, dear reader, then exit out of this browser tab this instant. Then open your search engine of choice and enter “octogenarian makes friends with a hummingbird.” Or, better yet, destroy your electronic device in a fire and never open an internet browser again, sparing yourself from the cruelty and misfortunes of the world.

You see, dear reader, it is a sad truth in life that order continually diminishes. A cracked egg may never uncrack, yet clean, white eggs everywhere continue to fall off refrigerator shelves, adding to the world’s misfortune and chaos. A secret organization, however brilliant, talented, and kind its members were, may never truly heal after a devastating schism. And the corpse of a cherished loved one will never, ever unburn, no matter how grievously an author weeps over the pitiful tale.

In the story I am about to tell, I am sorry to report on a panoply of augmenting disorganization, a phrase which here means “not what you want to read.” Orphans grow two years older, and with those years develop styles and interests ever more macabre and meterless--which is to say, one orphan does that. Mystery and intrigue each grow heavier and more complex, like how the derelicts that fill your recycling bin grow heavier and more complex with each passing day. And finally, all the young men in this tale (with the exception of one) are eventually separated from their clean-pressed trousers, left for the remainder of the tale with their scandalously mid-twentieth century underpants exposed.

This story begins like many before it: Violet, Klaus, Sunny, and Beatrice Baudelaire were charming, resourceful children, each with pleasant facial features and each with certain precocious gifts in the arts or sciences, such as memorizing and reciting passages of British Modernist poetry.

“We shall not cease from exploration,” recited Klaus, expertly steering the Beatrice onward. The outrigger bobbed in the gentle waves as it approached a safe gap in the line of ominous jagged rocks on the horizon that Violet had identified.

“And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.”

As the four Baudelaires walked across the sand and then through the waterfall of foliage on the hill separating the halves of their island, Violet recited the next stanza:

“Through the unknown, unremembered gate,” When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall.”

All at once, fond and wretched memories swarmed together. At last, the Baudelaires were back at the tree. The tree where their parents had lived and ruled. The tree that held secrets below the root. The tree that had saved them from a sad, painful death.

“And the children in the apple-tree” finished Sunny.

“I’ve always found T.S. Eliot opaque,” noted Klaus, “but that poem of his is clearly relevant to our situation today, don’t you think? Who would have thought we’d return to this apple tree?”

“Before you wax too romantic,” Violet said warmly but firmly, “Don’t forget our purpose here: to collect supplies and leave this evening. If we leave too late, we may be living on this island another year thanks to the tides.”

“Yeah, I’ll be in the library” said Klaus vacantly rushing away, past the old elephant skeleton and into the open arboretum. Violet shook her head, knowing exactly what silly trinket Klaus would be fruitlessly searching for all day.

As afternoon rudely pushed into evening, desperation rudely pushed Klaus to the ground, as he kicked and tossed flotsam around near his feet. The most interesting artifact he had found today was his old concierge shirt, which he now wore to complement his sandy trousers. “I know it’s here...” he murmured to himself. “Father--what would you have done?” That’s when a new idea struck the middle Baudelaire, a bit like the moment when Violet’s hero Sir Isaac Newton was struck by his big idea.

“Last year,” he asked Violet breathlessly as they rushed past each other in the arboretum, “Did you ever look behind the book case in Ishmael’s upper room?”

“No... but remember, Klaus: no matter what, we’re leaving this wasteland tonight at the violet hour. If the tide recedes too far, the Beatrice will scrape the rocky atoll and may sink!

But Klaus was already gone. Up the stairs of the massive apple tree Klaus ran. In Ishmael’s upper chamber, bookcases had been carved into the tree itself, with centuries of histories of the island filling the space. Klaus spent several minutes finding the volume that about the first arrival of “Ish” to the island. Reaching deep into the carved space behind this volume, Klaus finally touched what he was looking for. Greedily grabbing the long, mahogany object, he blew, long and steadily, even though it was Decision Day and not Rosh Hashanah.

Satisfied, Klaus joined his family. They took Beatrice on a visit to her mother’s grave to place flowers and recite to the young girl their precious few memories of her mother. After Sunny and Beatrice went off to finish dinner preparation, Violet and Klaus stood pensively over Olaf’s grave. Then Violet spoke, flatly:

“We learned so much from him.”

Klaus stared. “I mean, he was a horrible villain,” Violet clarified, “but if it hadn’t been for the pressure he placed on us, I never would have thought of so many inventions, and you never would have learned about nuptial law, for example.”

Klaus nodded. “And I doubt he’s responsible for our parents’ deaths, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t bring that up again, Klaus,” said Violet shaking her head and walking away. “Of course it was him!”

“But he didn’t confess, even when we finally pressed him!” Klaus called after her. “Even on his deathbed! Even after he saved Kit!”

Later, over a parting supper of smoked oysters, seaweed wraps, and coconut smoothies, the cook confronted her brother about his wasted hours during the others’ laborious day: “What’s in the box?” Sunny asked perkily. After a day of labor, all Klaus had to offer the boating party was a light, tightly wrapped package shaped like a question mark.

“Oh, it’s just an old artifact I was researching. You know, once we have our fortune, I think that’s what I think I’d like to do with my life: collect artifacts, become a successful archaeologist. I think VFD has prepared me well for decrypting ancient languages.”

“Maybe we’ll find more artifacts on the next island we come by,” Violet replied, passing the seaweed to Beatrice. “Sunny and I made sure our supplies will last another year if need be.”

“Excellent work,” Klaus congratulated them. “And what method of propulsion will we be using this time? How can I help with that?”

“Generally, the sail should be sufficient. The tide is receding, so we don’t need any additional thrust: the water pressure on the single opening in this atoll will generate a current swift enough to propel the Beatrice outward to sea.” Violet took a sip of unfermented coconut smoothie. “Swimmingly. This day has gone swimmingly.”

As you may know, “swimmingly” is a word which here means “well” or “splendidly” or “lacking a villain to inflict unfortunate events upon you.” But anyone who, while swimming, has gazed into the murky depths beneath their vulnerable, dangling legs, or who has been subjected to a physical education class in a swimming pool will know just how ridiculous this definition of “swimmingly” is. Too often, swimming is an involuntary, unnecessary, and downright cruel activity. For instance, my day once went “swimmingly” because I was pursued through a fire pond by a pulchritudinous platypus. I’m sorry to report that the Baudelaires’ day was about to become worse than that one.

The Baudelaire’s evening continued to go swimmingly, or perhaps sailingly. Just as Violet predicted, the Beatrice was pulled by the receding tide toward the gap in the atoll, which would free them into the open sea. Out of the blue, Sunny asked, “What’s that?” happily pointing. Out of the blue sea, exactly behind the gap in the atoll, a sharp, scaly plate covered in seaweed was emerging. Then came another, and another, until The Great Unknown had fully reared its ugly, pointed head. Enormous and slippery, desperate and hungry, it hung its jaw agape, ready to let in any driftwood, sea water, or passing sting rays past its six shiny rows of very sharp teeth. Even if the Baudelaires had abandoned ship right then, the current would undoubtedly have swallowed all who traveled--whether swimmingly or sailingly--into the jaws of The Great Unknown.

Beatrice screamed as the bombinating beast obscured the setting sun. Violet wept profusely, thinking of the promise she made to keep her siblings safe. Klaus stared fixedly into an eye of the beast, as though hypnotized. Sunny simply smiled.

“Come, sweet death!” she cried as the jaws of the bombinating beast crashed down, enveloping all four Baudelaires, Beatrice and all.

***

“Baudelaires!” As soon as the children came to, they found themselves inside what could have been the Curdled Cave but warm and oddly lit. “Oh, Baudelaires! I’ve been so afraid! I’ve been absolutely panic-stricken on your behalf! But you’ve returned to my care!”

“Josephine?” asked Klaus, astonished. Indeed, the Baudelaires’ second cousin’s sister-in-law whom they knew as Aunt Josephine stood on a ledge, glowing in a white robe over the confused, distraught Baudelaires.

“Don’t be afraid! I would come down to hug each one of you if I wasn’t afraid of the germs and leeches that may have washed in along with all that kelp and sea water.”

“Ike?” asked Sunny, suddenly recalling the image of Josephine’s late husband the cave explorer resting in a warm place in the afterlife. Then, with wide eyes, Sunny asked more softly, “Parents?”

Josephine looked at Sunny confused for a moment. Then she cocked her head to one side, smiling poignantly at the young girl. “I don’t know where your parents are. I’m sorry, honey. And you really must learn to speak in complete sentences someday, Sunny,” she added with disappointment.

“But look on the bright side:” yelled a figure, emerging on crutches from the dark. “You’re alive!”

“Phil!” cried Violet, rushing in to hug the optimist.

“We’re alive?” mirrored Sunny with confusion.

“‘Baudelaire orphans found alive!’ That’s the headline I would submit to The Daily Punctilio if nefarious villains intent on hunting us all down weren’t lurking around every street corner.”

“Duncan!” shouted Violet running further into the cave to hug yet another friend from her past. “And Quigley?”

For a brief moment, Duncan’s face dropped. The thrill in Violet’s voice, the distance in her eyes, the emphasis she placed on his brother’s name--all of it indicated to Duncan that he was her second favorite. But just as quickly, Duncan returned to grinning and stepped aside for his triplet brother to hug the eldest Baudelaire.

“Words:“ began Isadora in the tone of a slam poet, everything about her style now black and bleak as she leaned against a wall obscured in shadow. “Why torment me? Why needle and prod me as you do with meaning? If I repeat you, words, over and over, meaningless you become. When our Selves defy measure and lilt and vowels--even grammar!--who dares, dares to confine this Ether reality, this cryptic vivacity, this Great Unknown! inside of--words.” She and Klaus smiled shyly at each other while others sounded their approval.

“But how did you find us here?” Violet questioned after a few pitying snaps. “What brought you to this island?”

“Do you have food?” Sunny demanded. “Can I help?”

“What even is this place?” Violet enquired. “A camouflaged submarine?”

“Why are you alive?” Sunny asked Josephine.

“Selmo!” shouted Beatrice.

“Calm yourselves, Baudelaires! For once, all that is mysterious to you shall soon be revealed--I promise.” proclaimed Josephine, still perched authoritatively from her ledge.

“Even to those of you without any questions...” remarked Quigley, glancing askance at the middle Baudelaire.

“Why so quiet, Klaus?” asked Isadora with a teasing smile.

The middle Baudelaire orphan had remained remarkably calm this whole time, as if non-plussed by the situation. He shrugged nonchalantly “After you’ve read the book that answers the questions that burn like a fire in the mind, the act of asking feels--hollow. There’s just one burning question I’d like an answer to: where’s Fiona?”

“Oh, Klaus! You mustn’t end an independent clause with a preposition,” Josephine chided with motherly concern. “My daughter is busy on the command deck with my husband. The two are co-captains now!”

“Actually, Aunt Josephine, I find that preposition rule antiquated nowadays. Plenty of authors simply ignore it.”

“Hmph, your grammatical proclivities may be on the, er, modern side, Klaus Baudelaire, but for as long as you’re under my submarine walls, I insist that yo--”

“Wait!” interrupted Violet. “Fiona is your daughter, Aunt Josephine?! Does that mean she’s our,” Violet gulped, “cousin?”

“All of your questions will be answered, dear Baudelaires! For example, ‘technically speaking, second cousins once removed,’ is the answer to your most recent of inquiries, Violet, darling.”

“First let me serve them tea, Josephine!” pleaded Phil angelically. “I want to try a special recipe: bitter as wormwood and sharp as a two-edged sword.”

Sunny yipped in agreement, following Phil down a shady corridor, deep into The Great Unknown.

“After you, Violet,” said Duncan with an unctuous smile and hand gesture. I needn’t tell you, dear reader, how eagerly the three Quagmires and four Baudelaires came together for tea, ready to reconnect after years of cruel wrenching apart. But one detail that may intrigue you remains. For in the interim, a word which here means, “the duration in which Phil offered the Baudelaires tea and Josephine offered the Baudelaires her tale of survival,” or “Chapter 2 of this narrative,” a mysterious figure reentered the anteroom to rearrange the kelp that had washed aboard The Great Unknown along with the Baudelaires. I regret to inform you, dear reader, that this rearranged kelp formed letters on the wall, and that those letters formed a cryptic couplet, and that cryptic couplet formed a threat to all aboard:

“Abandon ship or abandon pants./ Your fates are sealed; leave naught to chance.”

And so began, dear reader, a series of unfortunate debaggings along the eerie corridors of The Great Unknown.

#lemony snicket #fanfic

3 notes · View notes

punkandsnacks · 4 years ago

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Four; Acquaintances.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: Nothing much to trigger in this chapter - just as the title suggests, a swooning moment or two perhaps-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

The sky remained hard. Resolutely letting snow sift from the thick great heavens, like icing sugar drifting down. The ground also continued to be frosty hard and scattered with patches of hidden silvery ice.

No sooner than the sun had risen over the tumbling flat frosty vista of Hampshire hills and frost crusted meadows, than Iris is up, and going about her daily chores all in the life of a gently bred - yet unwed- daughter, of fairly considerable means.

She takes food parcels to the poor. Calls on sick relatives or companions for tea. Pays calls. Fetched supplies for cook from the butchers or the grocers, or the fishmongers in town.

When one of the maids is ill, or is suffering a passing heartbreak until the next suitor comes along, Iris is the one to step into the void and fulfil their tasks. She collects the eggs from the chickens at the farm, or makes the ailing girl a hot milk posset or a cup of hot chocolate to cheer them.

It seemed like every other week their maids, Meg and Julia, seemed to go getting their hearts broken. Some farm hand. Or the boy from the butchers shop. The milliners son, or the strong handsome one who works in the drapers shop. As ever; Iris steps into the fray when - another - devastating crisis comes their way. She helps cook in the kitchen with supper. Or she helps out with idle cleaning around the house. Or see’s to the chores on the farm.

This morning is no different. Meg took to her bed with an ailing heart of the most acute kind. For the boy she fancies had become engaged to another girl. Iris brings her a cup of chocolate after breakfast and lends her a handkerchief and a shoulder so she can have a good long cry about it.

So household tasks fall onto her today. Fetching in what cook needed from market for supper. Even though she’d have liked to have spent a morning reading her book, or helping Julia get on top of the household washing. She’s wanted to take down the parlour curtains and give them a good scrub, for weeks now.

Or today she had ideally wanted to lend Flora and Posy a hand in drying some flowers, and french lavender and roses. For perfumes and bathing oils. They had to use their home grown stock from the gardens carefully. It was a long winter. And the convenience of summer blooms are far off yet. Dried flowers cost a pretty penny up the market.

Her duties are endless. She’s got calls to pay. Off to the butchers to buy sweet meats and game for the jugged hare cook is making tonight. She needs to buy beeswax candles and salt, and some more soaps.

And Posy and Flora are allowed to purchase two new ribbons each. They’ll walk into the village with her. No doubt nattering all the way there about what colours they want. And all the way back that they should’ve chosen different ones.

Iris steps outside in her wintry best and her cracked leather boots. Two pairs of wool stockings this time. Her navy blue wool pelisse over a thick white cotton dress. For good measure, she puts a bonnet on to keep her ears warm, and wraps a gold embroidered shawl around her shoulders.

Posy and Flora are trussed up as if they’re off to go personally meet the Prince Regent. Flora is in her gold pelisse with her pink dress under. And Posy had her powder blue coat over her mint green dress. They’re both wearing bonnets that they made up themselves. Their hats staggering under the weight of ribbons and cloth and trims and flounces.

Iris’s was far simpler - No fuss. No trims. A gold straw bonnet with grey ribbon tied under her chin.

Iris has to chide Posy, when they step out of doors, for forgetting to wear her gloves. She insists she hasn’t a decent pair and slips back into the house to go up to Iris’s room to conveniently borrow her grey rabbit fur lined gloves. Making her elder sister roll her eyes. The plot was clear.

They had a heavy basket each to carry. Some old granary loaves, soused herring, and some jars of Jam from their kitchens to go to the poor. They’re not even at the end of the drive and Flora is whinging about the weight of her basket. Iris heaves a sigh and grabs it off her.

She trudges behind them. Both arms carrying heavy baskets.

Her and Posy link arms, giggling, walking along merrily, animated and discussing last nights ball. Or, more accurately; making sport of the people who’d attended.

“Did you see that awful Lavender gown Jane Penwell had on?”

“I thought it suited her very ill indeed.”

“And did you hear about Lawrence Fisher? Apparently he’s now to be courting Lucy Miller.”

“I cannot stand her. Last night she was so boastful about the lace trim on her dress. She’s vile. And I haven’t had any new lace on my dress for over a year! Not since last summer. I’m sure she does it deliberately, just to vex me.”

“You are far prettier than Lucy Miller. She has ten million freckles and no conversation at all. She’s a pale ugly little thing.” Posy’s insisting fiercely to her younger sister.

Iris is amused by the sheer frailty of their worries.

“And besides, Mama said she had a letter from Mrs Thornby today, and apparently Lord Ren and Iris were the talk of the ball all night, last eve.” Flora says cheekily.

Turning over her shoulder to scrutinise her sister with a smug grin that flashes her straight little row of teeth.

Iris rolled her eyes. Strongly suspecting that as of now, her and Lord Ren would be gossiped about in front parlours for weeks. This was a sleepy country village with little amusement and not much variety to sustain it.

Mama’s and girls of the Ton would fall on the new shred of tittle-tattle like wolves.

“He left the ball last night without talking to any other girl, mama said.” Posy explains.

“The poor man probably didn’t have time enough to get through all the desperate Hampshire girls, eagerly throwing themselves at him to make an acquaintance.” Iris thinks aloud.

They walk up Westwell’s frosted drive and out onto the snowy lanes that cut through quaint countryside and woods.

The golden sun is in its early rising, striping ribbons of thick satin gold through the trees. The ruddy browns and ash greys and ochre coppery rusts of the Turner-esque English countryside. Of fields and hedgerows and treetops. The grass is no longer green. It’s a musty white. And that same cloying powder clings onto the dead taupe leaves and branches of every tree. The air is bitter to breathe in.

Iris takes a deep lungful of it, and its like a chest full of sharp pins. Needling at her lips and her neck. She should’ve thought to employ a wool scarf. As it is she can only tuck her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Tucking the heavy baskets into to dig deeper into her elbows. The frost numbs her feet, and sneaks up her skirts and snatched cruelly at her legs.

She clenched her numb fingers, scrunching and unscrunching them up in her much too thin gloves.

Posy and Flora continue their giggling and swapping tidbits of gossip about Lord Ren.

“You know he didn’t even dance with anyone!”

“A great sin, I’m sure. Punishable by death.” Iris thinks to herself under her breath.

“He probably didn’t have time-“ Posy remarks.

“Or he doesn’t know how.” Flora supposed.

“A man that lofty, of course he can dance. Maybe he prefers not too.”

“Maybe he has a false leg, or, or a war wound!”

Iris rather wishes her ears were purely ornamental by this point.

Give me a pair of vestigial ears anytime you wish. She idly prays. Turning her eyes skywards.

“Maybe he’s shy-“ Flora squeaks. Posy clasps her hand over her mouth and laughs so loudly it startles the chaffinches out the trees.

“I don’t think he can afford to blend into the wallpaper with a stature like that.” Flora grins.

“His shoulders were twice the width of me.” Posy says dreamily.

“Did he have soft lips Iris? For you must’ve felt them through your gloves... Were they heavenly?” Flora demands to know. Both sisters walking in step alongside her now.

She side eyes them. “That is not a proper thing to discuss. And well you know it Flora Jane Ashton.” Iris insists. Concealing her secrets to herself.

She wasn’t telling her sisters how her whole body burst into shivers popping and skipping up her spine. How his touch made her skin feel like it was dancing of its own accord. Free from her body. She shivered yet she was blushing hot.

His lips were the softest, sweetest things that had ever come into contact with her body.

Her whole arm felt dizzy afterwards. It wasn’t possible. But that’s how it felt. Hours after she was still rubbing the patch where his lips had lain on her satin gloves.

When she got home after the ball, she peeled her glove off and looked at her hand.

It still looked ordinary. Her skin wasn’t red or marked - but it felt like it should be. It felt as if something utterly astounding had happened to her.

The memory of his eyes gazing their arrow-striking glare into her own haunted her head all night long. Swam behind her closed eyelids in her sleep. Those opulent piercing eyes.

“We won’t tell a soul.” Posy promises

“Oh, look. Here is the Barton’s cottage. Flora pass me the ointment for Mr Barton.” Iris demands.

Seeing the little boxy cottage coming into view. Roof thick with iced thatch. Walls butter yellow. With fat pink sickly rose vines creeping up the walls. Iris sees the chimney is smoking. They must be home keeping warm on this frigid morning. Acrid woodsmoke from the house drifts across the woods.

They deliver the ointment into Mrs Barton’s hand. Along with some jam, a loaf, and pickled goods to see them through the wintry cold week. They were a frail elderly couple after all. And Iris likes helping people. She always had. Her mother always insisted she’d been cursed with an unshakable vein of kindness.

Which often meant as a child she was forever taking in birds wounded falling out their nests in the gardens. Leaving carrots out for the wild rabbits. Seeds for the birds. Feed for the little monk-jack deers. She shared all her dolls as a girl. Forever saw to caring for the people and creatures which surround her. She visits the infirm with medicine. Reads to the lonely old matrons who’d lost all the grandchildren of their own.

Now she’s grown that inclination hasn’t left her. She likes making sure none of the infirm elderly, or the more impoverished friends of her acquaintance suffer through the bitter cold climes. They never have to struggle alone. Iris is a balm to the hurting. She gives what she can. And is a friend to everyone kind enough to recognise it.

Before long, the trio of ladies dispense their generosity upon those who need it. Giving what sustenance and leftovers they can spare. It’s not much really- when all is said and done. But it’s helping in any little way possible. And that’s what matters.

They come eventually into Pembleton high street. The every busy and jagged row of higgledy Tudor houses. Separated by a lane of sticky brown mud where horses hooves and carts churn up the dirt. Carts and stalls line the streets. Modest shopfronts sell their wares. The air is full up of woodsmoke and the scent of roasting nuts from the brazier on the stand nearby.

Iris loses Posy and Flora very quickly to the haberdashers, where the ribbons hang from great silken trails in racks from the ceiling. Every colour Imaginable.

She sees them fussing over Belgian lace and leaves them be. She steps into the butchers for Cooks desired hare and sweet meats. She buys the candles, salt and the paper wrapped little cakes of soaps from Mr Milton’s shop next door.

She crosses the street to the grocers. Fills her basket with green leeks, onions, potatoes and carrots. She tucks everything in her basket, around the poor lamented hare with its fur still on, and covers it with a patterned linen cloth.

She has a shilling spare- she wanders over to Mr. Greeley. The proud proprietor of the roasted nuts stall. She buys a bag of warm, buttery sweet chestnuts.

Hides them from Posy and Flora. This was her one little indulgence for today. She sneaks one of the hot things onto her tongue and savours it.

She strides back up the line of shop windows. Looking and listening to the clack and bustle of the street behind her. Clopping hooves, rattling carts, ponies and traps clunking along the high street. Friends and acquaintances stopped to gossip and chat in the street. Young and old. Of every walk of life.

She looks in the drapers window. The reflection off the glass, showed her a watery image of a gaggle of matronly mamas stood behind her across the street, loudly gossiping in her direction. Pointing and gesturing toward her.

She rolls her eyes in huffing annoyance.

She wasn’t enjoying being the inconstant centre of attention. Open to such censure and fascination in odes to the Hearst’s ball last night.

Also in odes to the mysterious new stranger to these shores, too. The dark, dashing, and taciturn Lord Ren.

Every wet-behind-the-ears girl in all of Hampshire was busy envisioning their swirled initials joined with his in their embroidery. A big handsome stranger from far off lands. It was the precursor to the stuff of romance from drippy novels. A harbinger of a great love story.

Maybe not hers. Lord Ren may have kissed her hand and called her handsome. But so have countless other rich suitors, and then two months later them and their pretty blonde heiress of ten thousand pounds, are lavishly married and installed in a house in Brunswick square. She’s sure he’ll eventually find some far more moneyed girl to march into matrimony.

It won’t be her- not her turn to pick out her wedding clothes. It never is.

She lets the whispers and doubts about her, flourish from unimportant mouths.

She never cared for the savagery of society. She won’t start being missish about it all, now. It won’t serve her any purpose-

She can only hope the next scandal or engagement or elopement, or any other source of fascination to the bored inhabitants of this county, comes flooding in quick to snatch away all unhealthy - and rather undue - interest in her.

She waits outside the haberdashers for her pair of silly sisters. They eventually come out. Comparing their new ribbons with each other’s. Flora has a pink, Posy has some frothy white lace.

Posy hands Iris a teal silk ribbon. “For your hair. It would become you so well. And it will go with your eyes.” She insists.

Iris smiles. Wrapping the long length of satin around her grey glove. It was very pretty.

“Pray how did you afford this?” Iris narrows her eyes in smiling suspicion at the pair of them.

“I saved up my allowance.” Posy insists plainly. Iris continues her look. She tilts her chin down a notch. Let’s her eyes harden to steel. Arched her muddy shaped brows.

“...And the haberdasher’s son is so very obliging.” Flora beams. The younger Ashton’s giggle together knowingly.

Iris sighs again. Strongly suspecting she could safely boast that she had two of the silliest siblings in the entire country. Hell, in the entire British Empire.

“Let’s take our leave shall we...” Iris says. Slowly heading away. Down the street in the opposite direction they came. It took them home down on the woodland path.

She picks up her pristine white skirts and steps over the mud. Baskets heavy with her goods now thunking against her hip as they walk. One filled with meat. The other with candles and potatoes and other luxuries for supper.

Posy and Flora trail behind her. Discussing how best to use their ribbons. On bonnets or around the waistline of their favourite dresses. Iris drowns them out and listens to the crunch of her feet on the frost. The silver wisp of her breath as its whisked away up into the reach of the sky. She likes how sun glimmers off frost like sparkles and diamonds and gems. Like something fine and rich.

They just come across a curve in the lane. Leading through an open meadow full of frosted grass and withered wildflowers. When a thundering sound gallops into being, hitting the hard ground in succession from beyond the bend.

Iris looks up, attention captured swiftly by the beast of a large rider atop a colossal shimmering black horse, moving quick towards where they are walking along the quiet little lane. The peace shattered by the horses hooves pounding the earth.

A great hulking beast of a man sits astride it. Who indeed almost matches the brutally-enormous muscled intensity of the creature he rides.

Lord Ren.

Iris startled and went to move aside. But he sees them and is already slowing the horse. She draws a deep breath and watches as he tugs the reins to reel in his galloping mount. Reducing to a canter, a trot and then to a slow stop. Hooves churning up frost and spitting wet and crushed muddy grass, under its enormous stomping treads.

The sun in fiercely shining behind him. So Iris can only make out the silhouette at first. There’s no mistaking that singular body for another man. The primal size and bulk of him is unmistakable.

But then he shifts forwards on his horse as it stops. Lumbering towards them all. And that winter sun shines amber over his shoulder and she’s met with the full face of the handsome man she became acquainted with yesterday. His breath and that of his horses turn to silver smoke in the cold air

He passes the strops of its black reins into one gloved leather hand. His attire not much changed since yesterday. Still all black. The shining calf riding boots. The breeches that sit entirely too snug to the sturdy trunks of his legs and hips. The tailored black wool coat. White shirt tied with an elaborately knotted wine coloured cravat. Diamond pin studded central into the tie of the cloth.

His hair is free and rumpled by the wind. Desirable and untamed. Wild. He wears no top hat on his head like most gentlemen of civility did, when out riding.

Something about that lack of full dress she admires. Maybe he likes to feel the wind tangle his hair. The suns kiss his pale skin. The wind stinging at his cheeks. Likes galloping across the terrain at full speed on his mammoth sized beast of a horse.

“Good morning ladies.” He nods to them all. Still seated on his horse.

“Miss Ashton.” He smiles directly down at Iris as his horse shifts and stomps and nibbles the dewy wet grass below.

She ducks her head and curtseys. “Good morning. Your Lordship.” She says politely. Dwarfed by his horses shadow.

He holds her gaze for a second and smiles. Eyes more opulent charcoal in their shade than ever, this morning. He even had a kiss of pink colour in his cheeks. He looks healthy. Less alabaster pale. She strongly suspects its because of the icy wind stinging his cheeks as he rode.

He unlatched his right boot from the stirrup and smoothly swings himself off the horse. Grips the pommel at the front of the black saddle and swings himself down. Feet land to earth with a crunching thud. Frost and grass crushed underfoot.

His long wool riding coat flaps at his knees. Billowing open at his chest to show just his white shirt beneath it. Such thin layers. He must’ve been freezing.

“If I may be so bold, Miss Ashton, allow me to see you along to your intended destination?” He asks kindly. One big hand patting the solid flank of his horses shoulder when it huffs at his dismounting.

Iris’s cheeks go flaming red. She’s sure of it. Throat dry she manages to answer.

“Oh. Forgive my impertinence Lord Ren. But I don’t wish to take you out of your way. Only we are heading in the opposite direction to your path.”

“With your permission. I should like to walk with you. I’ve done a sufficient amount of riding for this morning.” He tells her.

Iris smiles. Flattered that he’d rearrange his ride, just to see her safely home. Just to walk with her for a moment or two.

Posy digs a sharp elbow into Flora’s ribs. Which jolts the youngest into speaking. “Iris. We were just going up the lane here to call on Charlotte Morris.”

Iris gazes pointedly at Flora with a piercing state that could’ve rivalled a dressmakers needle. “How remiss of you not to bring it up until now...” Iris glares a little.

“Should you mind?” Posy asks. Fluttering her lashes.

“Of course not.” Iris says flatly. “Mind the hour home and do for heavens sake be sensible.”

“We are the very vision of sensibility.” Flora beams.

Iris quirks a wry brow at the both of them. Teeth grit.

The two most transparent pests on the planet. Their plot was clear as day- One of sneaking away and leaving their elder sister unchaperoned and alone with him.

They turn away giggling and make for the little lane opposite. Gabbling and whispering all the way. Loud giggles follow them like fluttering birdsong.

When she turns back to Lord Ren he looks slightly amused. She blushes.

“I feel I ought offer an apology, your lordship. They are- most puerile and trying at times.” Iris offers as she shifts to step nearer to where he is.

He smiles gently. “They are young girls who fancy themselves cunning, I wager. No apology is necessary for that.” He declares affably. Patting his horses neck.

He brings the big horse around. Holding the gathered reins in his left hand. He leads his gigantic horse around with a click of his tongue and some soft words in urging Bavarian. The big creature follows his lead. She moves and alters the heavy baskets on her arms.

He sees this. Kylo frowns at the heavy weights at both her elbows. She shouldn’t be tasked with fetching and carrying like a damned pack horse. He extends a hand. “Allow me, Miss Ashton.”

“Oh, no it’s- I couldn’t.” By the time her protestations die on her lips. He has one basket in one hand, the other, he tied the handle to a saddle bag strap on his horse. Lays it rest against the saddle.

She’s mortified that a Lord offers to carry her basket for her.

“That’s truly a magnificent horse. I’ve never seen the like before.” She says. The steeds eyes glitter as if it knows it’s being discussed. “What’s his name?” She asks rummaging in her basket he holds. Hand slipped under the cloth.

“Erland.” Kylo says. The horses ears twitch.

“Erland. A majestic name. For a majestic beast.” She smiles at him.

She steps up to the horse and strokes her gloved hand down the flat bone between his eyes, leading down to his snout. Scents of hay and oats and animal sweat pour musky off his coat.

“He’s a lovely animal.” She says. Stroking his solid flank.

“Percheron. He’s a French draft horse. His breed originated in the Huisne valley in western France.” Lord Ren tells her.

“Bred for use as war horses, and pulling stagecoaches. This one has a fair mount of Arabian blood in him too. Makes him far too proud and headstrong.” He announces. Erland flicks his swishing tail at his owner. Snorting at him.

“I bought him with me from Bavaria. He’s the best riding horse I’ve had for a while. Stubborn temperament.” He offers. He watches her stroke his head. Touch the soft spot behind his ears.

“You like animals, Miss Ashton.” He states.

Most girls, as far as he’s aware, deigned horses as smelly, ugly creatures, whose only purpose was beneath them. Or to pull their carriages. She seemed to like this big equine creature very much.

“I do. Especially ones who are as beautiful as him.”

“Careful. Or else that flattery will shoot right to his ego.” He warns lightly.

She smiles.

Erland’s hairy velveteen muzzle cheekily nudges at her shoulder for more affection. He clearly likes her touch. Kylo tugs on his reins and frowns at him.

“Benehmen Sie sich.” Kylo rumbles in a firm Bavarian command at his horse. Calling him back. Telling him to be good. Rubbing his stocky shoulder. The round strong bones of him and the hot silk of his coat underneath his gloved palm.

She smiles. Lets the carrot she fetched from her basket, sit in the flat cradle of her gloved palm. She offers it to Erland, who snuffles it up and crunches on it. Breaking the frail vegetables skin with his big teeth. Munching it all down. Nuzzles her for more when he’s done.

He snorts when Kylo speaks up. “Anymore and you’ll get fat. You great beast.” He assures his horse in that soft foreign dialect. Shoving his snout into Miss Ashton’s hand for yet more treats. Erland’s head was so big and his power so strong, he could’ve very realistically knocked her over with one push.

She steps back and takes her place alongside a Lord Ren so they can continue in their walk. He’s a busy man. She doesn’t wish to hold him up. They fall into step easy. Her on Kylo’s left, Erland in his big lumbering enormity on Kylo’s right. His master has his right hand holding his stallions reins. The other easily carries her basket for her.

“Did you enjoy your introduction into Hampshire society, Your lordship?” Iris can’t help but ask him with mirth creeping into her voice and on her smile.

He turns his head to look at her. “The sheer amount of handsome and accomplished young ladies hereabouts is staggering.” He comments with dry humour. “I wonder if this isn’t the most accomplished county in all of England.” He states.

Iris finds herself smiling. Every desperate mother worth her salt last night would be crowing her daughters praise to high heaven. Enough to induce the possibility that her very accomplished, pretty and upstanding daughter might have a chance at landing him.

“Mothers can be so very domineering when the subject of marriage arises.” Iris promises. Looking down to step over a particularly frosty puddle.

Kylo looks across at her. Watches her profile. Along the curve of her nose and the swell of her smiling lips. It occurred to him then, that she didn’t know of her beauty. She was not aware of its potency. He could sense it; this was a girl who overlooked her own worth and highly underestimated her attractiveness.

With her pebble-ash eyes shining in the marigold sun like that, sparkling as if made of moonstone gems, and her rosy smile so unguarded and free. She didn’t see her beauty then. Not the way he could. Didn’t see it lay in the kiss of pink in her cheeks or the merriment of her face. On the geniality of her laugh and smiles.

“I know I shouldn’t comment on such things. But I do feel so dearly for every new suitor who comes to this village. Every Mama and every daughter must veritably drown poor men with their female offspring.”

Kylo raises one brow. “Rest assured. I’m not a man so inclined to favour polite safe conversation.” He promises her. He doesn’t tiptoe around propriety.

“And I will admit I lost count of the young ladies I was introduced too last eve. My ears were quite ringing with names and sickly smiles by the end of the evening.” He confesses.

She smiles wide again. Looks across. “I do sometimes wish that the people here could look beyond the scope of their own ignorance. To look beyond the defining goal of matrimony.” She confesses.

“Why should a woman’s worth be tied onto who she weds? Can she not be her own person and find a man to suit that.” She avows. Letting her stalwart brain run away with her rather passionate mouth.

“That’s very forward thinking of you.” Kylo says to her with a kind smile. Her face falls. She’s inspired insult with that comment.

She’s flushing with embarrassment.

“Mother would faint if she heard me confess that to you. Do forgive me, for the impertinence of my tongue.” She begs. Face wrinkling into a worried frown.

“You have a mind. Miss Ashton.” Kylo says. “It’s entitled to make itself known.”

“I’m a gently bred, unmarried, woman. And the eldest daughter, Lord Ren. My mind should be silent at all times. And possessed only, night and day, by thoughts and longing for matrimony.” She says. Quoting one of her mother’s rants.

“Well. You have my word. I’m most blessedly glad it’s not.” He says. Turning to look deep into her eyes.

She seems curiously confused. “You are?”

“Indeed.” He answers plainly.

“It means you are the one woman in this entire county with whom I can conduct a refreshing conversation. One that doesn’t revolve around reminding me again and again, that I’m a rich man who desperately needs a wife.” He offers.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Iris says laughing. “Not often I happen find someone on the same page as myself.”

“English men may find your so called ‘impertinence’ intolerable, Miss Ashton. For they were raised to know no better. But I am not a English man. Where I came from, it is applauded that a woman might speak her mind and have judgements and executions of her own.” He supplies.

“Our way of life here must seem so strange and strict to an outsider.” She dares. The defining pinnacle of English country society was its savage nature, after all.

“I don’t see much of the society in Bavaria.” He explains. “I see to the welfare of tenants on my land. I go hunting every season to pass the time. I’m afraid I rarely indulge in attending parties and balls.” He tells.

“A castle must be an incredible home.” She guesses.

“Even so- it can be very limiting being confined to it in the cold dark winters. Very little company. Little to entertain. I found myself wanting a change of scene. I had looked for some land opportunity’s to enclose in over here. When Hellford became available. It seemed a good opportunity to travel. Sink my teeth into a new venture.” He smarts. Eyes darkly roaming over her face with that handsome smile.

She nods. “I quite understand.” Erland clops alongside them in the misty morning sunshine. Snorting breaths silver and wispy still in the biting air.

“What are the winters like in Bavaria?” She enquires.

He smiles. “Beautiful. But bitter.” He explains. “The snow can be deep. As tall as me some days when it falls.” She smiles at his description.

“The castle stands out of a tall pine forest. A lake and a river to the east. One of the biggest woods in the country. Full of wolves, boars, and deer. It’s quite a wilderness in its own right.”

“Goodness- wolves. Isn’t that terribly dangerous?” She frets.

Not as much as me. He thinks. Matter of fact, when he steps foot in that forest, he is the most bloodthirsty dangerous animal in it.

“The beasts respect the boundary of my castle. I respect the forest is theirs. It’s a symbiotic relationship.” He tells her.

“Surrounded by wolves. You must feel very at home here too, then.” She jokes.

He laughs. “There’s something familiar I grant. Though the wolves back home don’t don lace caps and thrust all their daughters at me.”

She laughs at his remark. And suddenly, she goes spinning off course. Her worn boots slipping on a sneaky patch of frost and ice. No grip to their soles in this devilish cold. A yelp leaves her mouth as she skids. Blood flashing flushing hot and terrible suddenly. The shock of slipping stabbing at her stomach.

He acts quick. He lets go of Erland’s reins and steps that big form forwards and snatched one arm out to grab her. Slips back around her waist, cups the back of her hip, and yanks her tight to him to stop her falling.

She gasps and trembles as her vision spins, to be quickly halted by a sheer wall of cold, dark clad muscle. She barely registers where she is now.

Because she’s pressed right up into Lord Ren’s redoubtably firm chest. Her palms crushed flat on his lapels. His arm seizing her back and cupping her onto him to stop her slipping. She can feel under her coat how her breasts are crushed flat to him. Can feel his breathing heaving up and down, much like her own.

A shaky gasp leaves her mouth as she looks up, peering past the peak of her bonnet with flaming cheeks. Realising that they are slanted very close together. His face is right there, and he’s gazing down at her.

She’s in his arms. Buried into his chest. And it feels incredible. Such musculature and sheer masculine mass under her palms. Her head swims. He’s dizzying. Hypnotising.

Eyes as dark as burnt-ember molasses flecked with gold, and his lips look so invitingly pink ripe and soft- she curses at herself for that treacherous thought and her blush rises more. His wool coat and cologne nearly smacks her in the nose as she almost collided into his pectorals.

Kylo can hear her fluttering heartbeat. Like a racing preys pulse beating wild. Frail and fast, like a baby birds. A huge drift of her fragrance absolutely drowns him, pulls him under. Clary sage, French lavender and peppermint. Sweet and calming. Addictive. He wants to lean down and taste the salt of it off her neck...

It seems an eternity passes before he speaks.

“Are you hurt?” He asks. Making sure she didn’t turn one of her ankles. Or damage the bone

“T-Thankyou. I’m, I’m well.” She gasps. “I’m so sorry- I” She explains moving her hands down off his chest. He nearly swept her up off her feet. Now only her tiptoes brush the icy ground. The only part of her barely rooted to earth. Lost in those eyes.

Domineering, commanding, brutal, eyes. Eyes that had seen this world ten times over. But never gazed upon anything comparable to her-

Erland brings them both back down to earth. Snorting and fussing. Swishing his tail and nudging his nose at his masters shoulder.

Sense swims back through the fog of attraction and the heady bloom of lust. Kylo unleashes her back and her hip from his hold.

Quite liking the feel of her he accidentally - and literally - caught underneath her coat. The plump of her thighs and the shapely flesh of her hip and her bottom. There’s doubtless a figure to rival Venus herself, under this shapeless coat and thin dress. She slowly drags her hands off his chest and steps back. Avoiding the ice beneath her toes. Her gloves rasp on his fine wool coat.

“You fell. Miss Ashton. No need to be sorry for such a thing.” He tells her.

“You’ve a steady hand, Lord Ren.” She compliments. Thanking him further. He still held her basket in the arm that had not reached out to catch her. He looked as if he barely had to flex out an arm to catch her. Just twisted his body. His reflexes were sharp and cunning. As strong as he was.

He reached out and retook Erland’s reins.

They continue walking carefully along the little lane. For Westwell is just beyond the tree line now. It saddens her that she’ll be home soon.

Back to her daily chores. Back to scrubbing curtains, and helping cook roll pastry and mediating the silly shouting screeching arguments that Posy and Flora have over who gets to take turns to wear their favourite bonnet

She reflects how restoring it is to talk to someone so fully - without having to watch or guard her tongue. It’s even more enlightening to talk to someone such as him. Someone who, like her, feels like an outsider. Never fully fits in. And harbouring no desire too.

She feels her heart sink, morbid mournful and grey settling in her ribs, when they come to the meagre gateway along the short drive to Westwell. The twin stone pillars signifying the gateway were old and crusted with frosted moss.

Kylo calls Erland to halt. She pats the wonderful beasts strong shoulder in goodbye. He rubs the great velvet plain of black his forehead at her. Kylo untied her basket and handed it to her.

“I’d have no hesitation in seeing you to the door directly. But I fear your mother might see fault with our being left unchaperoned.” He disclosed. Giving her back the groaning full wicker basket with a clever grin.

She shivers when their hands brush. If she had any doubts in her attraction, that betraying little Judas of a tingle that thrashed her body, made her realise otherwise.

She likes him-

“Astute observation, your lordship. I Thankyou for your discretion.” She blushes. Hooking the baskets back on her arms. Adjusting the shawl where it had slipped down from her shoulders.

She looks down into her basket, and smiles. “A token of gratitude.” She explains before handing over the still warmed bag of chestnuts across to him.

He cradled them in his leather gloved hand. Appreciative of the gift. He rarely ate food. There wasn’t much need for it and it wasn’t the manna that’s sustained him. He had little joy in any human sustenance - apart from humans themselves.

When he did eat food, it was red meat that was still rare, juicy, and dripping blood. And he only drank sharp deep red wine.

He reaches over and took her hand. Once again dropping Erland’s reins. He took her dainty hand and brought it up and bows to kiss her palm.

He’s tired of satin and calfskin under his lips. He rather wanted to grasp a taste of her skin. Soon.

“Always a pleasure, Miss Ashton. I hope the experience of your company repeats itself shortly.” He compliments.

She smiles, apples of her cheeks creasing dimples with her widened smile. She nods politely and curtseys. “Your Lordship.” She curtseys gently. Bonnet tipping forwards. Criminally covering that beautiful face of hers.

She turns and he watches her walk up the pale lane to home. Sun striping through the trees onto her bleached linen white skirts. Bleached by sunshine. And softly scented of fresh cotton and French lavender.

Miss Ashton is made up of good intentions and possesses a giving heart as pure as gold. Pure. That’s his little dove all over-

He looks down in his hand and weighs the small bag of nuts she’d gifted him. He lifts it to his nose and inhales their scent. Buttery, sweet, burnt and acrid.

He tips his eyes back up to watch her. Thought creases up his brow. He’ll never know how it is to have such a virtue as a kind heart.

She was made up of honour and purity and softness. Doves feathers, lavender and rose petals. And he is made of cruelty. Of war and broken glass and shards of steel. He was made between ash and snow and a landscape soaking swimming festering in blood.

There’s no kindness in him. No mercy. Barely any love in him either.

He cares little for humans. After he was turned. That’s just how he became. They became meaningless specs of nothing to him. She has no idea what he is- who he is- he’s sent entire scores and countries of men shrieking to their deaths and writhing in agony into hell, cursing his name on their lips.

And here she was handing him this little harmless gift, like he wasn’t one of the most fearsome beasts put on this earth.

She’s not far away when she turns back - just as he’s about to mount Erland to ride back to Hellford Park once more. He tucks her meaningful present into his coat pocket.

“Erland... Is that a Bavarian name?” She turns and asks curiously. A kind frown on the lintels of her eyebrows. She tilts her head curiously. Her grey eyes glitter innocently off the sun like honey poured onto slate.

She’s so innocent. And it strikes him so deeply right then. How much he admires that.

He hoists himself into the saddle using the pommel. Feet slipping in the stirrups. Hips resting back onto the cantle behind him.

“It is a Norse name.” He calls to her. Erland is whinnying excitedly. Stomping his hooves to get out to the open fields and get his blood pumping. Kylo can feel the excitement shivering through his stocky legs.

“What does it mean?” She seeks.

“In old Nordic tongue, I believe it means ‘Outsider.’” He tells her.

She smiles. “Well. I trust you both know you have atleast one friend in this Hampshire county.” She smiles.

“Good day, Lord Ren.” She beams brightly. She turns away and she’s already missing the gaze of those melting cocoa eyes appraising her warmly.

Her skin still thrashes from the memory of his touch. All over her skin is alive with the memory of that strength of his. His chest under her hands she’s never felt the like- he was as cold and solid as marble. Some Greek god manifested out of carved stone and come to life.

He turns Erland back onto the snowy road. Clicks his tongue and urges him to run with a sharp dig of his shoe into his side. He feels the ice and the wind sting his skin for all the ride home.

He thinks about her parting gift and her touch against his body for the rest of the day - truly he does. It’s moved him.

He hasn’t been moved so much by another being in all of his years.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren oc #vampire!kylo #vampire au #very wolves and doves #Iris vibes 🕊#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#Draegan vibes 🥀#vampirelovestory #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #lovestory #angst #slowest of slow burn #slow burn

17 notes · View notes

jovialyouthmusic · 5 years ago

Text

Silver Service

A Royal Romance AU fanfic sequel to Protect and Serve

Drake and Riley get some quality time alone

Word Count 1858

A/N As my writing has slowed to a crawl, I split a chapter. It will be a more digestible read this way - enjoy. NS*W No under 18s please

8a Deeper and Closer

Drake swung the steering wheel and the SUV left the road of a dirt track. They had been going to leave early, but Bastien had come to ask Riley about what Sophia had remembered at the castle, so they decided to have a light lunch before they set off. They had packed clothes and food for two days.

‘Hold on, Brookes, it may be bumpy’ he warned her. She grabbed the armrest as the vehicle negotiated the bumps and holes of the road ahead. It started to pitch and roll and she fought back a squeal of terror. She looked over at Drake, whose face was set in grim determination with just a hint of enjoyment.

‘Is this – I mean do you often come up here?’ she asked, her voice shaky as they bumped along the track a little faster than she thought was safe.

‘Not often – once or twice a year’ he said ‘Bas used to bring me fishing on the lake, and sometimes I fish and sometimes I just – well, I just look at the stars’ he smiled.

‘Does that mean we’re camping?’ she asked ‘because I’m not sure I’m dressed for it’

‘It’s okay, there’s a cabin by the lake’ he replied as the vehicle jolted over yet another pot hole. ‘It’s a bit basic, but it’s warm and dry.’

By the time they arrived at the little cabin by the lake, Riley’s nerves were jangled. Drake obviously knew what he was doing with the vehicle, but it had not been a comfortable ride. She got out shakily, glad to be still at last.

‘Drake, remind me to get out and walk next time you turn down a track like that’ Drake grinned

‘Hana said something like that, you girls just can’t take a rough ride’ he scoffed

The cabin was set at the bottom of a gentle wooded slope, pine needles making a soft covering over the ground. A stream cascaded down the slope to feed a still blue lake, reflecting the fluffy clouds above in the afternoon light. There was a little jetty going out into the water, and a small fishing boat was drawn up on the shore.

‘Uh, you show me the bed in that cabin and I’ll show you a rough ride’ teased Riley, punching his shoulder. Drake groaned

‘That’s terrible, Brookes’ he said ‘Come on in and we can drop our stuff off. We’re going fishing for our supper’

------

Some hours later, the two lovers returned to the cabin. Riley had managed to hook a good sized fish, while Drake had only managed a couple of small ones. He made up a fire outside, even though there was a gas stove in the cabin. It was, like he said, very basic, just one large room with a fireplace, fold out sofa bed, table and chairs and a basic kitchen. Water came from a tank fed by the stream that ran into the lake. The bathroom had basic plumbing, and hot water was in short supply. Toilet facilities featured an earth closet outside the cabin, a few feet away into the wood.

‘We don’t want to use the gas stove unless we have to’ Drake explained ‘Wood is free and there’s plenty of it – and cooking outside over an open fire – how many nobles would get their hands dirty?’ Riley smiled and watched him deftly gut the fish ready to put in the hot pan. They ate off tin plates with their fingers, watching the sun set over the lake and went inside to wash their hands in the tiny kitchen.

‘Now, about that rough ride I promised you’ Riley murmured, standing in front of Drake and drawing him near, hands on his hips and grinding against him. He grinned back at her

‘Not just yet, we should get the fire going in the fireplace to warm the place up, it’ll get cold tonight.’ He took her hands off his hips and stepped back. He busied himself laying and lighting the fire while she cleaned the plates they’d used. The fire was soon burning steadily, and Riley snuck up behind Drake to put her arms round him and nibble at his neck.

‘Hey, Riley’ Drake laughed ‘We need to do one more thing before we get the bed out’

‘Who needs a bed?’ She murmured in his ear. He swatted her away again

‘Seriously, one more thing and then I’m all yours’ he chided. She pouted

‘Okay, what?’

‘Just come outside’

‘But it’s getting dark – and cold’ She protested

‘It will be worth it, I promise – and I’ll keep you warm’ She sighed, unconvinced, and he lead her outside toward the lake shore away from the trees so the sky opened out above them. The horizon was a pale gold colour, and the sky gradated to a deep velvety blue overhead, stars starting to twinkle and shimmer. ‘Just look up’ he said ‘It will take a few moments for your eyes to adjust’ Riley gasped in wonder

‘Oh Drake, it’s beautiful’ she said ‘I’ve never seen such a clear dark sky. Do you know the constellations?’

‘Oh uh - sure’ he said, standing behind her and holding her close, pointing out a group of stars overhead ‘Everyone knows the Plough – though I think you call it the Big Dipper – and over there – those three faint stars in a row are Orion – the belt of Orion. And over there are the Pleiades. It’s easier to see them if you look just to the side’

‘Oh, that’s amazing. How about the bright one near the horizon?’ She leaned back into him, savouring the woodsmoke that clung to his clothes and his faint musk underneath.

‘That’s actually a planet – it’s Venus, which is closer to the sun than us, so you can usually see it around sunrise or sunset close to the sun.’

‘And that group over there?’ She pointed and he hummed for a moment

‘That – ah that’s the Waitress. See her frilly little apron? She’s standing gazing at that other group of stars over to the left - it’s called the Cordonian Stud – ouch!’ he yelped as Riley elbowed him in the ribs.

‘You ass’ she laughed ‘you don’t know a thing’

‘No, no, I do!’ He protested ‘Just not a lot’ he said, and she turned around to him, putting her arms around his neck

‘Well stud, lets go in and get cozy’ she said ‘I can see some clouds coming over and I’m starting to feel cold’

Inside, the fire had warmed the cabin, and Drake pulled the sofa bed out and Riley made it up – it took a while as they kept trying to distract each other with kisses and caresses as though it was a matter of life and death that they had to touch each other every few seconds. Finally the bed was made, and they stood in the flickering firelight. Drake threw a couple more logs on and turned to her.

‘At last’ she murmured ‘All done now?’ She stood in front of him and caressed his cheek, his beard scratching her palm.

‘Yup’ he grinned, his hands wandering to her waist, pulling her close ‘I’m all yours. Now we do exactly as we please – nobody to hear us, no deadlines for mealtimes, no polite conversations. Just you and me’ He looked searchingly into her eyes, his voice a whisper.

She smiled back at him, leaning in slowly until their lips met for a long lingering kiss before they started to work on undressing each other one item at a time, caressing newly exposed skin until they were naked. The fire crackled and their breath changed from soft sighs and moans to shuddering gasps. Their fingers glided and stroked and pressed, anticipation spicing the tingles and heated sensations coursing through their bodies and consuming their thoughts.

Drake kissed along the top of Riley’s shoulder, tracing down her breastbone and belly, backing her to the low bed until she sat, dropping to his knees in front of her. He paused to take in her naked body in the flickering firelight, as she too looked down at him, then leaned forward for another searing kiss. He half stood, putting his knee between hers and gently pushing her back so she crawled up the bed to lie on her back. He hovered over her on hands and knees and dove to kiss her neck, peppering her body with light presses of his lips and little nips of his teeth so she laughed and writhed underneath him.

She pushed at him, guiding him so he lay on his back and it was she who hovered over him, greedily drinking in his naked torso – the broad chest with its smattering of dark hair, the flat belly, the triangle of his hips, his erect member waiting to do her bidding. She crawled down the bed to take him into her mouth, sucking and massaging with her tongue. His hips bucked underneath her, his fingers raking her scalp.

‘Jesus, Riley’ he hissed ‘Slow down, there’s no hurry’ He felt the vibration of her laugh and threw his head back, trying to take his mind off what her mouth was doing to him, reciting the list of Kings and Queens of Cordonia over the centuries. Suddenly she stopped and crawled up the bed over him, her breasts brushing his chest, hair tickling his collarbone, pressing her lips to his and straddling him teasingly.

‘Do you want me?’ she breathed in his ear.

‘Fuck yes, Brookes’

‘Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to do?’ she teased ‘no more stargazing?’

‘The only stars you’ll be seeing will be with your eyes closed’ he growled, trying to flip her over, but she resisted and they wrestled for dominance for a moment before he finally won, pinning her onto the mattress. She gazed up at him, biting her lip mischievously

‘no more games’ he growled ‘no more teasing – tell me you want me’

‘I want you Drake’ she murmured, and he needed no further encouragement. He lined himself up and eased in a little at a time. She lay under him, gasping and lightly raking his back with her nails. As soon as he had entered her fully, he drew out and paused so she writhed underneath him, trying to pull him into her, whimpering with need. He relented from teasing and drove into her, feeling her wet tightness envelop him over and over again, building up speed as she rose up to meet every stroke. The air was warm from the fire, the light dancing over bare flesh as they moved together, becoming engrossed in each other, totally in unity. Together they moved closer to the edge, moving as one, exploding into bliss together, sweat sheening their skin as they cried out and gasped and slowed and came to a stop. Drake rolled off to her side, reaching for tissues to clean up. When they had done that, they drew back the bedclothes to huddle together and fall asleep in the warmth of the fire, the sky outside dark and peppered with stars.

Next Chapter 8b Deeper and Closer

#silver service #protect and serve #drake x riley #drake fanfic #drake walker #the royal romance au #trr au fanfic

39 notes · View notes

eyreguide · 5 years ago

Text

Jane Eyre’s Library

The novel Jane Eyre is full of literary references, allusions, and quotations that enrich the story and showcase how well-read Charlotte (and consequently Jane) was. This post highlights those literary references and gives a bit of context for each work that might help illuminate their use in the book. I have done my best to note all instances where Charlotte references a literary work (not including references to historical events) but I probably missed a few. If you know of any I missed and the particular quote, please let me know!

I thought it would be interesting to start this post with Charlotte’s recommendation of books to read to her friend Ellen Nussey. Charlotte was eighteen when she wrote this letter. I can’t say I was as well-read at her age!

“You ask me to recommend some books for your perusal; I will do so in as few words as I can. If you like poetry let it be first rate, Milton, Shakespeare, Thomson, Goldsmith, Pope (if you will, though I don’t admire him), Scott, Byron, Campbell, Wordsworth and Southey.” (letter dated July 4, 1834):

The Bible: I must acknowledge that there are many references to Biblical passages and characters in Jane Eyre but I have decided not to list them here, as it would be a lot of work. It’ll be something I’ll save for a future post.

Greek and Roman Mythology: Another omission are the references to mythology throughout the novel. Something else I’ll save for another time.

History of British Birds by Thomas Bewick

“Where the Northern Ocean, vast whirls, Boils round the naked, melancholy isles Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy Hebrides.”

A History of British Birds is a natural history book, published in two volumes. Volume 1, "Land Birds", appeared in 1797. Volume 2, "Water Birds", appeared in 1804. The quote is from the second volume.

Pamela or Virtue Rewarded by Samuel Richardson

Referenced in the novel as being one of the stories Bessie tells young Jane. Published 1740, Pamela was is an epistolary novel and was a best-seller in it’s time. But the story about a young maidservant who endeavors to resist her employer’s advances and ends up marrying him in the end, was a controversial novel at the time.

The History of Henry Earl of Moreland by John Wesley

Also called The Fool of Quality this is another novel that Bessie (probably more appropriately) tells stories from to Jane. It follows the life of Harry Clinton and his attempts to better his lot. There are frequent intervals in which the author offers philosophical digressions and commentaries. The final two-volume set was published in 1781.

History of Rome by Oliver Goldsmith

“I had read Goldsmith’s History of Rome, and had formed my opinion of Nero, Caligula, etc.”

Originally published in 1838, this is a definitive work on the History of Rome.

Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift

”Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word book acted as a transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ from the library.”

Gulliver's Travels, or Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World. In Four Parts. By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of Several Ships is a prose satire of human nature and the ‘traveller’s tales’ literary subgenre. It was an immediate success when published in 1726.

The History of Rasselas by Samuel Johnson

“I could see the title - it was ‘Rasselas;’ a name that struck me as strange, and consequently attractive.”

The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia, originally titled The Prince of Abissinia: A Tale, though often abbreviated to Rasselas, is an apologue about happiness, published in 1759. The story is a philosophical romance with similarities in theme to Voltaire’s Candide.

The Arabian Nights

”That night, on going to bed, I forgot to prepare in imagination the Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white bread and new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward cravings”

The Arabian Nights is a collection of Middle Eastern folk tales and is also known as One Thousand and One Nights. The stories have been collected over many centuries but they are all framed by Scheherazade telling these stories to her husband, the King. In one story Barmecide invites a beggar to an imaginary feast. Also, Mesrour is the name of an executioner in the book.

The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan

“He may be stern; he may be exacting: he may be ambitious yet; but his is the sternness of the warrior Greatheart, who guards his pilgrim convoy from the onslaught of Apollyon.”

The Pilgrim's Progress from This World, to That Which Is to Come is a 1678 Christian allegory. Greatheart and Apollyon are characters in this work. It is often cited as the first novel written in English.

"La Ligue des Rats" by Jean de la Fontaine

‘Assuming an attitude, she began ‘La Ligue des Rats: fable de la Fontaine.’

This French poem was first published in 1692. Jean de la Fontaine is famous for his Fables and was one of the most widely read poets of the 17th century. Read the original tale in French here.

Macbeth by William Shakespeare

‘Yes - “after life’s fitful fever they sleep well,” ‘ I muttered.

“She stood there, by that beech-trunk—a hag like one of those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres.”

Macbeth was first performed in 1606 and dramatizes the physical and physiological effects of political ambition. The first line is a reference to Macbeth’s words concerning the dead Duncan. And the second refers to the three witches in the play.

Bluebeard by Charles Perrault

”I lingered in the long passage to which this led, separating the front and back rooms of the third story: looking, with its two rows of small black doors all shut, like a corridor in some Bluebeard’s castle.”

“Bluebeard” is a French folktale, the most famous surviving version of which was written by Charles Perrault and first published by Barbin in Paris in 1697 in Histoires ou contes du temps passé. The tale tells the story of a wealthy man in the habit of murdering his wives and the attempts of one wife to avoid the fate of her predecessors. An interesting example of foreshadowing from Charlotte. Read this fairy tale here.

Francis Bacon’s Essays

‘I see,’ he said, ‘the mountain will never be brought to Mahomet, so all you can do is to aid Mahomet to go to the mountain; I must beg of you to come here.’

This is in reference to a proverb that has been traced to Francis Bacon’s essays: “Mahomet made the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law. The people assembled: Mahomet called the hill to come to him again and again: and when the hill stood still, he was never a whit abased, but said, “If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.”

It is unclear if this is a true legend of Mohammed or an English invention. The Essays were published in 1625.

"Fallen is Thy Throne" by Thomas Moore

“Like heath that, in the wilderness, The wild wind whirls away.”

I could not find a publication date for the poem, but the poet Thomas Moore lived 1779-1852. The poem these lines are from is about the fall of Israel. Read this poem here.

Duncaid by Alexander Pope

“Yes, just as much good as it would do a man tired of sitting still in a ‘too easy chair’ to take a long walk; and just as natural was the wish to stir, under my circumstances, as it would be under his.”

The Dunciad is a landmark mock-heroic narrative poem published in three different versions at different times from 1728 to 1743. The poem celebrates a goddess Dulness and the progress of her chosen agents as they bring decay, imbecility, and tastelessness to the Kingdom of Great Britain.

Paradise Lost by John Milton

This pale crescent was ’The likeness of a Kingly Crown’; what it diademed was ‘the shape which shape had none.’

“Some natural tears she shed’ on being told this, but as I began to look very grave, she consented at last to wipe them.”

Paradise Lost is an epic poem with the first version published in 1667, and the second edition in 1674. The poem is about the biblical story of the fall of Man with the temptation of Adam and Eve in the Garden. The first quote in Jane Eyre concerning Jane’s paintings is a direct echo of the description of Hell in the poem: “If shape it might be call’d that shape had none/ Distinguishable... What seem’d his head/ The likeness of a Kingly Crown had on”

The second quote describes Adele’s disappointment at not joining the party and is inspired by the line about Adam and Eve departing Eden: “Some natural tears they dropp’d”

Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare

“Rise, Miss Eyre: leave me; “the play is played out.”

Twelfth Night, or What You Will is a romantic comedy, believed to have been written around 1601–1602 as a Twelfth Night’s entertainment for the close of the Christmas season. The play centers on the twins Viola and Sebastian, who are separated in a shipwreck. This is believed to be the source of the above line from Jane Eyre.

The Scornful Lady by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

“She never did so before,” at last said Bessie, turning to the Abigail.

“In the servants’ hall two coachmen and three gentlemen’s gentlemen stood or sat round the fire; the abigails, I suppose, were upstairs with their mistresses; the new servants, that had been hired from Millcote, were bustling about everywhere.”

The Scornful Lady is a Jacobean era stage play, a comedy first published in 1616, the year of the author Beaumont's death. It was one of the pair's most popular, often revived, and frequently reprinted works. The term abigails, meaning ladies’ maids, comes from a character named Abigail in The Scornful Lady.

King Lear by William Shakespeare

‘There, then - “Off, ye lendings!”

King Lear is a tragedy where King Lear decides to leave nothing to his honest, third daughter who refuses to flatter him like her two sisters have done. It a story of human suffering and kinship. The first known performance of the play was in 1606.

Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare

“It’s a mere rehearsal of Much Ado About Nothing.”

Much Ado About Nothing is a comedy and thought to have been written in 1598 and 1599, as Shakespeare was approaching the middle of his career. In Shakespeare’s time the word “noting” (which sounds close to “nothing”) meant gossip and rumor which is what leads Benedick and Beatrice into falling in love, and Claudio into rejecting Hero at the marriage altar. Mr. Rochester uses that quote above to indicate to his guests that nothing is wrong.

The Turkish Lady by Thomas Campbell

”It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four: -- ‘Day its fervid fires had wasted,’ and the dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched summit.”

The poem’s author, Thomas Campbell, lived from 1777-1844) and the poem “The Turkish Lady” is about a captive English knight who is visited by Eastern lady who releases him from captivity and he takes her away as his bride. A fitting reference given that this quote is used in the chapter where Rochester proposes to Jane. Read this poem here.

A Midsummer Night's Dream by Shakespeare

”Is this my pale, little elf? Is this my mustard-seed?”

A Midsummer Night's Dream is a comedy written in 1595/96. It portrays the events surrounding the marriage of Theseus, the Duke of Athens, to Hippolyta, the Queen of the Fairies. Mustardseed is one of the fairies in the play.

King John by William Shakespeare

’I might as well “gild refined gold.”

The Life and Death of King John is believed to have been written in the mid 1590s and dramatizes John, King of England, who ruled 1199-1216. The quoted phrase is but one of several examples of “wasteful and ridiculous excess” in the play.

"Bonny Wee Thing" by Robert Burns

“Yes, bonny wee thing, I’ll wear you in my bosom, lest my jewel I should tyne.”

A 1791 poem (also written “The Bonie Wee Thing”). This poem has also been set to music. Read this poem here.

Lay of the Last Minstrel by Sir Walter Scott

”Looked to river, looked to hill.”

Published in 1805, Lay of the Last Minstrel is a long narrative poem in which an aging minstrel tells of a sixteenth-century border feud between England and Scotland.

The Robbers by Fredrich Schiller

“‘Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht.’ Good! good!” she exclaimed, while her dark and deep eye sparkled. “There you have a dim and mighty archangel fitly set before you! The line is worth a hundred pages of fustian. ‘Ich wäge die Gedanken in der Schale meines Zornes und die Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms.’

This quotes from the first drama by playwright Schiller, published in 1781. The story revolves around two aristocratic brothers, Karl and Franz. Franz is beloved by his father and Karl plots to wrest away his inheritance.

A translation of the lines:

Da trat hervor Einer, anzusehen wie die Sternen Nacht. - One stepped forward to look at how the night was filled with stars.

Ich wäge die Gedanken in der Schale meines Zornes und die Werke mit dem Gewichte meines Grimms. - I ventured the thoughts in the shell of my wrath and the works with the weight of my ferocity.

Lalla Rookh by Thomas Moore

To live amidst general regard, though it be but the regard of working people, is like “sitting in sunshine, calm and sweet;” serene inward feelings bud and bloom under the ray.

Lalla Rookh is an Oriental romance, published in 1817. The title is taken from the name of the heroine, the daughter of the 17th-century Mughal emperor Arangzeb. The work consists of four narrative poems with a connecting tale in prose.

Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field by Sir Walter Scott

“Day set on Norham’s castled steep, And Tweed’s fair river broad and deep, And Cheviot’s mountains lone; The massive towers, the donjon keep, In yellow lustre shone”—

Marmion: A Tale of Flodden Field is a historical romance in verse of 16th-century Britain, published in 1808. It concludes with the Battle of Flodden in 1513.

"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Coleridge

The sternest-seeming stoic is human after all; and to “burst” with boldness and good-will into “the silent sea” of their souls is often to confer on them the first of obligations.

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” is the longest major poem by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, written in 1797–98 and published in 1798 in the first edition of Lyrical Ballads. Read this poem here.

#Jane Eyre #Charlotte Bronte #Literary Allusions #Literary References #Literature #Books

41 notes · View notes

dandeaix-oomph · 5 years ago

Text

two four six o fucking one

Ogata doesn't blink. "Only members of the production company are allowed."

"I was told I could come for a viewing."

"No," says Ogata, "you can't."

Koito hates this man. "I'll pay for everyone's supper," he bargains.

"No."

"I'll also get boba," Koito adds. Ogata still doesn't blink, but something has shifted in his eyes that convinces Koito he's on the right track. "I can get them right now, in fact. Or coffee too. Whatever. I'll get them if you'll let me in."

"The good boba?" Ogata clarifies. "The one near the ramen place? Not the one near the engineering campus?"

"The good boba," Koito promises, immediately pulling up the food delivery app on his phone. "So do we have a deal?"

"Buy a ticket for all three days of our showing and I'll consider it."

"Fine."

"Then deal." Ogata swipes his pass; the keycard reader pings and glows green. "After you."

Koito doesn't bother to thank him. He walks down the corridor. The backstage of their university theatre isn't big, and Koito has enough friends in the performing arts to know that most performers prefer to linger outside the hall or watch the rehearsals in the audience's seats. "Tsurumi is here today, right?"

"Obviously."

"Just to be sure," Koito supplies, "Tsukishima told me that sometimes Tsurumi leaves them to practise alone."

Ogata clicks his tongue impatiently. "Then shouldn't you ask before attempting to bribe me?"

"Hey! I'm not here for only Tsurumi!" That is only ninety percent of the reason. The other five is Tsukishima, and the rest is because Koito is bored. "So he's here?"

"Yes."

"Huh." Koito wonders if that means rehearsals are not going so well. He decides not to probe. "What's your role again? Tsukishima didn't mention much about this production."

In fact, Tsukishima has stared at him with such weariness when he brought up the topic that Koito decidedly aborts that line of conversation.

Ogata halts. He does not look impressed. "Do you even know that we're doing a musical this time?"

"I know that much," Koito huffs. "Les Misérables right?"

"Yes. I am playing Enjolras."

Koito double-takes. "You? Enjolras?"

"Yes, me. And Tsurumi is playing Javert. In case Tsukishima didn't -" At this point Ogata infuses a certain mockery into his tone, "- tell you. Again."

Koito hates hates hates Ogata Hyakunosuke. "Oh, he definitely did tell me that much," he sniffs, "as well as his schedule, and that he has casting problems."

"That's just some actors being unprofessional," Ogata dismisses. He pushes the door open. "Now head down the stairs and keep out of everyone's way."

"You don't need to tell me that," Koito grumbles, hastening down. The door to the hall opens and a burst of frigid air slaps him in the face. Someone's turned the air-conditioning too low again.

He picks a seat in the second row, near the aisle. Sugimoto is there too; from what Koito remembers, it’s because Kiroranke has to stay behind and can't drive Asirpa and Enonoka home.

But if outsiders aren't allowed, then couldn't Sugimoto wait outside too? He can pick them up after they are dismissed from rehearsals. That's what Tanigaki does, and he's dating Inkarmat -

Oh. Koito sees what's going on here. It seems Ogata is a little bitch who doesn't bother masking his favouritism.

Their theatre group have framed itself as a sort of service-oriented production, wherein their projects' ethos is to provide affordable yet quality theatre experience to the community.

The production team itself is mostly made up of members and alumni from their university's various theatre clubs. Some, like Tsurumi and Kiroranke, are past professional performers turned coaches, their careers punctuated with the occasional contract acting. Others are members of the public that volunteered, including some elderly and more importantly, at-risk teenagers who figured they like the familial solidarity of this production team.

Community theatre, Koito thinks. Has a good ring to it. At least, it certainly appeals to potential sponsors. Koito knows this. After all, Koito's family is one of their sponsors.

Tsurumi is on stage now, his voice loud and powerful, his tone angrier and angrier until it swallows up Kiroranke's firm baritone.

"Every man is born in sin," he sings, "every man must choose his way."

The light dances off the edges of his cheeks and the strong lines of his back; arresting, mesmerising. There is power in every gesture, power in every tremble of his voice, and the audience gapes awestruck at him, looking up in worship of this man, great as a deity.

(And Koito he, he can't look away.)

"I think this scene is pretty much done,” Kiroranke is saying. “You can stand to be a tad more hysterical, but this is good too."

"I'll keep it in mind." Tsurumi stretches his back. "We’ll skip Asirpa's scenes too, there’s not much issues there. Let's focus on what needs focus. Run through the previous scenes: the earlier one with Fantine's death isn't satisfying."

"Respectfully," Inkarmat cuts in. She has been sitting cross-legged at the end of the stage. "It is hard for either of us to express the sincerity of a scene that tragic when both of us hate each other."

"I don't care about that," Tsurumi dismisses. "You are both professional actors, so I expect you to act like ones. Sort it out."

"Excuse me," Tsukishima calls out from a seat near the back. Koito hasn't noticed him, and startles. "But this is the first time we've seen such genuine animosity on set. We are too close to the deadline to pin our hopes on them working this out."

"I can switch with Inkarmat," Igogusa offers, "if necessary. I did Fantine before."

"But I prefer Inkarmat's voice for Fantine's solo." Tsurumi shakes his head. "Never mind that, we'll proceed as is for now. Let's take a ten minutes water break, and we'll do Scene Nine Heart Full of Love after. Our syncing for it has been horrendous."

Here’s the thing: when he is a young boy, Koito watches Tsurumi act on stage, and falls in love.

For the next three days, he whines about wanting to go into acting to his family, but got bored on the fourth. So he makes it a point to keep tabs on Tsurumi’s acting career, and attends every show that is put up.

Then he grows up, goes to university, and decides that he wants to experience living on campus.

Koito has already been living alone, even if it is in a loft at a highrise that his family bought. It’s only a fifteen minutes drive from the university, and two hours away from the family mansion.

But to actually live in a college residence is a much different experience. His brother has told him stories about it, about how it can be a mess but also how it feels like something of a coming-of-age ritual. Koito is curious, so Koito applies for campus housing.

Three things happen.

Firstly: he ends up rooming with Tsukishima, a graduate student.

Secondly: he lasts six months.

Thirdly, and most importantly: he finds out that Tsukishima is in the same theatre production as Tsurumi.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Tsukishima does the sets, so even during the break, he looks distracted enough that Koito has to snap his fingers repeatedly by his ear before Tsukishima comes back into the moment. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"I got everyone some boba. From the stall near the hotpot place, not the one near engi'," Koito repeats, "but I got you your special order."

"Thank you," Tsukishima says as he accepts his drink, but the frown doesn't go away even as he sucks up the taro balls.

Koito folds his arms. "Hey," he begins, in a bid to distract, "Tsurumi pretty much call the shots huh?"

"He is technically our director." Tsukishima kneads between his eyes. “And producer. He’s split that role with me since he’s acting this time. Thankfully, we have Kiroranke and Inkarmat around, but they are feuding. I told Tsurumi that even though we are only a small independent production, we need to find more stagehands because of our choice of play - but no, it’s all casting and finding the right actors and making sure they live up to their potential -”

“Don’t say that,” Koito defends, “this gives you much more control on what goes on, right? Isn’t that good?”

“What makes you think the actors are not all obnoxious egomaniacs?” Tsukishima points out tiredly. “We have the same problems every year. I told him we should have done black box this year and expand from there, but Tsurumi has a vision.”

“Maybe if you delegate more -”

“I did.” Tsukishima covers his eyes with a palm. “Usami is frighteningly competent, although the Nikaidou twins could not be given any autonomy. Also, I was planning to promote Tamai to assistant stage manager, but he dropped out last week." He drinks his boba stressfully. “We almost borrowed some crew from the university, except Hijikata has made it clear that he is not loaning out anymore students from the drama club.”

Koito does not know enough about theatre production to make more comments. “What if I hire some professionals? I mean, my family is a sponsor.”

“Then this would not be an independent charity production anymore. But thanks.” Tsukishima finishes his drink. “Right, I think I need to go check on the techs. If anyone starts crying, I’m off to the gents.”

“Why would anyone - ” Koito tries, “Tsukishima? Hey, don’t run away. Tsukishima!” but Tsukishima has already slipped away.

Koito wanders back into the hall. Everyone tries to keep food off the stage, but Ienaga is munching on a doughnut while gesturing aggressively at the props, and no one is going to argue with Ienaga.

He turns towards the seats and - never mind, Sugimoto is fussing over the kids as Shiraishi shares some silly anecdote with them again, while Ogata - Ogata? - hangs his arms over the back of the seat adjacent to Sugimoto. Koito doesn’t understand what is going on. Koito doesn’t want to understand what is going on.

Then he sees Yuusaku standing by the fire exit and understands anyway.

(Frankly, Koito doesn’t understand what it’s like to hate his family. He loves his family. His brother is great and charismatic and his mother is affectionate and funny, and while there used to be some hostility with his father, that has passed after adolescence too.

But in the end, that’s none of his business.)

Koito hops up onto the stage in the end. He ignores Usami’s grin and heads straight for Edogai. “Hey,” he calls, “you do costumes, right?”

“Yes?” Edogai lowers his notebook. “Is there an issue?”

“I like what you did with Javert’s costume,” Koito tells him seriously, “it’s arresting.”

He spends the rest of the break discussing costumes edits until Tsurumi calls for them to clear the stage, get back to work now, and Koito returns to his seat.

Sugimoto turns to Koito. “Have you seen them rehearse this scene before?”

“No.” Koito leans forward. “Have you?”

“Yeah. Thing is, all three of them don’t have a strong enough presence to complement each other, so Tsurumi has been pretty unhappy about it. I tried coaching Umeko on her gestures to make up for her voice, but there’s only so much she can do.” Sugimoto pauses. “However, Yuusaku has been stepping up. Apparently Ogata gave him tips.”

“Ogata?” Koito is usually not this much of a gossip. “I thought he hates Yuusaku?”

“He does, but Tsurumi made him help Yuusaku.” Sugimoto chuckles. “He can’t say no to that, can he?”

That is devious. Koito knows there is a reason why he is so mesmerised by Tsurumi. “I bet he’s pissed.”

“Fluffed up like a cat,” Sugimoto agrees. “He -”

“Silence from the house, please,” Tsurumi announces, and Sugimoto immediately faces back towards the front. “Thank you. This is Koito’s first viewing; it won’t do if you keep distracting him, Sugimoto. Koito - apologies for not greeting you, I’ve been busy.”

He noticed me! He noticed! “No worries!” Koito shouts, feeling a little light-headed. Sugimoto shushes him.

Tsurumi smiles from the stage. Smiles at Koito, god, the brilliance of his smile, the soft curve of his lips - “Right then, let’s continue. We’ll run through the scene one time, and then repeat once more with music.”

Koito sinks back into his seat. He’s ready to combust.

Solemnly, Sugimoto reaches over to the box of unclaimed boba and passes a cup to him.

And then Umeko cries when Tsurumi yells too harshly at her.

Tsukishima makes eye contact with Koito from the stage. His eyes resemble that of a man who has walked in and out of hell.

Koito considers getting Tsukishima some vouchers for that spa he likes so much.

For dinner, Inkarmat volunteers to greet the delivery man.

“What’s going on?” Koito asks, and receives a round of sniggers.

“Tanigaki works the night shift for this eatery,” Ariko explains. Cikapasi nods fervently.

“Right,” Koito says slowly. “I see,” and mourns for his empty stomach. Sympathetically, Ariko passes him a bag of chips.

They get their dinner eventually. Tsurumi asks Koito on his opinions about the musical, you are our sponsor after all, did we meet your expectations?

Frankly, the musical can catch fire midway and implode in a fiery wreck for all Koito cares. The only thing that matters is that Tsurumi is involved. “Of course,” Koito answers excitedly, “it’s great!”

Tsurumi smiles again. “That’s good,” he says.

Koito feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest and perform a pirouette.

Then they finish their dinner, dry-run one last time, and the kids have to go home. Practice grinds to a halt as Sugimoto waves his goodbye, gives Shiraishi a half-hug, and whisks the children away.

Koito fiddles with his phone, posting weird selfies on his InstaStory and Snapchat and snorts when people comment ridiculous answers on his guess where I am poll. He barely notices when Tsukishima sits down on the seat beside. “I imagine it must be pretty boring.”

“Hm?” Koito shrugs, putting his phone away. “I think it’s fine. All rehearsals have their boring parts. At least there’s drama.”

Tsukishima exhales deeply. “I don’t like this kind of drama.” His head lolls when he leans back, propping himself up by the elbows. "Will you be coming over again?"

"I don't know." Koito pouts. "Will Tsurumi want me here?"

"Well, you are a sponsor."

Koito lets out a long-suffering whine. "Then what can I do? I can't impose, no matter how much I want to see him!" He slumps against a seat, cheek resting on the back of his arm. “I just want to hop on his dick.”

“I know, Koito. I have known you for two years and five months.”

Koito eyes him. “You keep track of that?”

“It’s not hard,” Tsukishima dismisses, “I simply subtracted the months from the first day of the academic year when I was a graduate student.”

“Smart.”

“Not smart, just sensible.”

Koito makes a face. “Too practical. I don’t want to know whether I can come over, I want to know if Tsurumi will want me to come to rehearsals.”

“And like I said, he doesn’t not want you here,” Tsukishima returns, “but based on personal experience, I would advise against coming over too often. It gives everyone unnecessary stress.” He pauses. “The boba is good though.”

“I’ll get it again the next time I’m over.” As his mother always says, if they have the money to spare, then they might as well use it to cheer up other people.

(People-pleaser, his father has chastised lightly even as he hands over the month’s paycheck. This, Koito thinks, must be why Koito Heinojou decides to pursue a second major in social work.)

"You're not unwelcomed, Koito," Tsukishima emphasises. "I am glad that you're here to show your support. But when money is in the picture… you get it, don't you?"

"Yeah, don't sweat it." His wealth may have made him insensitive at times, but he isn’t stupid. Rich people are snakes, or at least surrounded by them; dealing with them and their assistants take a certain amount of astuteness. "I'll give you a heads-up a few days before I come over."

"Thank you, Koito. I really appreciate that."

Koito waves a hand. "It's no problem."

It takes five days.

Tsukishima frowns. "Didn't you say -"

"I forgot," Koito lies. In actuality, he has decided to pop by on a whim, and is further emboldened when he meets Inkarmat on the way up. "Anyway, Inkarmat says it's fine.”

“Sure she did,” Tsukishima counters dryly, “and did she tell you that Tsurumi would only be coming in later for an hour today?”

“What!” Koito doesn’t know that. “But he will be here?”

Tsukishima simply shakes his head. "If this is going to be a regular thing," he informs, "then you'd better make yourself useful."

Which is how Koito finds himself at the backstage, helping touch-up what little make-up has to be put on for characterisation purposes.

"Eponine's make-up," Inkarmat mutters, hovering over Igogusa, "must smear just right. She is a little rough around the edges, so her makeup must reveal that."

Koito carefully curls Igogusa's lashes. "This is stage-acting, not a film, you know? The audience will be watching for big movements. They won't be close enough to notice the details."

"Even if most of the audience won't see it, some of them can," Inkarmat chides, "and most importantly, as actors, we can feel the difference. So smear it carefully with your fingers - she wants to be a lady for Marius, but this isn't who she is, and deep down, she knows that too."

For a while, the only thing that can be heard is the white noise in the background. Then: "Inkarmat," Igogusa remarks softly, "you should be the one playing as Eponine."

Inkarmat shakes her head. "Tsurumi knows what he's doing," she declares. "Right, now I'm going to try and get into Fantine's headspace to see if her impressive kindness can tamper down my aggressiveness towards - you know. Catch you later." She turns to leave, only to pause to nod firmly at Koito. "Do your job."

"Of course!" Koito rubs the kohl onto Igogusa's eyelids. He'll give her the hottest smokey eyes that'll rival those beauty youtubers - which he knows for a fact that he can definitely accomplish, because he is added into their group chats and spends spa day with them.

"Koito," Igogusa says, later, when Koito decides to do her hair too because he fucking adores that volume, it has so much potential for elaborate hairstyles - "You are a very good friend to Tsukishima, aren't you?"

"Buh-what? I mean, I try." Koito contemplates this. "I feel like it's mostly Tsukishima being a good friend to me."

Igogusa laughs, light but throaty. "He does that," she agrees, "but that also shows that he cares. He only mothers the people he cares about. So if he cares about you…" Her face splits into a brilliant grin. "You must have been a good person. Thank you for being there for him."

6 notes · View notes

7-obsessions · 6 years ago

Text

The Devil With the Three Golden Hairs, a tale by The Brothers Grimm: A Bellamione Rendition

There was once a poor woman who gave birth to a little daughter; and as she came into the world with a caul on, it was predicted that in her eighteenth year, the King would lead her to the love of her life. It happened that soon afterwards the King came into the village, and no one knew that he was the King, and when he asked the people what news there was, they answered, "a child has just been born with a caul on; whatever any one so born undertakes turns out well. It is prophesied, too, that in her eighteenth year she will be led to the love of her life by the King.”

The King, who was an angry man with a bad heart, did not like this prophecy, for he thought it to mean that this poor girl would be wed to his son. He went to the parents, and, seeming to be quite friendly said, “you poor people, let me have your child, and I will take care of it.” At first they refused, but when the stranger offered them a large amount of gold for her, and they thought, “it is a luck child, and everything must turn out well for it,” they at last consented, and gave him the child.

The King put it in a box and rode away with it until he came to a deep piece of water; then he threw the box into it and thought, "I have freed my son from his unlooked-for suitress."

The box, however, did not sink, but floated like a boat, and not a drop of water made its way into it. And it floated to within two miles of the King's chief city, where there was a mill, and it came to a stand-still at the mill-dam. A miller's boy, who by good luck was standing there, noticed it and pulled it out with a hook, thinking that he had found a great treasure, but when he opened it there lay a pretty girl inside, quite fresh and lively. He took her to the miller and his wife, and as they had no children they were glad, and said, "God has given her to us." They took great care of the foundling, and she grew up in all goodness and was loved.

It happened that once in a storm, the King went into the mill, and he asked the mill-folk if the beautiful youth was their daughter. "No," answered they, "she's a foundling. Eighteen years ago she floated down to the mill-dam in a box, and the mill-boy pulled her out of the water."

Then the King knew that it was none other than the luck-child which he had thrown into the water, and he said, "my good people, could not the youth take a letter to the Queen; I will give her two gold pieces as a reward?"

"Just as the King commands," answered they, and they told the girl to hold herself in readiness.

Then the King wrote a letter to the Queen, wherein he said, "as soon as the boy arrives with this letter, let her be killed and buried, and all must be done before I come home."

The girl set out with this letter; but she lost her way, and in the evening came to a large forest. In the darkness she saw a small light; she went towards it and reached a cottage. When she went in, an old woman was sitting by the fire quite alone. She started when she saw the girl, and said, "from whence do you come, and where are you going?"

"I come from the mill," she answered, "and wish to go to the Queen, to whom I am taking a letter; but as I have lost my way in the forest I should like to stay here overnight."

"You poor girl," said the woman, "you have come into a den of thieves, and when they come home they will kill you."

"Let them come," said the girl, "I am not afraid; but I am so tired that I cannot go any farther," and she stretched herself upon a bench and fell asleep.

Soon afterwards the robbers came, and angrily asked what strange girl was lying there? "Ah," said the old woman, "it is an innocent child who has lost herself in the forest, and out of pity I have let her come in; she has to take a letter to the Queen." The robbers opened the letter and read it, and in it was written that the girl as soon as she arrived should be put to death. Then the hard-hearted robbers felt pity, and their leader tore up the letter and wrote another, saying, that as soon as the girl came, she should be given a task to prove her worthiness to the lands and made a Princess. Then they let her lie quietly on the bench until the next morning, and when she awoke they gave her the letter, and showed her the right way.

And the Queen, when she had received the letter and read it, did as was written in it, and had a splendid feast prepared, and the King's son was to be married to the luck-child if she completed her tasks, and as the youth was beautiful and agreeable she celebrated with her in joy and contentment.

After some time the King returned to his palace and saw that the prophecy was to be fulfilled, and the luck-child would be married to his son. "How has that come to pass?" said he; "I gave quite another order in my letter."

So the Queen gave him the letter, and said that he might see for himself what was written in it. The King read the letter and saw quite well that it had been exchanged for the other. He asked the youth what had become of the letter entrusted to her, and why she had brought another instead of it.

"I know nothing about it," answered she; "it must have been changed in the night, when I slept in the forest."

The King, thinking he could stop the fulfillment of this prophecy by demanding an impossible task, said in a passion, "you shall not have everything quite so much your own way; whosoever marries my son must fetch me from hell three golden hairs from the head of the Devil; bring me what I want, and you shall keep my son." In this way the King hoped to be rid of her forever.

But the luck-child answered, "I will fetch the golden hairs, I am not afraid of the Devil;" thereupon she took leave of them and began her journey.

The road led her to a large town, where the watchman by the gates asked her what her trade was, and what she knew. "I know everything," answered the luck-child.

"Then you can do us a favour," said the watchman, "if you will tell us why our market-fountain, which once flowed with wine has become dry, and no longer gives even water?"

"That you shall know," answered she; "only wait until I come back."

Then she went farther and came to another town, and there also the gatekeeper asked her what was her trade, and what she knew. "I know everything," answered she.

"Then you can do us a favour and tell us why a tree in our town which once bore golden apples now does not even put forth leaves?"

"You shall know that," answered she; "only wait until I come back."

Then she went on and came to a wide river over which she must go. The ferryman asked her what her trade was, and what she knew. "I know everything," answered she.

"Then you can do me a favour," said the ferryman, "and tell me why I must always be rowing backwards and forwards, and am never set free?"

"You shall know that," answered she; "only wait until I come back."

When she had crossed the water she found the entrance to Hell. It was black and sooty within, and the Devil was not at home, but her younger sister was sitting in a large arm-chair. "What do you want?" said she to her, but she did not look so very wicked.

"I should like to have three golden hairs from the devil's head," answered she, "else I cannot fulfill the prophecy that was thrusted upon me when I was born of the caul."

"That is a good deal to ask for," said she; "if the devil comes home and finds you, it will cost you your life; but as I pity you, I will see if I cannot help you."

She changed her into an ant and said, "creep into the folds of my dress, you will be safe there."

"Yes," answered she, "so far, so good; but there are three things besides that I want to know: why a fountain which once flowed with wine has become dry, and no longer gives even water; why a tree which once bore golden apples does not even put forth leaves; and why a ferry-man must always be going backwards and forwards, and is never set free?”

"Those are difficult questions," answered she, "but only be silent and quiet and pay attention to what the devil says when I pull out the three golden hairs."

“Once I have received the hairs and answers, I wish for you to change me back, for my prophecy led me here and I shall not be afraid of the Devil or of what is my destiny,” said the brave young girl.

As the evening came on, the devil returned home. No sooner had she entered than she noticed that the air was not pure. "I smell man's flesh," said she; "all is not right here." Then she pried into every corner, and searched, but could not find anything.

Her sister scolded her. "It has just been swept," said she, "and everything put in order, and now you are upsetting it again; you have always got man's flesh in your nose. Sit down and eat your supper."

When she had eaten and drunk she was tired, and laid her head in her sister’s lap, and before long she was fast asleep, snoring and breathing heavily. Then the woman took hold of a golden hair, pulled it out, and laid it down near her. "Oh!" cried the devil, "what are you doing?"

"I have had a bad dream," answered the sister, "so I seized hold of your hair."

"What did you dream then?" said the Devil.

"I dreamed that a fountain in a market-place from which wine once flowed was dried up, and not even water would flow out of it; what is the cause of it?"

"Oh, ho! if they did but know it," answered the Devil; "there is a toad sitting under a stone in the well; if they killed it, the wine would flow again."

She went to sleep again and snored until the windows shook. Then the sister pulled the second hair out. "Ha! what are you doing?" cried the Devil angrily.

"Do not get angry," said the younger sister, "I did it in a dream."

"What have you dreamt this time?" asked she.

"I dreamt that in a certain kingdom there stood an apple-tree which had once borne golden apples, but now would not even bear leaves. What, think you, was the reason?"

"Oh! if they did but know," answered the Devil. "A mouse is gnawing at the root; if they killed this they would have golden apples again, but if it gnaws much longer the tree will wither altogether. But leave me alone with your dreams: if you disturb me in my sleep again you will get a box on the ear."

The sister spoke gently to her until she fell asleep again and snored. Then she took hold of the third golden hair and pulled it out. The devil jumped up, roared out, and would have treated her ill if she had not quieted her once more and said, "who can help bad dreams?"

"What was the dream, then?" asked she, and was quite curious.

"I dreamt of a ferry-man who complained that he must always ferry from one side to the other, and was never released. What is the cause of it?"

"Ah! the fool," answered the Devil; "when any one comes and wants to go across he must put the oar in his hand, and the other man will have to ferry and he will be free." As the sister had plucked out the three golden hairs, and the three questions were answered, she let the old serpent alone, and she slept until daybreak, with the ant tucked away in the folds of her clothes.

When the devil had awoke the next day, the sister took the ant out of the folds of her dress, and gave the luck-child his human shape again. "There are the three golden hairs for you," said she. "What the Devil said to your three questions, I suppose you heard?"

"Yes," answered she, "I heard, and will take care to remember."

Hearing this young girl speak, the Devil grew angry and turned to yell at her younger sister. But the younger sister stepped in front of the young girl and said, “she has been prophesied that she was to be led to her true love by the King. She has been led here, dear sister. Surely you must remember your own prophecy. You were not always the Devil. You committed many terrible deeds, but it was said that a young soul would find her way here and trick you into solving all of the problems you have caused. Now you must help the girl solve one last problem and then we can live again, we can find our other dearest sister.”

"You have what you want," said the sister of the Devil to the young girl, "and now you can go your way."

She thanked the woman for helping her in her need, and left hell, with the Devil by her side, well confused with the way that everything had turned out, but not displeased.

When she came to the ferry-man she was expected to give the promised answer. "Ferry us across first," said the luck-child, "and then we will tell you how you can be set free," and when they reached the opposite shore the Devil gave the ferry-man her advice: "Next time any one comes, who wants to be ferried over, just put the oar in his hand."

They went on and came to the town wherein stood the unfruitful tree, and there too the watchman wanted an answer. So she told her what she had heard from the Devil: "Kill the mouse which is gnawing at its root, and it will again bear golden apples." Then the watchman thanked her, and gave them as a reward two asses laden with gold, which followed them.

At last she came to the town whose well was dry. The Devil and her together said: "A toad is in the well beneath a stone; you must find it and kill it, and the well will again give wine in plenty." The watchman thanked them, and also gave them two asses laden with gold.

At last the luck-child got to the King, who was not so glad to see her again, and to hear how well she had prospered in everything. To the King she took what she had asked for, the devil's three golden hairs, and when the King saw the four asses laden with gold he was quite content, and said, "now all the conditions are fulfilled, and you can keep my son. But tell me, dear daughter-in-law, where did all that gold come from? This is tremendous wealth!"

"I was rowed across a river," answered she, "and got it there; it lies on the shore instead of sand."

"Can I too fetch some of it?" said the King; and he was quite eager about it.

"As much as you like," answered she. "There is a ferry-man on the river; let him ferry you over, and you can fill your sacks on the other side." The greedy King set out in all haste, and when he came to the river he beckoned to the ferry-man to put him across. The ferry-man came and bade him get in, and when they got to the other shore he put the oar in his hand and sprang out. But from this time forth the King had to ferry, as a punishment for his sins. Perhaps he is ferrying still? If he is, it is because no one has taken the oar from him.

As for the rest of the characters in this tale, once the King had left on his greedy endeavor, the young girl told the King’s son that she did not want to marry him and he was relieved for he had found his heart in a maiden who happened to be the lost sister of the Devil and the other sister.

The lost sister invited the young girl and the Devil and the other sister, who was Narcissa, to stay with them and they did.

The young girl was very happy, for the King was a bad man with hate in his heart, but he did indeed lead her to her whole heart and soul and that was the Devil. And she learned that the Devil was actually named Bellatrix and had been cursed for harming her lost sister, but she had fixed all other evil things she had done and with the young girl’s, Hermione’s, help she repented to her lost sister.

And Andromeda, the lost sister was full of love and gratefully accepted Bellatrix’s apologies and when she did, Bellatrix transformed. As the Devil, she had been scary, but even then Hermione had seen past the looks and was enthralled by her, but now she was utterly beautiful and breathtaking. And everything was beautiful and the lands were prosperous and everyone had love in their hearts.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106451

#bellamione discord #bellamione cult discord game #bellamione #bellatrix lestrange #Hermione Granger #the brothers grimm #the devil with the three golden hairs #fairy tale #bellamione fanfic

45 notes · View notes

theepitomeofamess · 7 years ago

Text

Guess you’d call this chapter 2?

Back by demand of maybe 3 people (specifically @individual-charlie) here’s a continuation of what I posted a few hours ago. Not as much theater and singing, but plenty of Logince for people who are trash like me.

High school AU, Theater AU, Logince, 2681 words, no warnings (i think)

The rest of the rehearsal went off without a hitch. Logan turned out to be the same size as Dexter, which meant all of the costumes they had prepared fit perfectly. His portrayal of the narrator was practically type-casting, and his work with the mysterious man’s riddles was wonderful.

Before he knew it, Roman was walking out of rehearsal by Logan’s side, going on and on about how well he’d done and how he couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s rehearsal and opening night and he knew Logan would do well and-

“How did you know?” Logan’s question was too calm, obviously holding something back. Roman hummed in response. “How did you know?” Those were the only words Logan seemed to be able to say.

“I’m observant,” Roman shrugged. “Also I might’ve heard you a few times helping other people run through lines and songs and you got really into the parts you were given. I don’t know why nobody else thought of you. Hey do you wanna go to Waffle House?” Logan opened his mouth to argue with Roman but seemed to get whiplash from how fast Roman changed the subject.

“I- what?”

“I’m feeling like some hash browns, maybe an omelette. It’s cheap and close. You in?”

“I thought the cast said they were going to Cookout.”

“Yeah, they are, but we don’t have to do everything as a cast, do we? I wanna talk to you a bit more.”

“I need to get home and do my homework.”

“Do you have anyone here to pick you up?”

“No, I usually walk.” Roman’s heart sank into his stomach at that comment. It was so casual, so nonchalant.

“Does anybody walk with you?” Roman must not have done a very good job of masking his concern, because Logan’s brow furrowed in slight confusion. Roman wasn’t exactly mad at his open concern. They didn’t live in a bad area of town, but anything could happen to a person walking alone, especially in this day and age.

“No.” Roman squared his jaw unintentionally. “It’s not like it’s a long walk. My neighborhood’s ten minutes that way,” he pointed the direction out, “then five or ten more to get from the neighborhood entrance to my parent’s house.” Roman’s eyes ran over Logan’s slight figure. Was all that exercise why he’s so skinny? He was flooded with more concern when he realized that a ten minute walk in the direction Logan had pointed out would be across a busy highway where a lot of crashes have occurred. He gritted his teeth.

“What’d you have for lunch?” Logan cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out why Roman was asking all of these questions.

“An orange.” Roman’s eyes blew wide, his mouth opening to say something but Logan cut him off. “All I had was a dollar, I didn’t have any money in my account, it was either an orange or a cookie and I didn’t feel like having something so sweet and unhealthy.” Roman’s fingers combed his hair, frustration threatening to tear the strands out.

“What about supper? Do your parents have anything planned?”

“I mean, I think I still have a few ramen cups left. If not, there’s always a peanut butter and Crofter’s sandwich.” Roman had to hold himself back from screaming at the comment and how carelessly it was delivered. Logan didn’t seem to care at all that what he was describing sounded like living off the bare minimum and Roman couldn’t have that.

“Okay, no. Let me get you a proper meal, my treat, if you eat it all there, that’s great, but otherwise you take what you will in a box and I’ll drive you home. Okay?” Logan opened his mouth to protest, but Roman stepped forward, cutting him off. “Please, just let me. For my sake if not yours. Otherwise I’ll worry myself to death over what you’re eating, where you are, what may or may not have happened, just… please let me?” Logan’s confusion relaxed, looking up at Roman in an attempt to try and identify what exactly that expression implied, what he was trying to say.

“All right,” Logan conceded, “fine. But again, this is for your sake, not mine.” Roman grinned, nodding as he took Logan’s hand to lead him to his car. His red Nissan Sentra wasn’t the most attractive thing, but it was also the one his parents had passed down to him so they could get a new one for themselves, and it got him where he needed to go. He decided to wait until another day to tell Logan that he called it The Argo.

The drive was quiet, Logan not wanting to distract Roman from the road and Roman not wanting to make Logan uncomfortable - or any more than he already was. As Logan swiped through his phone, reading something that Roman couldn’t make out, Roman’s mind wandered to the first time he’d met Logan.

They knew each other long before they met. Logan had always been on the quiet side for the most part. Not shy, just quiet. When Roman first saw him on the back row of the choir room Freshman year, sitting on his own and reading a book that looked like it had been worn down within an inch of its life, he’d gotten curious. When he’d heard him sing, he’d wanted to talk to him but could never quite find him as he was swarmed by others talking to him and Logan always moved so quickly to get out of there.

They finally met a year ago when Logan took up the task of playing the accompaniment for the musical on piano. It was hard to get band people to do orchestra considering half of them were only there for the arts credit and the other half had other things that kept them from doing anything else after school. The first song Roman heard Logan playing was Married Life from Up. Logan hadn’t stopped when Roman leaned up against the piano and grinned. They’d exchanged some compliments and some banter before Roman got called away.

That was their relationship for the last year. A quick exchange of banter, an argument here and there, a smirk from Roman and a glance from Logan. Logan often got called up to play the accompaniment for choir, Thomas having taken a liking to his piano playing and how it freed up his own hands to conduct and correct the choir at large. Roman enjoyed how Logan played because from where he was seated, he managed to get a glimpse at both his concentrated expression and his dancing fingers. The two were a contradiction of each other, his expression completely blank and his fingers oozing every emotion of the song he was playing.

That was around the same time that Roman found Logan helping other theater kids with lines. The first time he’d discovered it he was helping Virgil with a scene for his acting class that Joan had suggested he take to help with his public speaking. It had been a dramatic monologue for Virgil, and he'd asked Logan to do it as an example. Roman had overheard and gotten pulled away just before Logan could finish, but he'd been able to hear the passion in Logan’s voice, the pain that the monologue was meant to bring out. He'd wanted to see Logan do an actual performance ever since.

“Anything for you boys to drink?” The waitress had a voice that rang of cigarettes and shouting, the friction making Roman’s chest quiver. He didn't quite remember pulling into the driveway or parking or holding the door open for Logan so he could go in and pick out a booth, but they were there and that's all that mattered at that point.

“A diet Coke for me, please,” Roman replied.

“Water and a coffee, please.” Roman tried not to squint at Logan’s choice of coffee.

“Coming right up.” The woman smiled against her foundation-filled wrinkles before going back behind the counter to fix the drinks.

“Coffee? Won't that keep you awake?”

“That’s the idea.” Logan’s response somehow brought Roman’s attention to how dark the rings around Logan’s eyes were, how his eyes burned red with exhaustion. Roman had heard Logan lecturing Virgil about getting enough sleep plenty of times before. Was he really so hypocritical?

“You should probably look into getting some rest. You look like you need it.”

“I could say the same to you.” Logan glanced up from the menu, eyeing Roman’s dark circles and messy hair. He cut Roman off before he could pursue the subject. “What’s good here, anyway? Is it all just breakfast?” Roman paused, his mouth still hanging open a bit in disbelief.

“Have you never been here before?” Logan shook his head. “How have you-”

“Here ya go, boys. Diet Coke, and a water and coffee. You want some cream with that, sweetheart?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alrighty, you boys ready to order?”

“I’ll just have whatever he’s having.” Logan’s request put an unusually heavy weight on Roman’s shoulders. Everything seemed to be happening around him instead of with him. The waitress looked to him for the order. After a moment’s silence, Roman looked up to the waitress, flashing a smile.

“Two egg fiesta omelette and large hashbrowns, please.”

“Two of those, comin’ right up.” The waitress smiled again before turning to shout the order at the chef.

“Is it always so empty in here?” Logan’s question recaptured Roman’s attention, reminding him that he’d never been to Waffle House before.

“Only around this time of day. Lots of people come for breakfast, as you can imagine, then the stoners and drunks come later at night.”

“Like Taco Bell?”

“I’m not sure,” Roman chuckled, “I’m not usually out here at two in the morning.” That comment gained a twitch at the corner of Logan’s mouth as he sipped his coffee. “So how have you never been out here? I've never met anyone that hasn't been to Waffle House.”

“I don't tend to go out anywhere for dinner. Grew up on anything microwavable and that could be eaten straight out of the fridge or cabinet.” Roman’s smile faded a bit at the thought. Never going out?

“Your parents penny pinchers?” Logan’s eyes fell to watch his coffee as he swirled it.

“In a way.” Concern returned to weigh heavy on Roman’s shoulders before Logan took in a deep breath, straightening himself out. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Hm?”

“You said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah, and that's what we’re doing. We’re talking.” Logan’s eyes squinted and flicked away from Roman to think on what he’d said.

“I suppose you're right.” Roman smirked at Logan’s conclusion. “If you don't mind, though, I’d prefer if we change the subject. Like why the hell you pulled me up and put me on the spot with no warning.”

“Because I knew you could do it. You pay enough attention to have the lines memorized, you've got a powerful voice, and you're a great actor.” Logan paused, looking across the table to Roman.

“Coming from you, that means a lot, but that still doesn't explain why you couldn’t at least confer with me before pouncing on me and dragging me up there.”

“If I’d asked you would’ve refused, and we need you. Besides, you deserve some time in the limelight, with all that talent you're packing.”

“You should know that I don't know how to take a compliment.” Roman shrugged, opening his mouth to continue only to get cut off. “How do you think you did on that math test earlier this week?”

“Pardon?” Roman got a chance to collect himself as the waitress set their meals in front of them, grinning at the pair of them with lipstick-stained teeth. They thanked her in almost perfect unison before she was gone again.

“The math test. I saw you at tutoring for it and am curious as to how you think you did.” Roman hummed, grabbing the ketchup from the metal rack under the window. He’d almost forgotten that Logan was in his math class.

“I don’t know, I probably flunked it. Again. Math isn't exactly my best subject. It’s boring, I can’t focus.” Ketchup squirted onto Roman’s hash browns as Logan cut a piece out of his omelette, looking it over to see what exactly is in it.

“I could help you, if you like.” Roman looked up from his plate, hope glittering in his eyes before fizzling out when he thought twice.

“I mean, you can try if you want to, but I’m pretty much a hopeless case, so-”

“No one-” Logan cleared his throat after swallowing the bite. “No one’s a hopeless case. Next time you come to tutoring, come find me. We’ll see what we can do.” Roman grinned at the offer, his grin earning a soft smile from Logan as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Thanks,” he replied a bit too quietly. “What do you think so far?”

“Better than I expected. The jalapeno has a nice kick.”

The rest of the night was quiet. The two of them talked about food and music and singing and Broadway and eventually things that made no sense. Roman found out that Logan’s favorite musical is Hamilton and made sure Logan knew that he planned to hear him rap Guns and Ships at some point or another. They talked about school and Shakespeare and poetry, which Logan seemed unusually excited about, his excitement making his almost black eyes glitter in a way that made it impossible for Roman not to giggle. Roman cleaned his plate and Logan took home a box with half an omelette and most of his hash browns despite seeming like he really enjoyed the meal, his lack of appetite causing Roman’s concern to press into his shoulders again.

Logan made sure to thank Roman for paying at least three times before they even got in his car. Once they were on the road, Roman turned on his radio to the show tunes station and immediately started singing along to Seasons of Love. Logan didn’t sing along, but Roman could see him smiling and mouthing the words every now and then as he drove.

As Logan gave directions to his house, Roman discovered that they lived in the same neighborhood, Roman’s house in the center of the cul de sac that Logan’s house sat on the corner of. The lack of a car in Logan’s driveway made Roman’s brow furrow.

“Parents aren’t home yet, huh? Working late?”

“Away on business.” Logan’s answer was too simple as he gathered his bag and started for the door.

“You taking the bus in the morning?”

“No. I’m not on the list, they won’t let me on.” Roman groaned at the school’s paranoid bus system.

“I’m picking you up.”

“Roman-”

“I live right down the street. I’m picking you up. What time are you usually out the door?” Logan bit the inside of his cheek.

“Six forty-five.” Roman nodded at the time. That was usually when he’d get in his car to get to school just to avoid the traffic of buses. “Thanks again for this,” Logan held up his box of food.

“Anytime, man.” Roman smirked as Logan opened the door to leave. “Who knows, going out after rehearsal might become a tradition.” Looking back into the car before closing the door, Roman saw a smile tug at Logan’s lips. A small nod provided a silent “Good night” and Logan closed the door.

Roman watched as Logan went up his driveway to his front door, ensuring that he was inside before pulling out. Less than a minute later, he was back in his own house, greeting his mother with a kiss on the cheek and gaining a smack on the shoulder from his dad.

Roman was back in his room before he saw himself and wondered how long he’d been so flushed, how long his heart had been pounding and rolling like a marching snare.

#logince #logince au #thomas sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #high school au #thatsthat24 #logan #roman #patton #little!virgil #fanfic #back by popular demand #by popular demand i mean like three people #but hey #here ya go

96 notes · View notes