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tessiete · 4 years ago

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hi ive read like all your stuff about korkie is a kenobi in the span of about three days and i'm so EMOTIONAL?? it makes such narrative sense - star wars is a story about fathers and sons and what happens when mothers are lost and in eternal spring, when obi wan doesn't reject korkie, and korkie doesn't reject obi wan, and they love each other and accept each other despite the gaping hole that satine left in their relationship it like heals and breaks that cycle of little blonde boys being 1/

of little blonde boys being left in the desert without their mothers and with father figures who don't quite accept the responsibility of being a father to all of their detriments! it lets padme live, and it lets luke escape, and it lets everyone who wants to heal and work towards a better future. anyway, this is some Good Fucking Food and thank u for writing it. if you're still open to prompts i would really like to see some kryze-kenobi family bonding. just the three of them happy and together

AH! This has been sitting so beautifully, and lovingly in my inbox for ages now, and I do apologise, but I just - I saw fluff and I panicked. I PANICKED!!!

And, as you can probably see, wrote reams of whump and h/c instead. But I tried.

Anyway, there is so much I want to say about this - I’m going to have to bookmark this whole thing just so I can come back again and again to your generous words. Thank you! I do have such a fondness for Eternal Spring, and whether or not it began as a joke, I am SO attached to the idea of Korkie as a Kenobi, the idea that blood isn’t always bad, that healing can happen, that good people make mistakes, that forgiveness IS an option - and I love how that aligns with the Pacifism of Satine’s New Mandalorians. I wish we had more of it (that insistent, unrelenting kindness and compassion) in SW, and Korkie is my little effort at that.

RANTING ASIDE, I hope you find and enjoy this little bit of fluff for the Kenobi-Kryzes. MUCH LOVE.

AND BY THE HAND LED

It was not Life Day. It was not Holyrod week, and Belli’s birthday had been a full ten month ago. Yet still, on this day, Kirokicek Kryze woke with the sun, and raced to his window where he could see the Sundari dockyard in the distance.

Personal shuttles buzzed to and fro. Docking tugs hauled heavy freighters into place. Long, thin vactrains hurtled passengers from one platform to the next, or further on into the heart of the city. A few large ferries which had found mooring overnight made their ponderous voyage upwards, headed for the small opening at the apex of the Sundari dome. They were bound for transports anchored in wet space, the people aboard away for deep space travel to distant stars.

Korkie watched as one neared the aperture, then, with incredible steadiness of hand, cleared the narrow gap with ease. He let go his breath, but his eyes remained fixed upon the opening. He was not much concerned with the ships that left, but instead found great interest in those ferries which were currently arriving.

They took turns - one in, one out - and with every exchange, Korkie felt as though the city was making room for a very special guest. One who loomed larger than life in his young consciousness, and one who occupied more and more space in his heart the closer he came.

Bebu was coming home.

A knock at his door was not enough to tear his attention from the spectacle outside, but he shuffled over to make room for his mother beside him at the window.

“Good morning, cyar'ika,” she said, pressing a kiss to his hair. “And what has got you up so early?”

She still wore her nightclothes beneath a fine gown of pressed velvet. Korkie leaned back into her embrace, stroking the soft fabric, and letting the warm, sweet smell of sleep wash over him.

“I’m watching the dockyards,” he said. “Look! Do you think that one of them has Bebu on it?”

Satine let her chin rest on the crown of his head, and followed his gaze to the sky.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “Are you excited for your Bebu to come home?”

Korkie turned, trying to get a glimpse of her expression which could only be as teasing as his own was incredulous. She smiled.

“Excited, Belli?” he asked. “I am so, so, superlatively excited!”

“My,” she said, her face transforming to one of awe. “That is quite a superlative word you have discovered. Is it new?”

Korkie nodded. “I am saving it for Bebu, for our collection. Do you think he shall like it?”

“I think he shall be quite impressed, dinui.”

“I have another, but I always say it wrong, so I think I shall write it down, instead.”

“That is very wise,” she said. “For then there is no chance of misunderstanding, and then your father can teach you to speak it correctly.”

Korkie grinned, and squeezed her hand, so glad to be in such perfect accord.

“That was exactly my plan, Belli!”

“Te jatne mind jo'lekir ti ast,” she said, laughing. “Now come.”

“Are we going to the docks?”

“Not yet,” she said. “First meal first, I think, and then we shall see.”

She stood from her place behind Korkie, and smoothed her skirts. The early morning sun fell kindly over her face, so that it lit her eyes from behind, like the facet of some bright gem. She held out her hand to him.

“But Belli -!”

“Is that fussing I hear coming out of your mouth?” she asked, the perfect image of confusion.

“No,” he conceded, hanging his head in defeat.

“I thought not,” she said. “Not my Korkie. Besides, we must first ensure that we are properly fed, and tidied before we appear at the docks. We cannot have our tummies grumbling and complaining while we are at the height of a superlative joy, now can we?”

“That would be rather distracting,” he allowed.

“And what would your father think if you showed up all bleary eyed, and sleep tousled? He’d hardly recognise you!”

“That’s not true,” protested Korkie. “He’d think me a ‘devoted legislator’. He said so last time.”

Satine cocked her head, a smirk curling in the corner of her mouth, and pinned just there, until such a time as she could give it to the owner of those borrowed words.

“Well, cyare, I cannot think he meant it as a compliment,” she said, wiggling her fingers temptingly. “Now come - to firsts.

In the kitchens, his mother suggested they arrange a menu, scrounged from the conservator and pantry, while the staff set about preparing for the rest of their day.

“No need to bother anyone too much when it’s just us, right?” She placed a stool in front of an out of the way countertop, and held his hand while Korkie made a great leap to stand atop it. “Now, what are we hungry for?”

“Isbeans, and egg!” he cried. “With fresh muja juice!”

“Muja juice!” she echoed in surprise. “My, but we’re feeling quite indulgent today!”

“Well, it is a special occasion!” he said.

“Of course, you’re right. Muja juice it is. Anything else, ad’ika?”

He thought for a moment, but knowing how easily she had acceded to his first request, he concluded it most reasonable to forward several more.

“Perhaps some toast,” he said. “And flatcakes. And melon squares with black fire jelly? And then some moof milk and summerberries because they’ll go bad if we don’t eat them. With sucre crystals on the top. And maybe - only because Bebu says it’s healthy - a cup of kava. But just one, or I’ll be up all night.”

She crouched down to meet him, mischief sparkling in her eyes and not a word of protest at his requests. Instead, her tone was conspiratorial, as though they were together in some great game of hide and hunt.

“Let’s brew a whole pot,” she said. “So that we may share it.”

He laughed in delight. Satine pulled down a tin of weava flour, and let him sprinkle the surface while she portioned out another measure into a shallow bowl for flatcakes. Under her careful eye, he cracked a tip-yip egg, and tipped in some sucre. She worked the mixture into a sticky dough, and portioned out small spheres for Korkie to press out upon the counter. Cook A’den looked on skeptically, but when his stack of raw discs began to pile up, she stepped in with a sigh, and a fond smile and lifted him on her hip while she fried them over a nano-cooker.

As he worked, Satine gathered the berries and the milk, and a little pot of sucre. Helping hands piled plates high with toast, and ulik butter. Isbeans and hard boiled eggs followed, kept warm beneath heated domes. A whole pitcher of ice cold muja juice was produced from the conservator, and a fresh pot of kava was left to steep with wide, green leaves still in it. There was so much food that, in the end, a small cart was required to bear the fruits of their labours, while Korkie added the final touch of perfectly browned flatcakes.

Normally, they would eat their firsts in the family dining hall, but Satine insisted that she could not possibly do so while still dressed in her nightclothes.

“And scandalise the whole parliament? I think not, my very shocking dinui. No, it’s best we take everything back to my rooms, and eat there where no one will think us as uncivilised as we appear.”

So with many thanks to A’den, and her workers, Korkie followed his mother down the glistening marbloid halls with their wide windows. The sun was nearly all the way up, and the traffic in the sky had only increased since Korkie last looked. He was hit with the sudden realisation that perhaps many ferries had come and gone in his absence, and any one of them might contain his father. He raced to the window to check.

“Come along, Korkie,” said Satine. “Soon. I promise.”

Torn between food and the possibility that his father was waiting for him even now, Korkie gave into the demands of his hunger, and followed his mother down the hall.

They stopped outside her door, the cart pushed just off to the side. Satine looked at him appraisingly, smoothing one hand over his determinedly erstwhile hair.

“Oh dear,” she said, straightening his synfleece robe, as he reached for the cart to steal a summerberry from the pile. “You do look a sight. But I suppose it cannot be helped.”

She gave him a fond caress, her thumb tracing the swell of his little cheek with such reverence, and care that Korkie nearly felt guilty for snatching the fruit. But she smiled as he swallowed, and he supposed it must just have been one of those strange things buirs did from time to time, where they mixed up joy and sorrow and said nothing about it.

“I shall comb my hair later, Belli,” he offered. That seemed to do the trick, for she laughed, and stood, and gave his hand a brief squeeze.

“I will remember you said that,” she said. “Now, be a good boy and get the door for your Belli, would you?”

She returned to the cart, as he wiped his hands down the length of his robe, and reached for the palmpad. The door chimed, and slid aside with the barest sigh of air. Inside, Korkie could see that the curtains had been pulled back, and the room was flooded blue and gold with the oncoming day. Playful shadows danced across the floor where hanging tassels toyed with the sun. The carpet glistened like thick grass, lush and crowned in dew. A small table with three chairs sat to one side, and an old cloak lay thrown across it. There were boots, too large for his mother to wear, a belt too wide to be hers, and there, in the bed, swaddled in silkweed sheets and haloed by the sun, was Obi-Wan Kenobi, hovering on the edge of waking.

“Bebu!” Korkie shouted.

At his cry, Obi-Wan opened his eyes, and smiled, catching his son as raced across the floor and leapt upon the bed in a single motion.

“Ah, ner wer'ika! Ni mirdir tion'tuur gar ru'kel olaror. Bic cuyir ori'udes tion'tuur gar cuyir dar.”

“Bebu!” Korkie cried again, laughing and wriggling with joy. His father lifted him over his head, holding him aloft as he made his cursory examination.

“Korkicek!” he groaned, as his strength gave out and Korkie tumbled atop his father’s chest in a tangle of limbs and blankets. “You must be very much grown since I last saw you, for you are getting too heavy for me!”

“No, I’m not, Bebu,” he said. “I’ve only grown two centimeteres since you were gone, and Belli says that’s only because I’m on a spurt.”

“Only two centimeters?” Obi-Wan demands. “Dear me, that’s not very much at all. I shall expect more diligence in your efforts at stretching if we are to make any serious headway in this matter.”

Korkie giggled. “Don’t be silly, Bebu,” he said. “I cannot stretch myself bigger. It takes time.”

“And heavy reading,” Obi-Wan agreed gravely.

“And good eating,” Satine added from behind them. She’d set the table in their distraction. Obi-Wan’s cloak now hung respectably from a hook by the fresher blind, and three plates sat waiting to be filled. The isbeans steamed, their skin crackling and blackened. The flatcakes dripped with galek syrup and butter. The summerberries shone plump and delectable in their precarious pyramid. The black fire jellies jiggled, and the muja juice sparkled.

“Is that fresh kava I smell?” asked Obi-Wan.

“It is!” said Korkie. “And all sorts of things which Belli and I made! I suppose it’s a lucky thing we made so much extra, for now you can share it with us.”

“A lucky thing, indeed,” Obi-Wan agreed. He looked at Satine with such adoration that the smirk she had pinned up earlier unfurled completely and crossed her face in a radiant smile.

“Come, Bebu,” said Korkie, taking his father’s hand in his. “Enough lazing about in bed. Let’s eat, or the kava will get cold.”

“Quite right,” Obi-Wan agreed, standing as Korkie slid to his feet beside him, and tugged him over to where Satine was waiting. “We can’t have that.”

“And you may have my cup as well,” added Korkie, magnanimously, “As it is truly a rotten drink, even if you say it is healthy. But since it is such a special day, I don’t think I should be forced to have it, anyway.”

“He drives a hard bargain, your son,” said Obi-Wan, leaning in to beg a small kiss.

“Ah, but of course,” said Satine, quick to grant his request. “He gets that from you, cyare.”

“Ah, ner wer'ika! Ni mirdir tion'tuur gar ru'kel olaror. Bic cuyir ori'udes tion'tuur gar cuyir dar.” - Ah, my little terror! I was wondering when you might show up. It has been far too quiet without you.

“Te jatne mind jo'lekir ti ast” - The best mind agrees with itself. (read: Great minds think alike.)

ad’ika, dinui, cyare - little one, gift, beloved.

#my fic #prompt fill #korkie is a kenobi #korkie kryze #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine #fluff #fic

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eryiss · 3 years ago

Text

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Mature [Blackmail]

Prompt: Masters

Summary: Magnolia House was an odd place. Owned by the reclusive madman Dreyar, and run by his supposed lover Freed, getting an invitation was seen as a death sentence. So when the letter arrived at Lucy's door after months of anonymous blackmail, she felt her life was over. How wrong she was.

Notes: This is the seventh submission for Fraxus Week 2021, hope you enjoy it. Check out @fuckyeahfraxus to see lots of other Fraxus content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

The Masters Of Magnolia House

Year: 1835

Location: Athens, Greece

When you lived in the upper classes, there were certain unwritten rules that you needed to follow, particularly when you were a lady. You were expected to keep your emotions to yourself, nobody wanted a hysterical woman. You were to flirt with a man to keep his favour, if acting stupid got you there then you did that. You were to do as you're told and keep the equilibrium; sometimes leaving the room was better anyway. Men probably had rules that they had to follow, but Lucy didn't care to learn them. They would hardly help her.

But one rule, unwritten and without explanation, was true for men, women, and children. If you get an invitation to Magnolia House, you attend.

Master Dreyar was a reclusive lord, who had removed himself from polite society and crossed the sea to live on the continent. The stories of his person were ride-ranged and never complimentary. Some claimed him to be a prolific blackmailer, who could bring countries to their knees should the mood strike him. Others called him mad, with manners that could change with the wind and a temper that made him strike first and not apologise.

When the lord had left England, the gentry had held a collective sigh of relief.

That was until the first letter arrived.

Stories were wide spread and perhaps exaggerated. A young lord, known for drunken behaviour and general disrespect to the elders of the country, was invited to stay at Magnolia House in Athens for a week. His declined the request, apparently sending another letter claiming that 'the rule of Dreyar is over' and a multitude of suggestions on what the lord should do to himself; none of them kind. Within a month, a newspaper local to the lord's home had mysteriously gotten wind of the letter sent, as well as written testimonies from barmaids, shop clerks, housemaids and the youngest daughter of a nearby respectable home all showing a pattern of aggressive and forceful behaviour. The scandal was quick to take root, and spread like flames across oil. The lord's reputation was rightfully ruined, and a president was set.

The rule of Dreyar was not over, simply redefined. If Lord Dreyar sent you a letter, you took the trip or suffered the consequences.

Lucy had gotten such a letter, and as such was terrified.

For months, other letters had been arriving at her home. At first they were vague, requesting favours of her father with the hinted suggestions that her life would be in ruins if the orders not followed. She ignored them, but they kept coming. Each time, they were less subtle and more overt with what would happen. Lucy's… affair with the daughter of her father's valet – Cana Alberona– would be made public. And then when the threats became more personal, more vicious, the other letter came. A letter demanding Lucy's presence in Greece for the last two weeks of July. Dread had overtaken her, and she was slightly ashamed to admit she cried that night in her lover's arms, but now her head was held high and her spine straight. She would hold her dignity throughout this if nothing else.

As she approached the front door to the austere, white stoned house, it opened, and a man walked through it. He was tall, had long flowing hair that rested below his waist, and wore a suit Lucy expected to be uncomfortable given the heat. He walked to her with a professional smile, footsteps long and confident.

"Miss Heartfilia, I presume," The man spoke with an accent not quite English, but not quite Greek either. "May I take your bags?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Lucy spoke a little higher than she normally would, and put on the slightest show of struggling to hand them to him, so he could feel better about himself when he lifted them. She would do this with dignity, yes, but she would not be ashamed of trying to find some solace in the situation. If someone was on her side, that was at least something.

"Thank you ma'am," The man said as he took the bags and turned to the door. "If you'd like to follow me, I can show you to your room."

"Thank you, very much," She smiled, and batted her eyelids.

The man seemed more patient than flattered in his responding smile, and Lucy could guess why. The man was handsome, and no doubt had women fawning over him; all the more reason to flirt, Lucy thought. It was better to flirt with a man uninterested than to not flirt with a man who expected it and would act with anger and a raised hand if he didn't get what he wanted. When he started to walk to the house, Lucy followed in step and kept pace, looking at the admittedly beautiful building that would be her home for two weeks.

"During your stay here, if there's anything you need assistance with, I'll be happy to oblige as best I can," The man spoke again, and Lucy glanced to see him looking forward with a polite smile. "My name is Freed Justine. I am the master of the home."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lucy said on instinct, then confusedly she continued. "I thought Lord Dreyar was the master of the house."

"He is," Freed nodded. "Perhaps I was misleading, the terminology for my job doesn't exists in polite society. I am the master of this house in the same way a butler is the master of their house. I control what happens, to suit the Master Dreyar's needs. I am his mouthpiece to the staff when needs be, when the master is unavailable or unwilling to make a decision about day-to-day goings on then I will speak in his place, and, as you can tell, I am the personal representative for the house, hence why I'm greeting you today."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Lucy said, blinking as the shadow of the house hit her. "I must admit, I can't quite see how that differs from a butler."

"There are more aspects to my job. I also act as the master's valet, a job with which I take great pride," Freed's smile grew a little, Lucy noticed. "But I suppose the greatest difference between a butler and what I consider myself to do if obedience. A butler follows his master's word to the letter, unquestioningly and without complaint. I do anything but."

"Oh," Lucy said, not entirely sure what to say to that. "That's… agreeable to Master Dreyar?"

"Agreeable? No, not agreeable," Freed laughed a little. "But he's long since stopped trying to argue the matter with me. He knows when I'm right."

Lucy saw no further road for the conversation, though her interest was piqued. Lord Dreyar was someone she knew more by reputation rather than by interaction, and she had made the man into this monolithic beast who would tear others down for his own amusement. That seemed to be what all of England thought of the man, and yet a member of his staff claimed he was accepting of criticism and would amend his ways. Even if untrue – which it probably was – Lucy would have expected anyone working for the Lord Dreyar she believed in would be scared to death of making such a comment. If nothing else, this would be an eye-opening fortnight.

The inside of the building was as beautiful as the outside. It had many large windows that let in the sun, plants were strewn in pots with calculated haphazardness, and it seemed like a conscious rejection of Englishness. It was rather beautiful.

Freed walked to the grand staircase and climbed it, and Lucy kept pace with him, resisting the urge to look around and sate her curiosity about Greek culture. There would be enough time for that during the next two weeks, and she was still making her first impression with the supposed master of the house. If Freed were as close to Master Dreyar as he suggested, the mouthpiece aspects of their relationship may work both ways. Freed might be greeting the guests to get a good sense of them on his master's behalf.

Within a few minutes, Lucy was escorted to what would be her room for the next two weeks. Freed placed her bags beside the bed, and two maids seemed to appear out of nowhere to unpack them. Before her clothing could be seen, Freed stepped out and stood beside the door; perhaps as not to see her underthing's. Lucy joined him, rather than getting under the maids' feet.

"I might need to rely on you to show me around," Lucy laughed falsely. "It's something of a maze."

Freed paused for a moment, and Lucy wondered if she'd made a mistake.

"Miss Heartfilia, if I may speak candidly, you needn't do that here," Freed spoke, the professionally rigid tone slipping a little. "Many people come to Greece to get away from the confines of England. Be that the confines of the people, the culture, or even simply the weather. I suggest you take the chance to shake off the restraints of English culture."

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"It probably won't shock you to know we've looked into you," Freed smiled. "And in our research, we found you to be an incredibly intelligent woman. Well read, intuitive, and quick to solve a puzzle. You're not in England, you're in Greece. For two weeks. It's a grace period for you. For these two weeks, you're an unknown person living with a madman. Prioritize yourself how you wish, not how society wishes."

Was this a test? It felt like a means to an end, not an offer. "I'm still not sure what you mean, Mister Justine."

"You may be whoever you wish to be while you're here, Miss Heartfilia. Batting your eyelids and acting the naïve darling to flatter me isn't as important as it would be at home. If you wish to be intelligent and advertise your intellectual superiority, then do so," Freed smiled, stepping from the door and walking across the hall. "In the spirit of that, you will have free reign to use this room however you wish."

He opened the door, revealing what Lucy could only describe as a library. It was hardly larger than a bedroom, but with high shelves of dust-less books covering almost all the space. A small table and cushioned chair sat by a window, and a teapot and teacup were placed atop it. It was idyllic, with the sun hitting it.

"Goodness," Lucy breathed as she walked inside. "The Lord of the house must enjoy reading. I wouldn't like to intrude on his private space."

"You wouldn't be, he hardly uses the place," Freed said, standing by the door. "These are mainly for me, but I'm happy to share them with you. I've read them all twice over; I should perhaps insist on him buying me something new."

"Are you sure this is okay?" Lucy asked, eyes looking over the spines of books she wanted to attack. "I'm a guest here."

"I chose the room allocations, I put you here so the books would be at your convenience," Freed assured here. "They're yours for your time here."

Lucy found herself inclined to argue the point further, but bit her tongue. This house was already a completely different place to what she had been expecting, as was the Lord's reputation. She had been thrown to the mouth of a beast she could not understand, and she expected her life to be ruined by the end of it all. If she was going to be offered a library of books that she'd never be able to read at home as a consolation prize, then she would damned well make the most of it.

But of course, that could wait. She had eyed three particular books that she would read first – two in English, one in French – and could probably finish them within the first two days. She turned to Freed and smiled.

"Thank you, Mister Justine."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Heartfilia," Freed smiled, though it dropped a little. "I feel it only fair to warn you, we've another guest who will be arriving next week. He's not got the most stellar reputation, I must say."

"Oh?" Lucy asked.

"He'll most likely behave while he's here – he's known to be snivelly, you see – but only to those he sees as his better. To people he sees as inferior, he can be insipid. That includes, unfortunately, every woman but the Queen herself."

"I've met men like that," Lucy admitted.

"I'm sure you have," Freed sighed. "He's rather a dog backed into a corner right now, so he may be unpredictable. If I can offer you advice, don't be alone with him. He won't touch you, but he'd dangerous in other ways."

"Then why is he here?" Lucy asked, wondering if Freed would be offended. He apparently wasn't, so perhaps his request that she not act like the fool was genuine.

"You've heard the stories of this house," Freed smirked a little. "This is where the cruel and untouchable meet their fate. He's here to be brought to heel."

"And what am I here for?" Lucy asked, meeting Freed's eye. Freed smiled.

"I can hardly tell you that," Freed said, voice going professional again. "Think on what I've said. This is an opportunity to put your best foot forward, don't squander it."

"I intend not to."

"I'm delighted," Freed smiled. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Miss Heartfilia."

Freed turned and was walking away, and Lucy could only watch, not entirely sure what to think of the house, the man, or the lord he served.

---

Meeting Lord Dreyar came the next morning, and in the most unexpected of places. The first day in Greece had been spent mainly alone, as Freed had informed Lucy that the Lord had been called away for the day and wouldn't be seen until the late hours of the night. Most of the day had been spent in the library, though she had ventured into the nearby town square and taken supper at a restaurant; she got a thrill at the fact she hadn't even asked if a meal had been prepared in the house for her, and instead had just went.

In the morning, Freed had woken her at the time she'd wanted, given her time to ready herself for the day with less makeup and more comfortable clothes, and had then asked her to accompany him to the kitchen. She had done so unquestioningly, though the oddness of the request did strike her.

When they'd entered, the Lord Dreyar had been sitting at a small table, eating eggs.

Lucy had been blind sighted, and immediately decided that this was some sort of ambush. Lord Dreyar was an odd man, but he was rich, and the rich never entered the kitchen. He should have spoken to Freed, and Freed would speak to the cooking staff on his behalf. He shouldn't be eating while surrounded by cooks. The Lord was there because it was the last place Lucy would expect her to be, and this would wrongfoot her.

"Master Dreyar," Freed said in greeting, getting the attention of the man. "Your guest is here to take breakfast with you."

"Of course," The man spoke, voice a low grumble. "Please, Miss, take a seat. Freed, your excused."

"Yes, Master," Freed nodded, then he removed himself from the room.

Lucy looked around for a moment. She was slightly shamefaced to admit that she hadn't spent much time in kitchens in her life, and there was something of a spectacle to be in one. There were so many devices scattered around, all for different purposes that she couldn't guess. And the three cooks – two women and a man – scuttled from counter to counter, preparing food with a level of proficiency that Lucy found awe-inspiring. She felt like she could watch them for hours, but a quick glance towards the Lord refocused her attention.

The Lord was younger than she expected, though just as intimidating. He was incredibly tall, incredibly broad and had an impassively mean expression. The scar across his face gave Lucy pause, as did the peaking line of ink that slid up his collarbone. Hardly befitting an English gentleman. She quickly took a seat at the table before she could anger the man.

They sat in silence for a moment, the Lord eating his breakfast and Lucy waiting for hers to be brought to her. Lucy was waiting for him to speak, as a Lord must always speak before a Lady, but no conversation came. It was only when she forced herself to remember Freed's words that she spoke.

"I've never eaten in a kitchen before," She spoke without wavering in her tone. "Is it a Greek custom?"

"It is in this house," The Lord shrugged. "Don't know about the other houses, don't really go to other people's houses if I can avoid it, certainly not for breakfast. But in this house, I always prefer eating in the kitchen."

"Right," Lucy said hesitantly. "May I ask why?"

"You may," The lord shrugged, but said nothing more. He took a bite from his plate, chewed, swallowed, and looked to Lucy again. "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Ask me why."

"Oh, that," Lucy frowned. She had asked him; he was being obtuse. "Why do you eat in here, my lord?"

"Blurs the line between my position and there's," He nodded to the staff. "England likes to keep the rich and the regular split, I don't. This is a little way for me to keep everything a little more balanced," He smirked then. "And there's also the fact I know damn well the way I take my eggs is the best way for them to be prepared. Guests aren't as brave about complaining about that when the chefs in the room holding a knife."

He had a slightly manic grin when he said that, and Lucy found herself amused rather than scared. It was an attitude she couldn't have in this place, not when it was likely that the man sitting across from her was the blackmailer. Although, what would the great and powerful Lord Dreyar need from her father of all people?

"That's quite the reason," Lucy said, and the Lord nodded.

They sat in silence again, and Lucy watched as the Lord ate. It was… interesting. A gentleman worth his salt would have been trained from birth how to eat with precision and class. They wouldn't scarf down eggs, then drag a chunk of bread over the plate, cover it in the remaining sauce and then bite into it like a street child.

The Lord didn't seem to care that he was being watched, and raised a glass of orange juice which he finished in a single upturn. Lucy was half disgusted half fascinated, and was quickly coming to understand why the Lord had left England. Everything he'd done since Lucy had entered the room would leave him shunned and outcasted from the polite society of England; no wonder he was quick to leave it.

Around her, the chef's seemed to be cooking her meal, and she found her eyes wandering towards them. Their movements were quick and fluid, and Lucy wondered if she could ever learn to do that. She might have to if Lord Dreyar was going to do what she thought he would.

"Why am I here, Lord Dreyar?" She asked, and the Lord stopped eating for a moment.

"You're here for two weeks, you'll figure it out by the end of it," Was all the Lord said, but Lucy didn't want to finish the conversation there, so he pushed.

"I'd rather know now."

"Sure you would, but that ain't how this house works," The man grinned at her again, and Lucy didn't know if it was amused or malicious. "Two weeks, and it's all over. I'm sure you can wait that long."

Lucy didn't think she could, but she felt no reason to argue the point. She needed the Lord in her favour, and not annoying him would do wonders to help that.

Before she could think of a conversation to bring up, one of the three chefs in the room placed a plate of eggs – prepared as an omelette, placed on toasted bread, garnished with parsley and salt - and a set of simple, inelegant cutlery was put beside the plate. It was hardly how she would have had her breakfast if she'd been given the choice, but an omelette done well could be nice. The glass of juice she had been given was at least fresh and vibrant looking. She picked up the cutlery and cut a small piece of the omelette out for herself. As she brought it to her lips, the Lord spoke again.

"How do you have your eggs?" He asked, apropos of nothing.

"Excuse me?"

"Your eggs, how would you have them if you'd been given the choice," The Lord pushed.

"I thought that you had the art of eggs perfected?" Lucy asked, deciding that a light, joking tone was best to get out of the oddness of the situation. "Why wouldn't I want to try them if that's true."

"Because they've got garlic in them, and you're allergic," The Lord smirked a little, and Lucy halted, dropped the fork, and left the chair, looking at the plate of food that she was, indeed, very allergic to. Laxus kept up the expression as he spoke. "If you ate that, you could've died."

"Yes, I could have," Lucy uttered, anger flashing though her.

"And all because you didn't wanna argue with me," The Lord said, reaching over, taking the fork Lucy had dropped, and ate the egg impaled on it. "See, that's what England does to women. Puts them in fancy dresses and tells 'em to look pretty. Makes 'em impassive and quiet, tells them to shut up because they're weak and don't have anything interesting to say. That's all they get, and even the strong ones eventually start believing it all. Fucking country."

"What's the point of this?" Lucy demanded, still looking at the eggs.

"The point is, you can push back against things sometimes," The Lord sighed. "Everything you did before you became fifteen showed you as a fighter. Then you grew up, your father saw you as a way to expand his empire through marriage, and you became docile," The blonde smirked a little. "But fuck him. Be a fighter, push back against bullshit, and take yer damn eggs how you want 'em."

Oh. That was not at all what Lucy had expected, and she couldn't quite think of what to say to the advice. It was good advice, not entirely practical given her situation in life, but the urge to fight back against English constraints had never really left her. Still, had nearly killing her been necessary for proving his point.

She hadn't smelt the garlic though. Normally her nose was rather good when garlic was involved.

"Was there really garlic?" She asked, and the Lord smirked.

"You think I'm the type of man who'd risk poisoning someone to make a statement?" The lord quirked an eyebrow, and Lucy didn't answer. That made the man laugh. "Call me Laxus from now on, you've earned it," He then looked to one of his chefs. "Get the woman what she wants."

Lucy then smiled, sat back at the table once the plate was taken away, and looked to the waiting chef. "Two poached eggs. With salmon."

---

Four nights into her stay, a ridiculous urge for a glass of milk struck Lucy in the middle of the night. For a few minutes she tried to fight it – she was a grown woman for heaven's sake, not a child with no impulse control – but forcing herself to think of other things just made it worse. Perhaps it was Greece's fault; the heat was making cold drinks seem more refreshing and therefore more appealing.

She tried to make as little noise as she could, the landing of the building's upper floor creaking slightly as she walked down the hallway. She winced a little as the stairs cut through the silence, but she continued on, walking to the kitchen. She quickly found the larder where the milk was stored, poured herself a glass, and began her walk back to her bedroom, hoping she would be quieter.

Apparently, it was a baseless hope, because each creak and squeak was louder than it had been before.

It almost didn't matter, but when she was quietly walking down the hallway and she stood on a particularly loud floor panel, the door to Laxus' office opened, and Freed walked out. He was wearing his usual suit, looking as well put together as always though with slightly heavy breathing and the smallest of flushes on his cheeks. They looked at one another for a moment, Freed closing the office door behind him so the only light illuminating them both was the candle that Lucy was holding. Freed spoke first.

"Miss Heartfilia," He was gentle in his tone, quiet for the time of night. "You're up rather late."

"I was having trouble sleeping; getting accustomed to the new environment I suppose. My throat became dry and, well," She raised her milk in explanation. Freed nodded. "You seem rather awake too, what time do you sleep?"

"Normally, I'd be asleep by now, but Master Dreyar is keeping me up," Freed explained, smile bordering on a smirk. "He's, well, he's a little tied up at the moment. Work gets on top of him, you see, and the stresses sometimes can be overwhelming. I do what I can to keep him sane."

"You really do whatever it is you can to help him, don't you,?" Lucy laughed.

"I take great pleasure in my duties," Freed said enigmatically. "You should get to sleep, Miss Heartfilia. I believe that the lord plans to take you to a nearby village tomorrow, you'll need to be well rested."

"Of course," Lucy agreed. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia," Freed responded.

Lucy walked back to her bedroom, still trying not to be loud as not to distract Laxus from whatever work he was doing. As she climbed into her bed and nestled herself into the covers, she found herself wondering what Freed's odd smiles and slight state of disrepair meant. Were this any other house, she might have believed that Freed was sneaking into Laxus' study to do something illegal – it wasn't unheard of for butlers to turn on their masters – but Magnolia House was different. Freed seemed devoted to his master, and that devotion might go both ways. She didn't think for a second that Freed would betray the man.

Eventually, she would have to leave this house, and she had to wonder if she would understand what the hell was going on in the place. She hoped so; she loved nothing more than a puzzle and everything about this place raised more questions than they answered.

Maybe the other guest would have the answers when he came.

---

"We'll be taking dinner in the dining room today, Miss Heartfilia."

Lucy turned to look at Freed, who had approached her as she walked to the kitchen. She halted slightly; it had been a week since she had arrived at the house and her meals had always been taken in the kitchen, or outside of the house somewhere. She honestly hadn't been sure if the house had a dining room. It would have been in keeping of the week for Laxus to have taken the dining room and replaced it with a horse's stable or something equally absurd.

She followed Freed towards the dining room, deciding not to ask why. Both Freed and Laxus seemed to enjoy giving non-answers to anything she would ask, and ass such she'd given up trying. It was best to just allow herself to be swept up in everything.

The dining room itself was a small place, sparsely decorated but pleasant. Plants bordered the room but didn't encroach on the table itself, and despite being perhaps the most formal room in the house that Lucy had seen, it made every dining room in England seem stuffy in comparison. She walked inside, allowing Freed to pull out a seat for her and taking it. Only when she looked up did she see that not only was Laxus sitting at the table, but another man, someone who Lucy had known very well for most of her life.

Jiemma Orland.

Another member of the aristocracy, their paths had crossed many times. During the dances she'd been forced to attend in her childhood, Lucy had often found his daughter Minerva and they'd spent nights playing and laughing. He had always scared Lucy when she was young – he seemed nasty, vindictive even – and she'd avoided her when she could. It had been years since they'd seen each other, but that chill still ran down her spine.

He must have been Laxus' other guest. Was it a coincidence?

"Lucy," Laxus greeted, sitting at the head of the table. "This is Mister Orland; I believe that you-"

"Lord Orland," Jiemma corrected, and Lucy saw Laxus narrow his eyes slightly. "Not mister."

"Right. As I was saying," Laxus spoke again with a growl. "The great and respectable Lord, Mister Orland, is the guest that I was telling you about. I think you might have met him a few times in your past, your circles seemed to have intertwined."

"They have," Lucy agreed, forcing her fake smile on again. Her cheeks hurt; she hadn't smiled like that for the week she'd been there. "Hello Lord Orland, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, ma'am," Jiemma responded, not even trying to sound polite. He turned towards Laxus, face a scowl. "As I was saying, I hardly see why you want me here, Lord Dreyar. This is quite the imposition."

"I'm glad," Laxus grinned. "And you do know why you're here, I think. But that's for the end of the week, so try not to torture yourself about it now," The grin turned a little nasty for only a moment, but the normal smile returned when he looked back to Lucy. "How's your day been? Freed informed me that the two of you decided to visit the Parthenon toady. Was it what you expected it to be?"

"It was beautiful," Lucy smiled a little. "Freed's very knowledgeable about its history, and quite the storyteller too. I hope you don't mind that I took him away from the house for the day."

"Of course not," Laxus smiled. "What sort of a man would I be if I couldn't survive a day without my manservant. Hardly a man at all."

Laxus looked directly towards Jiemma when he said that, and the older man tensed, and his face became thunderous. He made a wave of his hand and a well-dressed man who Lucy vaguely remembered seeing around Jiemma's house when she'd visited Minerva nodded and left. Lucy was almost certain that he was Jiemma's manservant. She laughed a little too loud, and quickly schooled herself. Jiemma turned his glare to her, but Laxus spoke before he could say anything.

"The city really is a sight to behold this time of year. The tourists can make it a little crowded, but the history seeps through either way," Laxus said, and a plate was placed in front of him. "I typically leave the summer months without having guests so I can better enjoy myself. The two of you should feel quite honoured."

"Hardly," Jiemma muttered almost imperceptibly, but both Lucy and Laxus seemed to have heard him.

"Speak up, man," Laxus demanded, looking into his eyes without wavering. "How can your words be respected if you're not standing with them, but hiding behind them?"

"You don't think I stand by my words?" Jiemma snapped, and Lucy halted slightly, not wanting to make her presence known. She had been aware that Jiemma could be a bully, but never witnessed it. Laxus didn't seem bothered.

"I don't," Laxus grinned. "And I think you should be cordial to your host, no?"

"Cordial. You of all people wish to speak to me about how to act in polite society," Jiemma was shouting, and his anger seemed to come so abruptly that Lucy felt knocked down by it. Freed had mentioned that Jiemma was backed into a corner, of course, but this level of anger bubbling up without much provocation was disconcerting. "You, a man who leaves society for your… your perversions, have the gall to say anything. And not only speak down to others, but to demand the presence of others at your home half way across the world. To hold half the respectable country to ransom for your sick enjoyment. And yet you speak to me of cordiality, Mister Dreyar."

"It's Lord Dreyar, actually," Laxus corrected, grinning.

Jiemma looked ready to storm to Laxus and strike him, and Lucy found herself grabbing the side of the table just for distraction. Laxus and Jiemma were having an argument with their eyes only, Laxus all but goading Jiemma to do anything that might give him cause to attack. Lucy didn't know what to do. Passive aggressive dinners were one thing, but openly yelling was unheard of.

Freed walked into the room holding a plate of light food, and placed it in front of Lucy. She looked to him for reprieve, and he smiled at her handsomely. It was a comfort, and she whispered low enough only for him to hear.

"What's happening between them?"

"Mister Orland's character is being tested," Freed whispered equally quietly, adjusting the plate so to elongate his time near her. "Everyone who comes here undergoes a test of some time. They can get rather explosive, as you can see."

"I wasn't tested," Lucy frowned.

"Not in a way that you noticed, no," Freed smiled again, taking a bottle of wine from a cooler and filling Lucy's glass with it. "If the two of them start to overwhelm you, feel free to dismiss yourself and say you need to powder your nose or something of the like. Laxus won't be offended, and I suspect Mister Orland won't care for you either way."

"Thank you," Lucy whispered, smile a little weak as she wondered what her 'test' had been.

"Of course, though I recommend you see it through to the end," Freed suggested as he placed the wine back into the cooler. "You might regret it if you don't."

Freed was out of the room within a moment, and Lucy was left floundering as to what that meant. The letters she'd received hit her again, and dread filled through her as she remembered all the stories she'd heard from people who had been to this house. This was the house where reputations were ruined, and lives were upended. She had become complacent, but this had been the reminder she needed to know that this house wasn't safe.

Maybe Freed's words had been a threat, or maybe they'd been a warning. Either way, Lucy needed to be careful in this place, and not allow herself to make a mistake.

---

"Why the hell are you here?"

Three days into the second week of her visit, Jiemma hissed the words as he stormed into Lucy's room. He was swaying slightly on his feet, face flushed from alcohol and jaw tight and rigid. Lucy shot up, covering herself with her sheets on instinct as the man thrashed into her bedroom. She looked at him frozen for a moment before she regained her senses and spoke.

"I was invited by Lord Dreyar," She answered, blinking away the remains of sleep.

"He is not a Lord," Jiemma shouted, and Lucy had to flinch back when he stormed to her bed. "He left England and left his title with it! He had no right to call himself that name. Has no right to act like he has power. Like he's too good to be English but still has influence over us. He can't."

"Mister Orland-"

"I am a fucking Lord!" Jiemma roared. "I am a Lord of the realm, woman. Respect me!"

"Lord Orland, I don't know why I have been called here but you need to leave my bedroom this instant," Lucy said firmly, trying not to let her voice waver as he took another step closer. He was a large and brutish man, and drunk out of his mind. "This is most improper and if Laxus or Freed are woken up then I expect they'll not be please."

"You need to leave now," Jiemma demanded. "Get out of this damnable house this instant. It's manageable without you, so leave. Get out of here and don't show your face. Then we can sort this out."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lucy stammered slightly.

"You need to get the hell away from me and leave my daughter alone," Jiemma growled, lurching forward, and grabbing hold of the sheets Lucy held to her chest. "You're all the same, looking for your next-"

"Mister Orland," A curt voice cut him off, and Lucy looked to see Freed standing at the door, well dressed despite the time of night. Lucy felt safer with him there, and Freed quickly stormed into the room with barely restrained anger. "It is three in the morning, and you are in bedroom of an unmarried woman who clearly does not want you there. There is no justification for such actions, and I won't give you the time to attempt it. You're to return to your room and repent for your actions immediately."

"What," Jiemma turned to Freed and walked into his space. Lucy tried to recover her breath, eyes a little wide. Was Jiemma going to hit Freed? He looked as though he was. "You think you can order me? A houseboy? Not even a man, neither of you are, not with what you do together."

"Return to your bed, Mister Orland," Freed repeated sternly. "If you don't, I'll have no choice but to leave you to the streets tonight, and let me tell you that the authorities here have perfected the art of dealing with an English drunkard and they do so with great enthusiasm."

"Make me," Jiemma taunted, leaning forward, and breathing right into Freed's face. Lucy could only guess how horrid a smell that would be.

Freed placed a hand on Jiemma's shoulder, probably to guide him back to his bedroom. Jiemma immediately shrugged Freed off him, taking a stumbling step back and looking to Freed like he was dirt. Freed kept the man's gaze without blinking, and Lucy watched in panic, not knowing what else to do because Jiemma was angry and drunk.

"Return to your room," Freed spoke firmly. "Or I will do just that."

Jiemma scoffed, but stumbled past Freed while barging his shoulder against Freed's. The door was slammed behind them both, leaving Freed alone with Lucy. She watched as Freed untensed himself, either out of relief or because of dwindling adrenaline. Lucy quickly reached for the candle that lay on the counter, striking a match and lighting it to replace the light lost from the hallway. Freed was looking at her with professional concern when his face was lit again, the moment of anger gone and his impassive looks back again.

"Are you okay, Miss Heartfilia?" He asked, voice calm again. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

"No, just scared me," She admitted, looking down slightly. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine, Miss," Freed dismissed the question without giving a moment to think. "If you'd prefer it, we have a smaller bedroom for you to sleep in for tonight. If you can give me a few moments to make the bed for you, it might be a better fit. It's closer to Lord Dreyar's room and has a bolt on the door, for your safety."

"That won't be necessary," Lucy answered, even if she was tempted. "Those men are all the same. Drunkards like acting strong, but they're not. He'll be stewing about how you stood up against him. He won't bother me again."

"If you insist," Freed nodded. "If you change your mind, just call for me and I'll have the bed ready for you."

"Thank you, Freed," Lucy smiled a little, relaxing as she placed the candle back onto her bedside table. "I must say, you don't seem to ever sleep. This is the second time in as many weeks that you've been ready for an issue in the night."

"It's my job, Miss," Freed dismissed. "I must say, I did expect that Mister Orland might come back in a drunken state and do something regrettable. I thought it would be against Master Dreyar, given their antagonism, but he seemed to focus on you. I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to come to you."

"Don't worry," Lucy assured him. "He just scared me, nothing more."

"As you say," Freed agreed. "I'll leave you to sleep. Master Dreyar might wish to speak with you both tomorrow morning after this. I'll wake up if he does."

"Thank you," Lucy smiled. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia."

---

"So, I think it's time we all have a talk."

Laxus was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had befallen the small office. He was sat behind his large desk in a leather chair, with Freed standing beside him and to his right: they looked every part like the Lord of the House and his ever-present shadow. Lucy was sat at the other side of the desk in one of the smaller chairs provided, nervously fiddling with the lap of her dress, and occasionally glancing towards Jiemma, who sat at her side in another of the chairs.

After the interruption the night before, her sleep had been uneven and broken. She had been half tempted to take Freed's offer for the other room, but by the time the decision had been made it was nearly four, and that wouldn't be fair on the man. She'd instead jammed the door with a chair and done her best to rest.

When she'd been told Lord Dreyar wished to speak with her, she had been happy to oblige. She was less happy when she saw Jiemma sitting there as well.

"I need to leave," Jiemma said in retort. "I don't understand why you dragged me here in the first place. After the way your houseboy spoke to me last night I don't see why I should suffer the indignity of being here a moment more."

"Rather eloquent, aren't you?" Laxus posed the question with a smile. "Not quite as eloquent when you're drunk though, are you? I heard what you were saying last night. I suspect that half the city did the way you were yelling. Hardly behaviour that befits a lord, I don't think."

"What are you implying?" Jiemma demanded.

"That you should shut your mouth because I have something to say," Laxus grinned a nasty grin. "Can you agree to that?"

"I've a hotel booked for the rest of my stay," Jiemma said firmly. "I intend to be there within the hour."

"This won't take too long," Laxus assured him. He looked towards Freed for a moment, who walked to one of the sets of cupboards lining the walls to the room. Lucy followed the man's actions, but turned back to Laxus when he spoke again. "You've both been asking why you were invited here. I don't doubt you both know the reputation that this house has; particularly that I invite people here because I have a problem with them. That's true."

Lucy found her breath caught in her throat. She had known this would happen, of course she did, but had expected it to take place on the last day of the trip. Maybe that was the intention, but Jiemma's activities the night before had pushed them into action.

She was just going to have to deal with it. That's all she could do.

"I believe that this might be enough of an explanation as to why you're both here," Laxus continued, taking a single piece of paper from Freed and placing it on the table. Lucy went to look at it, but Jiemma snatched it away. Laxus didn't seem bothered, and allowed Jiemma to look at it for a moment. "You seeing my point, Mister Orland?" Jiemma didn't react, his grasp on the paper tensing. "You've known from the moment you saw Miss Heartfilia, didn't you, so no need to hoard the letter. Hand it to Lucy, please."

Jiemma looked like he was going to argue, but did as he was told indignantly. Lucy looked down to see a handwritten letter, and frowned. It was apparently Jiemma's response to Laxus' request for his visit. A polite but curt letter than didn't seem important.

It took Lucy a few moments to see the significance, and bile rose in her throat when she did.

The handwriting. It was the same handwriting as the letters she'd been getting threatening to expose her relationship with Cana. Jiemma had been the one doing it.

"You?" She asked, voice quiet. "You're the person who's been harassing me?"

"You're sick, all of you," Jiemma growled, standing up and looming over Lucy. Panic gave way to anger, and she felt her blood rushing throughout her body as she looked at the man who caused her so many sleepless nights. "Queers, perverts. You couldn't even be trusted to do a simple thing, to speak to your father and tell him to sign a damn contract. No, instead you turn to that bastard," He turned to Laxus, who was stone-faced now. "You all work together don't you, it's disgusting. I should have never let my daughter near you!"

Months of fear and anger and looking over her shoulder seemed to strike Lucy at once. This man – this power-hungry brute who drank too much and held his lordship above all else – had been the one to torture her for months. That… that…

Without thinking, she picked up a decorative crystal from Laxus' desk that seemed to be keeping his papers in order. She brought it up and slammed it hard against the man's head. He yelled in pain, and Lucy saw blood spurt from where a jagged edge slashed at his forehead. He staggered back, and she did it again because it had felt good, and it had felt deserved. This man had hurt her, she deserved to hurt him.

He stumbled, and Lucy watched as he crumpled to the ground. She dropped the crystal and began to kick him, leaning on the desk so she could slam her shoe into the man's stomach again and again. It felt good, and she didn't recognise a cathartic scream parting her throat as she did it.

Freed pulled her away after ten or so kicks, and Laxus looked ready to intervene further if Freed needed it. Lucy let it happen, panting as tears she didn't know had fallen fell down her cheeks. The man who had been the tormenter of her life for months was in front of her, crumpled on the floor, struggling to get up, couching and spluttering and bleeding. He was pathetic and yet he had caused so much strife for her.

"What the hell is the point of this?" Jiemma coughed, leaning on the desk to stand up again. "Just to insult me. To have the bitch attack me. I'll have everyone know about you and that barmaid within a week's time. Your life is over."

"No it isn't," Laxus said firmly, and Jiemma glared towards him.

"You can't stop me."

"I can, actually, but I don't need to," Laxus smirked. "You see, if you do it – and you won't – then nobody's going to believe you. I don't waste my time, you understand. The moment we met I knew you were exactly the type of man I thought you'd be. Aggressive, cruel, without restraint nor respect. You think the fact that you've got a lordship to your name gives you permission to take anyone down if it's advantageous to you. So, the moment we finished eating, I sent the word to England to have your true self exposed."

"What does that mean?"

"It means what I said, Mister Orland," Laxus laughed. "Every nasty side of you will be the focus of gossip for weeks to come. Your bullying attitudes towards your staff, to women in general actually. Your failure as a businessman and how you need to blackmail people. I was particular with the latter piece of gossip, not to give names as to whom you've blackmailed. Because there's been a lot of people who you've threatened, and they'll all be happy to back up the gossip if they think it's them being spoken about."

"It won't be believed," Jiemma growled, looking towards Laxus with a glare.

"It will. You throw enough shit at a wall and some sticks," Laxus' glare became particularly nasty at that. "Especially when people want so much to hate you. That's the problem with being cruel; people don't forget it. They'll jump at the chance to hurt you. They have, and it won't end."

Panic flushed over Jiemma's face, and he flushed red with anger. "I'll still tell everyone about her."

"Doesn't matter if you do, nobody's going to believe you," Laxus laughed, sitting back down. Lucy watched with fear, because Jiemma was panicked and angry and would do anything. People would believe him; he was still a lord. "I sent a letter to some of my friends back home, explaining what happened last night. With a few amendments, of course. The respectable and kind Miss Heartfilia, only daughter of the Heartfilia family, politely refused your unwanted advances. You, in a drunken haze, stormed into her room in the dead of night to do who knows what to her. You wouldn't leave her room, were acting aggressive. It took a member of my household staff to drag you away. That's akin to a pot of gold to the gossips of our country, and it will spread like wildfire," Laxus leant back in his chair, smirk nasty and wide. "You saying anything about Lucy will be the words of a stilted, embarrassed old man who got turned down by a young woman who could do better. Who would take anything you say seriously?"

"You… you demon," Jiemma yelled, and Lauxs actually laughed at him. "I should have you thrashed on the streets. You liar. Slanderer! No wonder you left the country, no man like you could exist in a land of honest men."

"Honest men who blackmail women? Who beat them and seclude their children from the world," Lucy snapped, because she felt safe now. Jiemma turned to her, but she didn't cower. "You're not an honest man. You're a parasite."

"Where's this voice come from, girl?"

"It's come from people like you treating me like some doll they can play with to suit their whims," Lucy yelled, and didn't miss when Laxus moved the paperweight out of reach. "I hope you can never show your face in England again, you bastard!"

"How dare you," Jiemma growled and walked towards Lucy. Freed stepped forward, holding a letter opener that caused the man to halt. "What kind of a place is this?"

"A place you should leave," Laxus answered, standing up again and opening the study door. "Freed, escort the man out of the house please."

"No," Jiemma argued, but Freed approached him, holding the knife up and brandishing it. "I won't go."

"You will," Laxus dismissed him. Freed took the old man by the shoulder and pushed him forward with a jerk. Jiemma growled, but when the knife was pushed further into his back, he allowed himself to be pushed. Freed halted when he was at the door, forcing Jiemma to look towards Laxus. "If you do say anything about Miss Heartfilia, and I find out about it, I'll make sure you regret it. Do you understand me?"

"You've already slandered me, what else could you do," Jiemma snarled. "Bitch's affair will be all over the country by August."

"The people I employ will slander, as you put it, the aristocracy for a very small amount of money," Laxus taunted. "What d'you think they'll be willing to do if I offer them something more substantial."

Lucy watched as the knife was pushed further into Jiemma's back, and the man hissed as he was pushed forward again. Lucy only watched as the man who had been her tormenter was marched away, hopefully for good.

---

"How did you know?" Lucy asked Freed as he sat opposite her at the patio. "What he was doing, I mean?"

"Miss Cana Alberona contacted Master Dreyar around a month ago," Freed explained, pouring them both a cup of tea as the evening sun began to set. Lucy took the cup that was offered to her with a confused frown. "She and Laxus used to drink together when he lived in England, I believe. She asked for his assistance in dealing with the problem of your letters. Laxus took some time to discover who was to blame, eventually found a letter with handwriting matching the letter Cana sent to him as an example, and decided that he would settle things himself."

"Cana did it?" Lucy exclaimed, frowning. "Why wouldn't she have told me?"

"I suspect she didn't want you involved if it could be helped. Given Laxus' reputation being somewhat unpalatable, him acting on your behalf could have been unnerving," Freed smiled as he drank his own tea. "Laxus however thought you might want closure, which was partly why he invited you here in the first place."

"Partly?"

"Laxus cares very strongly for the people he loves, and Cana is one such person," Freed looked somewhat wistful about his employer. "He wanted to make sure you're a good enough person for her. He's somewhat cynical about members of polite society, as you can expect, so he wished to see you for himself," He laughed a little. "Why he couldn't trust my judgment on you I don't know, he's rather headstrong, but he's given you his approval."

"He has?"

"He has," Freed parroted. "The first breakfast you shared together was enough for him to be sure of your character. No doubt he'll offer you a permanent room here, should you like to visit with Miss Alberona. The Greek are much more accepting of a relationship such as yours."

"How do you know that?"

"Laxus and I have been seen together multiple times," Freed shrugged, and Lucy turned towards him with shock. "It's why we chose to live here. Much less fuss."

"You and the lord? You're in a relationship."

"Of course," Freed nodded, smiling.

And that, it seemed, was that.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #1800's AU #Aristocracy AU #Word Count: 9.2k

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quillsareswords · 5 years ago

Text

Breathing Room

Damian Wayne

Of course the little dog here is basically my sweet baby girl Rogue with a different name (Baby/Babe because I'm sure all of you at home have dogs you'd like to substitute names for), who sends all her love and puppy kisses to all of you! Ugh this was fun to write. So goddamn fluffy I could call Build-a-Bear a competitor.

Reader is a Titan.

Requested:

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

"If I die, I'm leaving my dog to you."

Damian turns halfway to give you a suspicious glance over his shoulder. Then, he turns back to the fire place, where he's successfully stoking the flames currently living there.

The animal in question is the next victim of his scrutiny, laying perfectly peacefully on the corner of your blanket that's been left unused on the couch next to you. He points, you nod, he rolls his eyes.

"Awe! What? You wouldn't take my poor baby girl in?" You're borderline incredulous. "Did you hear that Baby? He doesn't love you!"

He scoffs, then pushes himself to his feet and joins you on the couch once more. The little dog lifts her head to look at Damian, almost accusingly.

You pet her gently. "Don't mind him, Baby, he's just jealous because I love you more," you soothe, babytalking the eight pound pooch like the spoiled princess she is.

"Firstly, you aren't going to die, it's only a snow storm," he argues, "and secondly, even if something were to happen, of course I'd take in your large rat."

You gasp and lightly slap his chest. "Damian Wayne!" you shrill. He chuckles loudly. "You take that back right now! Apologize!"

He rolls his eyes, knowing that if he doesn't, you'd probably give his spot on the bed to Titus, who's listening to the entire exchange from the giant pillow on the floor. He reaches across you, lays a hand on her little head, and says clearly, "Baby, I am sorry for calling you a rat. You are clearly small not-dog."

You sigh in exasperation and defeat. He laughs, though it's obvious he's trying not to and failing miserably. "What am I going to do with you, you scoundrel?"

His arm lays across your shoulders as you shiver for the second time in the last five minutes. "Well, you can first let me chose what movie we watch since I started the fire for you."

You can't help snuggling closer to him. "Firstly," you mock, "I could have started the fire myself. Secondly, I'll let you pick the movie if you let me pick the genre."

"Deal," he relents.

Two comedies and a horror film later, you hear the front door downstairs unlock, with a roaring chorus of arguing voices behind it.

When Kori and Dick invited you and Damian to a Titans Winter Vacation, you had been a little skeptical. You hadn't been a Titan for very long, and you weren't as familiar as you'd like to be with any of them.

However, you'd known Damian for years, and he insisted it wouldn't be as bad as you thought. He wasn't entirely keen on the idea either, but you'd eventually agreed that it'd be nice.

They'd rented a cabin up in the mountains. It was three stories, with six bedrooms, five bathrooms, two living rooms, a home theater, and a game room. You especially loved the balconies on every level. That provided a truly glorious view of the Smoky Mountains.

Though, when you heard it was six bedrooms, you knew that meant sharing a room. You only really slept alright by yourself or with Damian, so it concerned you that you'd most likely be sharing a bunk bed with Raven, as you and Damian were seventeen. But, because Dick knew you wouldn't be doing anything more than cuddling, he was more than happy to let you and Damian share a queen-size in the loft, directly above Garfield and Jaime's.

To sweeten the deal even further, everyone was in perfect agreement that you should definitely bring your dog. She was very sweet and quiet, and perfectly mannered. You didn't worry about taking her anywhere. It made you feel even better that Damian was taking Titus.

So here you are now, tucked into Damian's side on a plush plaid couch in the loft, Baby curled up next to you and Titus sprawled at your feet, listening to Gar and Raven and Cyborg come shivering in through the front door.

"Holy hell, it's cold as balls!" Gar shouted, kicking off his boots at the door. You were about to call down to ask how town was, but he was already sprinting up the spiral staircase.

Damian sighed, though only loudly enough for you to hear. He thought of the loft in it's entirety as yours, even though the bedroom was an entirely separate room, kept private by a thick door.

Garfield paused by the couch to lean over and pet Babe, which she gladly accepted, before zipping over to the firepalce to warm up.

"How was town?" you ask. Damian grabs the remote and backs out of the movie, which was already rolling credits.

"Eh, it was okay. Grocery store was neat, though. Had a candy section that was lit."

You laugh softly. "Get all the groceries?"

He nods. "Yeah, but their produce section was so confusing."

"Are you sure you aren't just dull?" Damian quips. You roll your eyes and flick his ear as you sit up. "Hey!" he chirps.

"Ha!" Garfield shouts and points boldly, though he looks as though he's about to hurdle the railing behind you. "Damian got in trouble!"

Damian, the tough, mature man he is, flings a pillow toward the green boy with as much force as he can while slouched against the couch back.

"Watch the fire, you dufus," you scold, laughing, as you slide toward the steps with Baby at your heels.

"Ha ha! You got in trouble agaaiinn!" Garfield sings. Then he shrieks, and then there's a green bird diving over the wooden railing and Damian's shouting something that has you scooping up Baby and hustling down the stairs to stay out of his way.

• • •

Your bedroom is dark, and because you both like the curtains pulled away from the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the drop of the mountain your cabin is perched over, it is quite cold.

Too cold for your liking, even pressed against Damian's back and Babe curled into the small of yours.

It's been fifteen minutes of listening to Bob's Burgers play on the television over your shared dresser and the collective body heat still isn't enough. So, in a desperate attempt to chase the chill off, you half unwind your arms from his waist, and slide them under the hem of his tee shirt to press them flat against his side and his back.

While you're sighing in relief, he's jumping and sucking in a breath of absolute shock. He all but gasps, "What are you doing with your ice cold hands up my shirt?"

You almost laugh at the tone of absolute offence he's using. "I'm cold! We can't all keep the same core temperature as the sun, Wayne."

"Well Jesus, you could have at least warned me," he grumbles, rolling in your hold to face you.

You fall asleep pretty quickly now, wrapped up in his arms, legs tangled with yours beneath a heavy quilt.

• • •

You're always the first ones up. Well, not always, but for the past four days that you've been on the trip, you both have. It's usually Damian, and only Damian, but you aren't far behind once your main source of heat leaves you alone in bed with sunlight beaming into the room.

You, Baby, and Titus all follow him down the spiral staircase and through the main common room, dining room, and the intermediate stretch between the two staircases and two bedroom doors.

He turns on the coffee pot for the rest of the team while you start the kettle and set out tea bags and mugs for the two of you. While he's still fiddling with the settlings on the machine, you let the dogs out to the small fenced yard off to the side of the huge cabin.

The machine spurs to life just as you're lifting yourself up onto the countertop of the kitchen island. "Are you gonna make pancakes and eggs?" You keep your voice low, considerate of Raven in the room on the left and Jamie and Garfield in the room on the right, all still sleeping.

"I wasn't planning to," he answers, leaning against the counter by the gas stove, where the steel kettle is still heating up.

"But you promised. . ." You just out your bottom lip and tilt your head just a little, soft eyes oh so slowly grinding away at that steel cover he keeps locked around his heart.

After exactly forty two seconds, he caves in. "Did the Happy Bunch even get the ingredients yesterday?"

Your sweet begging facade switches on a dime, now housing a devious glint in your eyes. "Of course they did, I put it on the list."

He sighs, loudly. He lets the dogs in before he goes around the kitchen, gathering all things necessary for the pancake mix you love so much.

It's twenty minutes later when Kori and Dick are opening the basement door and emerging from the hall downstairs, Kori's hair just as unkept as every morning and Dick's shirt just as wrinkly as the night before.

"Sometimes I think you only love me for my pancakes," Damian chides playfully, having yet to associate the creaking hinges with the basement door.

"I won't deny it," you laugh, grinning down at the bowl you're stirring with more dedication than is probably necessary.

"Damian, I didn't know you cook," Kori states, with enough surprise that you're a little taken aback.

He turns to look at her over his shoulder, still dicing strawberries without looking and making your nerves twitch while he does it. "Only occasionally."

"Hey hey, watch what you're doing, boy," you sound a little too much like someone's grandmother, but you're really a little aghast that he hasn't steeled himself yet.

Damian reserves a certain part of himself around most people. It's a part of him you're allowed to bask in only after years of assurance and affection. You wouldn't be so surprised if it was only shown to Dick, but it was Kori he was speaking to, eyes still a little glittery and smile still lopsided and prominent.

In a moment of adoration and maybe a little pride in him, you hum, "Only for me, of course."

To yours and even Kori's awe, he chuckles. "Only when you force me, you mean."

You recover faster than she does, and cover yourself with a laugh. "I wouldn't call you promising me strawberry-blackberry pancakes forcing you, but if you wanna try and save a little face . . ."

Kori turns to Dick, with a look on her face that is silently asking if he's seen the same thing. His eyes flit between her, you, and his youngest brother, before they settle on you. He seems a little less jarred.

"Gezz, what'd you do, (Y/N)? Drug him in his sleep?"

With Garfield's arrival, Damian's smile fades off and he resumes quickly dicing strawberries on a wooden cutting board.

You mumble into your batter, "I'm starting to wonder."

• • •

At 11:15 in the morning on the sixth day, a war commences.

While you and Damian decide to hide out the still-raging snowstorm in your cozy little loft with your faithful hounds, half the team is out in the snow, hurling handfuls of snow that vaguely resemble spheres at one another from behind artificial snowbanks.

Though eventually, you decide the total war out in the front yard is far more entertaining than anything on his Hulu or Disney+. So, you pop a bowl of popcorn and brew your third batch of tea, and sit backward on the couch to watch out the massive windows that take up most of the front wall of the common room.

Over the porch roof, you can watch all the atrocities of battle play out from the safe warmth of your loft together.

Though, some time around three, Damian reminds you that you have plans to drive into town to explore, and asks if you'd rather stay and finish the battle.

An hour later, you and Damian stand at the front door, dressed to brave the weather, having bid your dogs goodbye as you left them in the warm safety of your bedroom.

Damian's hand is on the doorknob, but he seems hesitant. "Are you ready?"

You flip up your hood and pull your scarf up over your nose. "Yes."

He hauls the door open, and with your hand in his, you quickly cross the porch, jump the steps, and make it halfway around to the driveway, when you hear somebody shout, "Civilians! Open fire on civilians, they're both wicked!"

Damian spins on his heel to threaten the entire group, but you beat him to it when you see Jamie, snowclod wound up, aimed right at you.

Silence falls over the battlefield like the snow still drifting down at an alarming rate.

You point a sharp finger at him. "If you do this, I will never forgive you," you declare lowly. "I swear to every god in existence you'll wake up with your head sewn to the carpet."

He stops. Narrows his eyes. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

A moment's debate. You can image the Scarab waving you off with we can take her. But oh, that thing has never seen you with a grudge.

He swivels on his feet and hurls it at Raven, who's been hiding behind the snow that'd been shoveled off the sidewalk that morning.

You take Damian's hand again and make a break for his car.

After the drive to Downtown Gatlinburg and three or four hours spent roaming the streets, you're already talking about living there. In all honesty, he isn't so opposed to the idea of buying a home in the area. You seem so in your element here, and the town and the scenery surrounding you is so breathtaking.

But you know you'd never be able to drag him out of Gotham. Perhaps a vacation home, or maybe retirement.

You decide to stop in to a little cafe in a place called The Village, which is a collection of shops surrounding a lovely courtyard off the main stretch of Downtown.

It's crowed inside, so you decide to stand out by the fountain while you sip your steaming drinks and converse about the little shops you liked best so far. You are particularly fond of a candy shop, and he would very much like to check out a blade shop a block or so down the way.

Your teeth chatter as you talk about wanting a souvenir, something small to keep on a shelf, and finish the rest of your hot chocolate.

"Are you that cold?" his question is simple enough, but his voice is so soft and so drenched in concern it catches you off guard.

You laugh lightly. "I'm okay, just might need another hot chocolate before we set off again," you shrug, jamming your hand into your pocket has he takes the paper cup from you and nods.

"Well, I'm sure that can be arranged." He smiles.

There's something in his eyes, though. It's subtle, in the little wrinkles between his eyebrows, and the redness of his nose and his cheeks. As much as you like the way it looks on his honey crisp complection, it's starting to worry you. Not the blush he gets from the cold's kiss, but the slightly out of character openness he's been exhibiting. You like to think that maybe he's growing out of hiding his louder emotions, for his own sake, but you can't take the risk that it's something else.

He returns to you with an offering of mint hot chocolate. He smiles again when he greets you, and the pair of you set off back toward the sidewalk do a little shopping.

"Hey, Dame?"

"Hm?"

You wind your arm around his elbow with your free hand. "Everything okay with you?"

He turns his full attention on you. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

You take a sip out of your hot chocolate. "I don't know, you've just been acting a little differently the last few days." His eyebrows crease in a worried way, and you get the sense he's disappointed. "In a good way, I mean," you correct yourself quickly, "I just want to be sure it isn't for a bad reason."

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. You turn out onto the sidewalk, and start making your way farther up the street. "No, there isn't anything wrong," he assures. "I can't exactly explain it, which I'm not entirely okay with, but it's been. . . nice, this trip. The land is beautiful, the air is much cleaner than in Gotham, the people here are nice." He turns to face you again. "And you seem a lot more comfortable with the Titans. I'm glad; I'd feared you wouldn't bond with them at all, truthfully, and they're all far more bearable with you around."

You nod as he speaks, eyes jumping past him to the signs on the building fronts every once in a while. There's something he isn't saying, and you know it.

"And. . ." He sighs. "And you."

You pass him a quizzically quirked brow.

His voice lowers and he lays a hand over yours on his arm. "I love you so much, (Y/N). I can't even find the right words anymore."

Your eyes lock with his and you stop walking. Your lips part because your jaw goes a little slack, and your wide eyes reflect all the neon colors of the signs in the window on your right.

It isn't the first time he says he loves you. And you know it won't be the last, but he hardly ever says it so freely. It always behind closed doors in the softest moments, when you're both vulnerable or so drunk on love for one another neither of you can think straight.

You can't remember the last time he's been so open about in in front of anyone else, and it only ripens your concern.

You pull him closer, eyebrows slanting together. "Damian, I'm serious, are you okay?"

Now he's the one with one eyebrow reaching for answers. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," you blurt, "you know I love you from here clear to Alpha Centauri but you're really starting to worry me."

He laughs at that. Then, his eyes are as soft as his smile, and his hands smooth down the sides of your arms before they rest on your forearms. "(Y/N), I promise you there is nothing wrong with me now that hasn't been for the past seven years. Am I not allowed to let once in a little while, and allow myself a little breathing time?"

You hadn't realized you were so tense until you relax under his touch with the assurance. "Of course you are," you reply after a pause. You take one hand off your hot chocolate to rest it on his chest, coincidentally over his heart. "I just worry sometimes. I don't want anything to happen to you, Dame."

"I know," he says. He gingerly takes the paper cup from you and sets it on the bench you hadn't noticed before. He pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in a warmth like sunshine and a scent that's too particular to Damian Wayne to be mistaken. Your arms wind inside his open coat to the hoodie he's wearing underneath.

A long moment passes in relative silence. Your eyes are closed, ears perked to the drifting sounds of uncaring passersby and the rumbling of passing cars.

"I really want to slip my hands under your shirt right now," you mumble into his shoulder. "But if you tell me not to, I won't."

He grunts.

And for a moment, you ponder weather or not that was a denial. You silently make your choice and close your eyes again.

He leaps under your touch. "Damn it, (Y/N)!"

#damian wayne blurb #damian wayne headcannon #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #teen titan reader

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willow-salix · 4 years ago

Text

(Fluffember prompt: Name)

Day 4 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

"I don't care, you're coming with me," I told the love of my life, who wasn't looking very happy about it.

"Why me?" he whined, and if you've never heard John whine before, or don't actually believe he's capable of it, let me assure you that he is very capable and it's very pitiful. But I am immune (mostly) and continued to stand my ground.

"Because I can't leave you alone with them, you can't stand up for yourself and they can't be trusted."

"That's not true! I can…" he saw the look on my face as I mouthed 'mattress' and trailed off, admitting defeat. "Fine, but just the one shop."

Now, I know they say never take your husband shopping, but I honestly, TRULY thought that mine would be an exception. He's the organised one, he's the sensible one, the one that correlates all the data and sorts out all their problems.

How wrong I was.

It was actually quite pleasant to be alone for a few hours, it hadn't been that long since I'd made my less than dramatic return to the island but since the world was nowhere near normal we hadn't had that much time to ourselves lately, so I was going to take full advantage.

"What do we need to get?" he asked in that long suffering tone that all husbands adopt when faced with the prospect of a trip around a shop with their woman.

"Not that much," I assured him. I was lying.

"Show me," he ordered, knowing I was lying. Must work on my 'believe me' voice.

I lifted up the list, which unfurled itself into something roughly the length of Alan and watched as his eyes tracked its descent. I also watched the life drained out of them as he faced his doom head on.

"Really?"

I nodded, folding the list back up again. "It won't be that bad," I promised him. "It's one massive shop, we should be able to find everything there."

"Why didn't you take Virgil instead? Why must you torture me?"

"Because you're my man and it's your job, plus I want to spend some alone time with you."

"I can think of much better ways to spend alone time," he grumbled under his breath as he steered the plane towards the landing strip. I declined to comment.

***

"Now, whatever you do, don't wander off," I reminded him, looking up from the list where I had sensibly been highlighting different categories of products so we could hit the different areas in order.

I almost laughed when I saw that my poor, put-upon man was slumped against the plane, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast like he was fully expecting the grim reaper to show up any second and whisk him away from my evil clutches. Keep on dreaming, boy.

"I'm not Alan," he sniffed. "Or Scott, I don't wander off, you wander off."

"I do not!"

"You're the one that didn't tell me you were going to look at the meerkats when we went to the zoo."

"Babe, it's meerkats, you should have known I'd wander off to look at them, that's just common sense. I didn't need to say it."

He looked at me like he thought I had no idea what common sense even was. He's probably right, since I agreed to both marriage and staying on the island again.

"Come on," I held out my hand, wiggling it in invitation, "it won't be that bad."

He sighed and took my hand. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably. Now, masks on, sanitiser at the ready, grab that trolly for me and let's do this thing."

***

You know how it is when you're mostly in a shopping daze and can't focus on anything but getting in and getting out as quickly as possible? Like you're so focused on the list and making sure you don't forget anything and trying to locate the actual items you need versus the ones you suddenly want and can't do without? That was me.

So it took me a few minutes to realise that I'd lost John. I don't know how it happened, I don't know when and I couldn't say in good faith that he hadn't been kidnapped by aliens, it was that kind of day.

He'd shuffled along behind me, pushing the cart into which I was throwing all manner of things that I could tell he thought were useless and unnecessary. How little he knew.

"You can put some things in too," I reminded him as I tossed a loaf of fruit bread over my shoulder towards the cart. He didn't answer. The bread landed on the floor with a soft flump.

"John?" I turned around but he was gone, the cart too.

"What the heck?" Where was he? I fumbled in my bag for my phone. Where was it? Why was I losing everything important today? I had a sudden mental image of my phone sitting on the coffee pot where I'd propped it while making breakfast, I'd been watching YouTube videos and needed both hands…

"Damn it." I didn't have my comm with me either, I only ever took that out with me when I wasn't home. Which would be now… "DAMN IT!"

In my defence, I hadn't thought that I would actually lose him. I thought he was more sensible than that.

I retraced my steps, going back down four aisles to the place I knew for certain I'd last seen him behind me, pushing the trolly like it was a protective force field against shop workers and old people that didn't know the meaning of social distancing and kept getting up in his face asking him to reach the high shelves for them.

"John?" I called, sticking my head around the corner. Nothing.

"Bugger."

Where the heck could he be?

"Jooooohhhnnnnn!" I yelled a bit louder, starting a full sweep search, marching down the center gap between the aisles and glancing down each one. Nothing.

"Excuse me, young lady."

I skidded to a halt, almost flattening an older man.

"Hi, yes?"

"Have you lost someone?"

"Yep. Lost, one gorgeous ginger dumbass, if found please return to the witch in aisle 26." The man looked at me like I was crazy, but I'm used to it.

"Oh, I thought you might be Mrs Tracy."

"No, Grandma's at home."

He gave me a funny look and I stared right back, I didn't want to be impolite and just walk away but yeah, kinda on a mission here, Grandpa.

It was then that I heard it, a voice coming over the tannoy.

"Can Mrs Tracy please come to lost property at Customer Services."

It's a little surreal to hear someone calling you when you don't expect it and it took a few moments for it to register and my brain to process the information.

The old man looked at me again, head tipped to one side.

My brain clicked over.

"Shhh…ugar! That's me! Lost husband! Thank you," I screamed over my shoulder as I hot footed it to the customer service desk.

"Hi," I gasped, slightly out of breath (it's a very large store) "you…called," I gestured up to the ceiling and circled my finger like that would make sense to anyone but me. "Tracy…" I slumped, panting.

"Oh," the lady at the desk finally lost the blank look on her face, figuring out what I meant. "He's in the lost child room."

I frowned, the what now?

I dutifully followed behind the counter and through the door marked 'employees only'.

"A customer found him standing alone in the bread aisle looking confused and lost so they alerted us."

She pushed open the door to a cheery yellow room with dancing clowns on the walls that looked like they wanted to eat my soul.

"I'm sorry, I think there's been a mistake, I haven't lost a ch-" I stopped dead, blinking to make sure I was indeed seeing this correctly.

"Where have you been?" John demanded.

He was sitting forlornly on a chair that was so small it looked like it should have belonged in a doll house. His knees were higher than his chest. Some helpful soul had given him a colouring book but he'd ignored it although he was wearing a sticker that told me that he had been a super brave boy.

"You left me!"

"I did not!"

"I turned around and you were gone! I tried to call and Scott answered!"

"My phone's at home."

"I know that now! Because you abandoned me!"

"I…I…" I splutted, not knowing what to say to that.

"May I suggest a leash next time," the woman from the counter said as I dragged him to his feet. I couldn't tell with her mask on, but I'm pretty sure she was smirking.

"Babe, you're fine, it's just a mega shop."

"It's hell."

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm never coming shopping with you again," he grumbled as I thanked the lady and towed him back into the shop.

I have no idea where he lost the trolly, neither does he. I bought him a sausage roll in the cafe to appease him, leaving him there with his phone while I shopped on my own. Some things are just not worth the hassle. But I do know that next time someone calls my name in a shop, I'll pay attention.

#john tracy #thunderbirds in isolation #isolation island #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds #witch #thunderbirds fanfiction

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rpmemesbyarat · 4 years ago

Conversation

RP Meme from Netflix's "A Series of Unfortunate Events: A Bad Beginning: Part One"

If you are interested in stories with happy endings, then you would be better off somewhere else.

In this story, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle.

I'm sorry to tell you this, but that's how the story goes.

Aren't you going to the Festive Fun Fair, with all the jolly rides and games and snacks?

It's gray and cloudy.

Let's get to work!

Can you show me what the specific issues are?

That'd be disappointing, I made them myself.

Of course, we still need the right projectile.

Maybe it makes more sense in the original French.

Could you find a rock that's not sandstone?

I'm curious to see if I can skip the rock as far with my left as I can with my right.

I don't mean to criticize, but standard scientific method calls for stable systematics.

Who's that mysterious figure?

It only seems scary because of all the mist.

If you have ever lost somebody very important to you, then you already know how it feels.

Nobody asked you.

The front page! Some people wait a lifetime for that.

That's gonna make a wonderful headline.

I remember how I was when I was your age.

Although I don't know who I think I'm kidding, because I have no inventive or mechanical skill whatsoever.

How lucky am I to have such unusual children in my life?

Please, come in, and mind you wipe your feet on the mat so you don't track in any mud.

Actually, I'm about to be rather wealthy.

Well, welcome to my humble home.

It does seem to need a little work.

I hope you'll be happy here.

I'll still check in on you occasionally.

It looks like a list.

Did you help around the house?

This is the kitchen, where you may help yourselves to meals.

I expect you to keep everything gleamingly clean.

The stove is a bit like a servant. You have to whack it sometimes to get it to work.

This is where I do all my reading.

I don't use the ballroom at all.

You'll have to redo the floors.

It has all the usual amenities, though the management regrets to inform you that the shampoo is not tear-free. If anything, it encourages tears.

Rats bite.

Out of all the numerous bedrooms in this enormous mansion, I have chose this one for your safety and comfort.

There's only one bed.

As you can see, I have provided, at no cost to you, this complimentary pile of rocks. Thoughts?

First of all, first impressions are often wrong.

Your first impression of me may be that I am a terrible person.

A tattoo is just a decorative pigment on skin. It's not a sign of a wicked person.

It's a mistake. It'll get sorted out.

There's a village in the Pacific Islands suspended on ropes above an active volcano.

Stay here. And not a peep.

You've done something different to your hair?

May I come in?

Is this about the children?

I apologize for the noise.

I told them to cry using their inside voices.

I'm not supposed to talk about it, but I can tell you that it involved an illegal use of someone's credit card and a poisonous plant.

Let me tell you, those children are monsters.

I live alone.

Wait here, for your own safety.

You missed a spot.

I never wanna use a toothbrush again.

Why aren't you cleaning?

Plan the menu, purchase the ingredients, prepare the food, set the table, serve dinner, clean up afterward, and stay out of our way.

It's a little greasy.

Money. Hard-earned money. The most important substance on earth besides applause and lip balm.

That was dismaying.

I wasn't expecting to see you.

It's mostly law books, but there are sections on everything from Italian cuisine to the world's most threatening fungus.

Do you have a paper and pencil to take notes?

These books look promising.

All we have to do is sauté garlics and onions in a pot, and then add olives, capers, anchovies, diced parsley and tomatoes to simmer.

Looked broken, but I think I can fix it.

What do we have here?

Is there a supermarket nearby?

I had dreams of becoming an actress, you know.

Who else has such robust good looks in such a large amount?

I'm handsome and I'm talented and love your bank account!

Oh, my God, what a very handsome knave.

Unbelievable good looks and brains and heart!

I'm very very smart

And as anyone in the theater knows, after a grand entrance, the audience is supposed to applaud.

All of the artistic and financial aspects of my career are finally coming together like two pieces of a bread in the middle of a sandwich.

I don't have time to learn a second language besides whatever it is I'm speaking right now.

You know, every time she talks, it's like the tines of a fork are being jammed into my eye

You've seen them perform. Would you call them actors?

Better than nothing.

Wow, that was quick.

Where's the roast beef?

You didn't tell us you wanted roast beef.

You can't go easy on children. They need to be taught to obey their elders.

That's what happens with wealthy kids. Money is really a corrupting influence.

You're a pretty little one.

This table is a mess.

There's hardly a place to put down a baby.

There are many, many things that are better than nothing.

Trouble and strife can cover this world like the dark of night, or like smoke from a suspicious fire.

I'm worried about the children.

We need to get to them.

We need to get out of here first.

The rat is noisy.

#rp memes #rp meme #rp starters #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #a series of unfortunate events

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mytwistedhome · 4 years ago

Text

“The Alchemist” ❤️❓

A very old request that I’ve finally finished for @rainebowkitty !!

It took me a while because it required a bit of research (of which I really enjoyed doing!)

This little drabble involves Riddle and... another Disney character (leaving the name out in this intro because you don’t really need to know who it is to be able to understand this story >u< )

Summary: During his alchemy class, Riddle Rosehearts gets paired with a strange, magic-less student that he's never noticed before. This student seems to know quite a lot about the subject, but his bizarre ideas tend to stray from the rules that Riddle is used to.

I think that the reason why this particular story took me so long to complete was because the subject of alchemy was quite intimidating to me •́ ‿ ,•̀ Even after weeks of having the basic plot written and taking many notes on the actual science of alchemy, I still always hesitated to complete this. Every day, I would try to write just a little bit, but I always ended up cowering away because all the different little parts of the science seemed overwhelming and, again, intimidating. I've never before procrastinated this much or run away from subjects of my own writing, so this was quite a new experience for me... I wish I could've gotten this done much faster, but I think this entire writing process helped me to face a fear I didn't even know I had--a fear of writing about science/scientific topics! It might be silly, but that's really the way I felt while writing this: afraid to delve too deep into the subject.

Still, I am very happy that this is finally done! I only hope that I served justice to this ancient science 💗 Kitty, I very much hope that you enjoyed your two favs together!!!

Okay!!! I'm gonna stop being annoying now

Riddle stood in the midday class with his back turned to his alchemy professor, easily slipping the buttons through the holes of his lab coat as Divus gave his greetings and instruction. His voice was clear and loud, reciting his usual classroom demands of always taking full precautions, ensuring safety, and arriving prepared. Always, it was these same rules, yet they were just a little bit different each day to suit whatever the current project may be.

But, on this day, Divus added to his instruction, "And, boys! Make sure you pair with a NEW partner today."

Riddle turned his head to stare at his professor and froze in place, absolutely dismayed. Crewel was asking them to switch partners? A brand new partner? All of a sudden?

How very strange that was, for wasn't it better to keep with the same partners? So that the two are familiar with each other and can work their best together? This switching of partners was truly, very odd, and it seemed just the thing that Professor Crewel would be against, for he was always the most sensible in keeping to rules and the traditional order of things. But, who was Riddle to argue or question the one in charge of the classroom?

He turned his head away once more and smoothed over the small wrinkles in his coat as the clean, clear goggles slipped over his eyes. It seemed the others in his class were just as confused as he, for they stumbled about awkwardly in search of a friendly-looking acquaintance of whom they were unfamiliar with. Riddle breathed out a huff and narrowed his eyes, a bit annoyed to have to deal with the uncertainty and the bother of finding a "brand new" partner. He turned around and looked, himself, for a person that seemed amiable and new, and to his luck, he was able to spot someone standing at one of the large, wide cauldrons of whom he was sure he hadn't ever worked with before.

He slowly approached where the other boy stood with his back to him. He was hurriedly flipping through the pages of several different books that were spread over the long desk just beside the pot of which they were to work. He had dark hair of an impressive volume and seemed rather intriguing in the way he went about his work. Riddle tilted his head slightly, watching with curiosity and interest as the boy worked quick to search what he was looking for, before he said in warm greeting, "Hello.. I don't believe I've worked with you before."

The boy went still upon hearing Riddle's voice, and he turned himself around to acquaint the unfamiliar classmate as he pushed the round goggles he wore over his head. "Hello!" he said with a nod, "I could work with you, if that's what we must do." There was clear enthusiasm in his voice before he turned his head once more to focus back on whatever he may have been searching for.

Riddle blinked several times in bewilderment. He had never even seen this student, let alone worked with him before. In alarm, he stared to get a better look at this stranger. His dark hair was accentuated by a teal stripe that ran down the center--a unique trait that Riddle had never noticed in a student before. He also had a soft, summer, sun-kissed shine to his complexion, which flattered and glowed upon his warm and freckled face, making him even more unrecognizable to Riddle.

Divus then gave further commands to the class, telling them that their goal was to make a particular potion. Riddle payed close attention to the details of the instruction, but all the while, he could not help but think in the back of his mind upon how strange his partner seemed to be. And, then, with the brief lecture over, he turned his attention again to that unknown student. "I'm sorry, but what is your name?" his voice was soft and polite with an ease in his eyes, "I don't believe I've payed much notice to you in this class before, and I'm sorry for that."

"Oh! Uh, I...." he dragged that last syllable out, much to Riddle's distaste, as he rummaged with the ingredients spread before the cauldron, "I only just began coming to this school. Not that long ago, really, so it makes sense if you didn't know. And--I'm Varian, by the way."

"You just began coming here?" Riddle said with alarm as his head tilted with even more interest than before, "A new student on the middle of the school year... And just like that? That isn't a typical thing here. How did it happen?"

Varian gritted his teeth and briefly glanced off to the side in attempt to avoid the question, "It's a... rea~lly long story. Don't worry about it."

Riddle looked at him with skepticism in his gaze. How odd it was to have a student transfer in the middle of the school year. As far as he knew, it was incredibly uncommon in NRC, for it meant that they would miss the welcome ceremony and so many other lessons and meetings that were essential in their learning.

But, again, who was he to argue with the way the school was run? Perhaps Crowley had a very special reason to allow this student entrance in the middle of the year.

Riddle took a small step to better observe what Varian was doing. All around on his side of the desk, there were sketches of obscure symbols that appeared unrelated to their project at hand, along with notebooks opened to pages of quotes that were beautiful poetically, yet seemingly unintelligent. How strange, how strange That one word kept repeating in Riddle's head, and he grew slightly skeptical of the student standing beside him.

Riddle pulled his head away and pressed his lips together as he began looking over the ingredients, chemicals, and metals that were laid out neatly upon the long desk, but his attention was seized once more by Varian who immediately grabbed two beakers of melted medals and mixed them carefully with one another.

"Just a touch of sulfur, and some more iron for the base...The iron brings forth the energy of Mars, so we'll have a fiery and quick result for this potion!" Varian was getting more and more excited as he explained the steps, and he seemed to talk more to himself than to Riddle. But, he soon took a breath in woeful thought as he continued with the mixture. "I really wish we had access to use gold in this lab. I guess it's understandable that we aren't allowed, but it isn't fair! Gold, after all, represents the sun, and the sun is connected to a princess I've been honored to become well-acquainted with--"

"Varian!" Riddle let out loudly, cutting him off after having had enough of his mindless chattering, "What are you even doing with all of those metals and chemicals?"

He reached out and took hold of the beaker that his partner held in his left hand, vigilant enough as to not disturb the dangerous mixtures, but harsh enough to cause a drop of the pinkish liquid to fizz onto the table.

"Woah be careful with that..!" Varian said frantically, trying to steady all the beakers that could cause a mess.

"What have you made?" Riddle's eyes were fixated in a glare, yet his voice wavered with fascination as he asked the question.

"Oh," Varian smiled with excitement and straightened his back, and he cleared his throat, preparing to deliver a recitation of all he created in a matter of minutes, "That's still just sulfur with an iron base, but the sulfur also works as a primer. You know... the 'spirit of life'. I also added a bit of mercury to better blend the high concentrations with the low ones, which also aids in connected the high and low energies. And, of course, I added a touch of salt as well, just as another primer."

"I see..." was all Riddle said in quiet response. He knew of the three primers and their functions in the mixtures--every student learned that at some point or another in the class. But, as for the other symbolic and rather spiritual things mentioned by Varian, he had never heard of them before, and he wasn't sure if he should believe them now.

Varian only continued, "It's unfair that we can't use gold or silver. I'd complain if I wasn't so new to this school." Getting excited again, he seemed to be talking mainly to himself once more, "Gold is the sun! And the sun is willpower, inner ability and inner strength! It's deeply connected to the heart and the heat of the body... It ignites passion and life! And it's connected to vision, too. But, silver probably has even more use than gold does. It's connected to the moon and creation... but in formulas, it helps the metals grow more quickly and aids in their blending."

The scowl on Riddle's face deepened, and his small nose wrinkled every slightly in skepticism and suspicion, yet that typically unsavory expression looked oddly beautiful over his fair face, and so Varian payed him no mind. Instead, he kept up on speaking, though this time it was less of a ramble. "We should probably go through the first couple steps together, shouldn't we?" he asked with a kind smile. "The first thing would be to go through the operation of calcination. You know, heating things to purify the metal and cancel out any toxins. But, I trust this lab, so it's fine to skip that step. Next would be dissolution, like... using water to dissolve bits of the metal into rust at the edges. It usually works as another purifier, as the water brings in life. But it really isn't that important, is it? Let's skip that one! Then, that brings us to the operation of separation. Specifically, separating the components of the dissolution... But if we don't do the dissolution, there really is no point. It's basically isolating the rust and the different elements of the metals by filtering them carefully and then discarding the bad materials. That always seems to tedious to me. I doubt there's anything very bad that could sabotage our results, anyway. I don't think it's necessary; it'll only eat up our time. We should skip that as well--"

"Varian!" Riddle's patience was reaching its brim. His anger ripped through his voice, causing Varian to flinch back and widen his eyes. "We shouldn't skip anything! There's an order for a reason!"

"Okay, okay," Varian said with a timid smile in attempt to ease his partner's nerves. "But trust me, we should just go ahead a proceed with the fourth operation. Conjunction. It's basically the re-combination of the components that should have been separated in the previous step. But, combining the metals is basically what I've been doing so far, so it's like we're ahead. All we need is potassium nitrate. I promise! It's like a short cut." Varian said, looking to Riddle with pleading eyes in hopes of convincing him.

"Alchemy is a discipline," Riddle said sternly, though his voice was now kept soft, "There are rules and a direction you must follow. Every step involves a precise measurement, and unless you adhere to the order set in place, you will never achieve a good result!"

"Well, yes, you're... kind of right."

Riddle stepped back, blinking in disbelief. Kind of right? Who did he think he was? An alchemy expert? Someone so profound that he could skip around on the steps? Riddle's anger was building up inside, heart racing, blood boiling. His face was heating up, just about to burst--

And, then, Varian quickly drew from the cauldron a small sample of the potion they were to create. It was small bit, but it was perfect. Made with such quick ease, and filling up half of the beaker. It was quite impressive to have achieved such a wonderful result in such little time, and noticing this, Riddle slowly calmed.

"Hey... Relax, okay? It's really not something to stress over," Varian reassured with a confident chuckle and a mocking role of his eyes that went undetected by Riddle.

Riddle pressed his lips together before softening his expression and letting out a sigh, easing himself of the tension and excitement, yet also ashamed now for having gotten so angry before. Maybe, perhaps, he could trust this kid to do what he seemed so passionate about.

yes... drew the pic because I wanted the two of them together but, obviously, there are none that exist, so I had to create my own with my very slim art skill. I was originally going to have it at the top, but I am NOT confident enough in my doodling to do that lmao

#twst #riddle rosehearts #varian #fanfic #my fanfic #my writing #twisted wonderland fanfiction #<3 #crossover #tangled the series

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agents-of-virtue · 4 years ago

Text

A Multitude of Things (Secret Santa 2020!)

I said I would post at midnight. I worked hard on this damn it

( @the-roanoke-society )

Hi @agentondine ! It’s me! I’m your secret Santa! :D So, I love you. And the ships we have together. So I’m doing something for all of them. Most of them. All of them would be a task that would take a lot longer than the month of December. Any way! I decided to take our most popular four and write little drabbles for them. And do picture boards! This is the most effort I’ve ever put into writing in a long time! I really hope you enjoy these!!!

Parties were not exactly Bekah’s ideal location to be. At any time. Ever. But Leo liked them. So she was willing to spend a few hours of her time with him at parties every now and then.

“Mi alma! There you are! Are you enjoying my party?” Leo smiled brightly at her as he saved her from an unwanted conversation. He always threw a large party for the holidays. Most of the Oceanic Council was invited as well as a few members of the Roanoke Society.

Bekah smiled softly. “I am. It’s very nice.” It was a bit too loud for her taste and the lights were starting to hurt her eyes. “I think I’ll be leaving soon though. It’s getting to be a bit,” she sighed, “much.”

His smile softened as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “That’s okay. I’m just glad you came at all. Besides,” Leo turned and wrapped his other arm around her, “I’ll get to be around you later tonight. Alone. Just the way you like it.” He smiled more as he saw a smile spread across Bekah’s face. “I know you are looking forward to that, mi amor.” Leo gave her cheek a quick kiss. “But until then, why don’t we get you a drink and a seat so that you can enjoy the rest of your time here in peace?”

“I would like that. I would like that very much.” Bekah smiled softly and took his arm as they walked to the refreshments. Leo grabbed a mug and started to fill it up for her. He loved doing any and everything for her. Bekah took a few minutes of the free time to look around the room. Her eyes stopped right above them. A small bough of mistletoe. She laughed softly. “Leo?”

He hummed in recognition as he turned to her, filled and garnished mug in hand. “Yes, mi reina?” He was completely oblivious to the plant above them.

Bekah laughed a bit louder as she took the mug out of his hand, set it down, and pulled him in for a kiss. She came away with a smile and a finger between them pointing up. “Mistletoe.”

His eyes followed and he laughed. “Indeed. Mistletoe.” Leo wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for another kiss, much longer than the first. “Maybe,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “maybe we can leave now? I mean... The party is all but done.” It most certainly was not.

Bekah looked around the room. “Yeah... Let’s just go.” She laughed softly, gave him another kiss, and started to run with him out of the party.

The mountain safehouses for Roanoke were meant as that, safehouses. But sometimes, agents would use them as secret getaways. Much like Rebekah was doing with Neron. A man that rarely left an island chain had to appreciate a cabin in the mountains, right? All the evergreen trees and snow? Not to mention how romantic it would be.

At least, that's what Bekah thought.

"Hold on." Neron pulled his wool blanket tighter around him. "You mean to tell me that people like this? All this cold and snow?" There is something to the child that he can't quite place. Like a weird sense of belonging. But it was vastly overpowered by his Caribbean weather temperament. He was used to heat and humidity. Not cold and ice.

Bekah looked out the window. Snow was falling at a steady rate. "Some people do. I like it. At least, I like it when I can come inside to a nice, warm fire." She walked back over to the couch and curled up beside him.

Neron opened up the blanket so that she could come closer. "Well, I think I like my Caribbean heat more than the snow." He laughs and kisses the top of her head. "But I can withstand the cold for you."

"Aw, thank you." She smiled and snuggled further into his side. Little did they know how much cold they would have to withstand.

The next morning, Bekah woke up shivering. Her eyes fluttered open, squinting in confusion. Why was it so cold? She sucked in her breath when her feet hit the cold floor and made her way to the window. Bekah couldn't believe her eyes. Pulling back the curtain, she was greeted to a window full of snow. Was the snowfall that bad?

Neron groaned and rolled over, slightly shivering. "Bekah?"

"Uh... You might want to throw on some layers, love..." She threw some wool socks and a sweater his way. "I'm going to get the fire started and we can get started on making breakfast to warm the house and us up. We might be here a while..."

That woke him up. "What? What are you-" He turned towards the window. "Your kidding... Snowed in?"

Bekah nodded her head. "Yup. Hopefully won't be too long and we have enough supplies here to last us through most natural and unnatural disasters, but we should still-" she cut herself off with a small yelp as he pulled her back into the bed. "What-"

He silenced her with a quick kiss. "The fire will take too long to get us warm. I know a faster way. And a much better way to start off the day..." He smirked before kissing her again.

"I... I can't argue with that." Bekah kissed him back and pulled closer to him. Maybe getting snowed in wasn't such a bad thing after all.

“Bekah! Hot chocolate’s ready!” Angela called from the kitchen. She was holding two mugs filled with piping hot chocolate, the marshmallows and whipped cream in Bekah’s cup almost melting from the heat.

A door slammed and only seconds later, Bekah was beside her. “You are,” she takes the sugar loaded mug, kissing her cheek “the best.” Bekah takes a sip of the sweet treat, but a small yelp follows instead of a satisfied hum.

Angela starts laughing. “It just came out of the pot! Why would you do that? Could you not see the steam?” She puts her own mug down to avoid spilling any of the contents.

Bekah just shakes her head, putting down her mug too. “It was hidden beneath all the whipped cream and marshmallows...” Her speech had a bit of a lisp due to the fresh burn on her tongue. That chocolate really was hot.

“Awww, if only you had listened when I said I was making hot chocolate.” Angie slipped her arms around Bekah and placed a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose. “Now, how about we take our mugs of hot chocolate, take a seat on the couch, cuddle up, and watch a cheesy Hallmark movie that we can make fun of.” She picked up her mug and Bekah’s.

A soft laugh left Bekah before she gave Angie a quick kiss. “I would like that. I would like that a lot. I’ll go grab the gingerbread cookies. You go get the movie started. Maybe we can even watch the new Chanukkah movie they’ve put out!” She laughed as she grabbed the plate of cookies and followed her to the television.

Once everything was set up, Bekah wrapped an arm around Angela, pulling her close. “Hey Angie? I love you. Happy holidays.” She smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I love you too. Happy Holidays, babe.”

(And of course we save our favorite for last...)

Valdimar’s palace was always a quiet place. That is, until Bekah came. Her laughter would fill rooms, the sound of her running echoed through lofty halls, and at night her voice would fill Vald’s room at top volumes. But for right now, the kitchen was the loudest room in the palace.

“Vald!” Bekah laughed as she ran around the kitchen island to get away from him. His hands were covered with flour. “Don’t touch me until you clean your hands!” Her jeans were already covered in handprints and some were even in her hair and on her face.

He laughed softly, stopping in his chase. “My apologies, my dear. You know that I love you.” Vald smiles. “And you know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off of you...” He started to stalk forward again.

Bekah matched his moves forward with steps back. “No... No, don’t you dare.” A laugh slips past her lips. She wasn’t fast enough in getting away. Vald had her cornered, but they were both smiling. His floured hands cupped her face and brought her close for a kiss. Bekah hummed happily. “I love you... Though I think we should focus on the actual buns in the actual oven. You can’t make me any more pregnant than I already am.” She placed one of her hands on the soft swell of her stomach.

Vald places a hand over hers, resting his forehead against hers, and smiling. “I know, I know... I’m just... I’m very happy. Because of you. You have made me the happiest man in the world.” He gave her another soft kiss. He doesn’t remember being this happy in so long.

Bekah kisses him back. “And you have made me the happiest woman in the world. Now, let’s get back to baking. Your baby is making me want sugar.” Her nose scrunched up as she smiled. If this is what every winter would look like now for the rest of her life, so be it. She’ll be happy with that. As long as she has Vald and their baby.

#Secret Santa 2020 #Shall We Dance #Emotionally Challenged #Melted Hearts #Seashells and Daisies #//Happy christmas

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dolphin-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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ah, this day has been very long, hello there my dolcezza!! 💌🌠🌺 has the day treated you well? i hope it has!! things have been quite busy but i managed to get some rest time today, so i hope you did too!! ❤ so i saw that someone said i'm bruno in real life?? that made me laugh a lot!! i do wish to be like him,, considering he's one of my all-time favorite jojo characters!! (but you already know that hehe) the fact that you agree with that anon makes it even better 😂 (1/8?)

"oh and, i have something important to tell you dear,, of course i fell in love with your personality!! you may think that you're not so great and that your personality is flat and unappealing, but i wholeheartedly think otherwise!! something about your indifference and chaotic behaviors is very charming to me,, (2/8?)

frankly, i can see many different hidden layers,, your personality has much depth to it,, and you really are such a sweetheart to me, which i can't help but find appealing!! you truly are very entrancing in my eyes, and something tells me that you need to hear that more often 💞💞💞💞💞 i really do admire you caro!! (3/8?)

so most of my day was spent cooking, napping, and playing some video games (since i had some more free time!) my sister and i got to start playing eyes of heaven, and i won my first battle playing as jolyne with joot as a sidekick!! their interactions are so cute,, i love them so much!! 😊 (5/8?)

and i also played more ps4 minecraft today on a friend's world, we finally finished a huge build project, which was a giant renaissance style villa,, it took us only a week since i would play for a few hours a day (while he played up to 12 hours,, che pazzo!!) we were so happy when we finished that we started jumping up and down while on video call,, it was so funny 🌺✨ (6/9)

i also got to make some fresh marinara with my mom since our gardener neighbor brought some very large tomatoes!! we have this secret family recipe that comes from my bisnonna, so we made a pot full of it and stored it away,, i also got to help make some more pastries,, and my dad said that i should open up a restaurant hehehe,, i think it would be a nice side goal in the future but i have some big dreams to pursue first!! 🌠 (7/9)

i also slept lots today, i was very lethargic today for some reason... but we had this huge scary storms come through that really frightened my cats and i!! my twin told me i was being a baby about it, but i think he got karma when a huge bolt of lightning struck nearby,, i had to hide under my blankets and pillows the whole time 😖 (8/9)

oh well, at least i'm still alive!! it's very late, so i'll just end it here! make sure to keep taking care of yourself for me morgy darling, you are very important to me and the army!! 💗 - much much love from your sleepy fiancée, waifu anon xoxo 💖💘💕💓💗❤🌺🌼🌸🌻(9/10)

ps: 1) my friends are quite impatient about this wedding apparently!! ive been telling them that it's coming up and that they need to be patient,, but quinn started ranting to me about impatience, i'm gonna have to lecture her 😅 2) if you do ever need to hear something uplifting about yourself,, you can always count on me dear 💖💖💖💖 (10/10)"

Darling once again u amaze me....not only did one person ever said before to me that my indifference and overall behavior are charming and such...quite the contrary actually🤡🤡🤡 i still cant comprehend what is there thats absolutely charming to u but at the same time it does make me a little more happy knowing that somehow u like it😳😳😳✌️✌️✌️

On another note, i did acc hear from one of my american friends that there's alot of storming going on (we acc dont get such massive storms often and its kinda a shame since i love em) and heY i would have teased u a lil for hiding under the blankets too since thats lowkey cute but i wouldnt call u a baby, girl u wanted to join the military thats the opposite of a baby😩👊

Also u always helping out ur family with cooking and baking and saying that u have family recipes sounds surreal and hella magical jsudjsjs maybe yall b secretely some sort of sorcerer family and i believe it esp after i saw how enchanting u are dear👁️👀 and i was just gonna say i can so see u opening up a little pastry shop...even if its like a side business since ur gonna b a top vogue model after all🤭🤭 i bet ppl (me included) r gonna b standing in huge ass lines to buy handmade desserts carefully crafted by the one and only vogue waifu😤😤

Oh since u mentioned Quinn (im just gonna answer their ask here since its easier, they sent an ask sayin u been feeling lowkey wacky today??? Idk whats goin on but make sure to at least eat smth properly and dont stress so much dear...im awful w advice and comfort i know but still me and the clown army are a t u r s e r v i c e in case of anything ma'am👁️👁️

As for myself i just watched more of cowboy bebop (almost finished it a h a) and then ended up playing this cringe fail racing game until almost 1 am skhddhsh sELf cARe😩😩😩🤪🤪🤪🔥🔥

#also @ yall the wedding shall come in due time #p a t i e n c e #and ur bein hella wholesome again dear...my wig😩😩😳#the confessional

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freedom-shamrock · 5 years ago

Text

Chat Noir’s Four-Point Landing

We’ve gotten permission to share our pieces from @kittylovezine! I got to work with the skilled artist @masilvi (check out their art for the story here), and @clueless-lost-daydreamer was my fantastic beta reader.

There’s a limited supply of leftover products from this project available for purrchase, including a digital or paperback copy of the zine, charms, stickers, prints, and pins.

Also on AO3

⁂

"So let me get this straight," Marinette said, tapping her index finger against her chin. "You're in your last four months of lycee, and you want to move out on your own after graduation. But no one in your life is willing to teach you basic adulting skills." She arched her eyebrows.

Chat Noir nodded. He was a curious mix of eager and nervous.

It bothered her that his family wasn't preparing him. "So you want me to help you with those things?" she asked. "Why me? Don't you have friends outside the suit who could help you?" He visibly deflated at her question so she threw in a qualifier. "I'm happy to help you, Chat, I'm just curious."

"I'm not as free when I'm my other self." He spoke softly, and everything about him seemed hunched up and sad, like he was trying to curl in on himself.

"I'm surprised you'd want my help." She sometimes felt inadequate and underprepared for life on her own. "You've seen I can be a bit of a disaster." Their friendship, sparked the night of the Glaciator akuma, had grown strong over the years.

He beamed at her, radiating joy better than anyone she knew, including Adrien. It was seriously unfair. "Oh Marinette," he said, leaning toward her. "You're amazing. You know how to do so many useful things. You've shared food you've made, and I can't even boil water. I've visited you on laundry day, and I'm terrified I'm going to destroy all my clothes. You're so level-headed; I'm sure you can figure out anything you don't already know. I got overwhelmed by the differing opinions on how to clean the bathroom when I Googled it."

"You poor kitten," she said, careful not to tease too hard. "Of course I'll help. But we may have to call in the big guns if things are beyond me. Okay?"

"Big guns?" he asked, green eyes wide.

"Maman and Papa," she explained.

"Deal."

⁂

The smell of scorched flour filled the kitchen, and Marinette turned from the refrigerator to see Chat hastily yanking a pot off the stove, scowling as he dumped in some water and slammed the lid over the top. He was quieter than normal, and that was usually a bad sign. He braced both hands on the counter near the window and hung his head.

"Chat, are you okay?" It had been his fourth attempt at making a roux, and while he'd gotten farther along, the end result was consistent with his other tries.

"I'm never going to get this," he said softly, as if that would hide the despair. "What am I thinking? I'm never going to survive on my own. I'll have to crawl back to my father a failure."

"Roux is hardly a required staple." She wished she'd picked a different recipe for today. He'd done well learning to read recipes and measure ingredients. His knife skills were impressive. He still had a lot of techniques to learn, and his self-esteem was terrifyingly awful.

"Name one decent cook who can't make roux," he suggested bitterly.

"Maman can't make roux to save her life," Marinette pointed out.

He looked over his shoulder at her, surprised.

Marinette shrugged. "Papa or I make it if she needs it. It's okay."

He looked out the window, then pushed himself away from the counter. "I'm… not used to being so bad at things, and… I'm usually better... faster at picking up new things."

"You've done very well," she insisted.

His cheeks went pink and he looked adorably pleased, but sadness lingered in his eyes.

She held out her arms and approached slowly, though she'd never known him to decline affection. He helped close the distance, and was swiftly snuggled against her, his face nestled into her loose shoulder length hair. "You're doing amazingly well. I'm so proud of you." She felt his breath catch, and it hurt that such simple words, things he should hear regularly, had such an impact on him.

⁂

"All right," Chat said, slipping a piece of paper onto Marinette's desk. "Here's my grocery list for the week."

"You're getting good at this," she said, looking it over. He'd jotted down three recipes he would theoretically make for dinner with leftovers for lunches and other nights. Camembert was right at the very top of the list, as always. "I'm getting you cheese as a housewarming gift."

He snickered. "My uh… miraculous would appreciate that."

She loved hearing him laugh. She'd realized Chat Noir wasn't happy nearly often enough, at least not in his regular life. She pushed her chair back and gestured for him to take over the computer. "Let's see how you do with your shopping."

He navigated to the bookmarks they'd been using for these exercises. He started with the meat department of the grocery store, carefully looking at various cuts of meat and the prices before making his decisions.

"Why is this one so much less expensive?" he asked, pointing.

"Higher ratio of gristle and cartilage," Marinette answered, giggling at the face he made. She would have liked to physically take him shopping so he could get a better understanding of the characteristics and qualities of meat and produce, things that were hard to get from pictures. "Not a fan of extra chewy or crunchy bits in your meat?"

He shook his head.

"That's okay. Maman likes tendon, and I do not." She made a face.

"You're cute when you do that," he said, reaching out to lightly boop her nose.

"Am not."

"Honestly, you're always cute, whether you're making faces or not." He grinned, and turned back to the computer. He added his decisions to the list, with quantity and cost. Before too long, he hopped to his feet. "Whoop!" He handed her the list and danced over to her chaise. "I'm within budget. I win."

She checked his work, joy bubbling up in her chest at his success. "You do win," she agreed.

"It's getting easier, like you said it would."

She joined him on the chaise giddy and warm, something he seemed to trigger in her a lot these days. "We all need to learn this somewhere, and I'm glad you picked me to help."

"So am I. He patted his lap.

Arching an eyebrow, she asked, "You want me to sit on your lap, you naughty cat?"

He nearly fell off the chaise in surprise. "Nooooo. I want to play with your hair." He gave a little shrug. "It was relaxing last time."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It was." She rested her head on his thigh, sighing happily at the touch of his fingers.

⁂

"Oh wow," Marinette said, looking at the photos accompanying the apartment listing. "It's gorgeous. But it's definitely on the upper end of your budget."

Chat nodded. "I think it's what people expect for my first apartment." His arm had slipped around her when she sat beside him, and his fingertips tightened now in an obvious tell. He didn't want the beautiful flat.

"It doesn't matter what others expect, Chat." She gave him a little side hug. "It's your apartment. What do you want?"

He tapped open one of the other tabs, his smile wistful. "I like this one a lot."

It was much smaller with fewer embellishments, but looked nice. "What do you like about it?"

"I think it would be cozy, which is something I don't have… where I live now." He scrolled through the pictures. "No balcony. But the large window off the bedroom faces the back alley. It'll be perfect for slipping in and out as Chat Noir." He opened a tab to a Google Map of Paris and pointed to one of the pins. "Neighborhood is decent, neither snob city nor thug paradise."

She giggled. "You should go see it. Oh!" She slipped out of his hold to fetch a small notebook from the other side of the room. "Papa got this for you." When she sat back down, she wrapped his arm back around her.

He hummed happily and pressed his face into her hair, bumping his nose against the closer of the twin buns she wore.

She set the notebook on the desk so she could properly hug him. "You're getting distracted," she told his chest.

A laugh mixed with a purr rumbled out of him. "You're not exactly discouraging that." He kissed her forehead and opened the notebook to the first page, finding a list of questions followed by a list of warning signs.

"It's to help you get the information you really need, since none of us can come with you." She'd learned a lot when her papa was working on it.

"Most of my friends are moving away for uni," he said softly. "If I make my place safe for you to visit, would you come?"

It was a terrible idea for maintaining identities, but she didn't care. "I'd love to."

#Miraculous Ladybug #fanfic #kittylovezine #kitty love zine #fandom project #Marichat #Marinette #Chat Noir #Masilvi #clueless-lost-daydreamer

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ambroseblack · 5 years ago

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In continuation of my improvised story/ first attempt at something horror-paranormally, here is chapter 2 to whisper. If you haven't read the first chapter, you can read it here now!

Stay spooky beloved friends!

Love and Peace,

Ambrose

Chapter 2: Daylight

I woke up with my face nearly glued to the wooden table in the dining room. I apparently had a fair amount of liquid in my body at one time, being that my face was surrounded by a pool of drool and sweat. My mouth was terribly dry, making my tongue feel like a cat's, as I licked my lips with no apparent gratification.

The soft gray light of a rainy fall morning drifted through the half-open burgundy curtains that the previous owner had left on the main floor. They were much nicer than anything I would have bought. I would have been happy with some sheets to be honest. But they did give the large house a touch of grandeur. It was fitting, being that the house was so old and well maintained. A museum of sorts. Walking through the front door was like walking into a different time.

The soft tapping of pouring rain echoed throughout the house. I always found the sound to be soothing. It was a sound I had missed in my apartment in the city. It reminded me of rainy days when I was a kid. The kind of days where one is at peace just laying in bed thinking, as the cool water pours down around the world outside.

I looked at the laptop that was resting untouched in front of me. The screen was still up at attention, but black from not being used.

I must have dreamed everything. The shadow. The whisper.

I chuckled to myself as I stood up from my seat to go make coffee in the kitchen. My knees ached quietly. They probably just hurt from being bent all night long. At least, that is what I told myself. It's always far easier to write off the truly unexplained. We are always happy remaining ignorant.

I slowly trudged into the kitchen. My crocs quietly squeaked on the tile floors. They were horribly ugly things to have on your feet, but goddam...they were comfortable. Besides, I was a writer. I had nobody to impress.

I grabbed the tarnished silver teapot that sat on the stove and filled it with cold water from the tap. The teapot, just like the drapery in the house, had been left by the previous owner. In fact, there were a lot of remnants left behind. A large grandfather clock that rang out in the most frightening of ways. An old, apparently never touched couch in the front room. A baby grand piano in the foyer with worn keys. I felt like I was living in someone else's house, being that I had barely unpacked any of my own belongings. I kind of liked it, to be honest. It was like I had stepped into the story where another left off. Or died off...I had no idea. Who really cares?

I placed the teapot on the stove and lit the burner. Bright blue flames licked the bottom of the silver, slowly tickling the water held within. I fumbled through the cabinets looking for the coffee and french press. I had still not really organized the cabinets, so I would always find things in different places each day. At last I found my treasures next to a half-eaten box of frosted flakes. The box itself wasn't eaten, however the cereal inside was. Next to the box was a gallon of milk that I must have put in there by mistake. What can I say...I enjoy frosted flakes after indulging in some fabulous things. The kind of things that open your mind up to be able to do things like write. For all you know, I'm eating frosted flakes right now as I type these words. You don't fucking know. I mean, I'm not. But I could be.

I unscrewed the cap to the milk and took a faint whiff to see if it had gone sour. It was fairly decent. Could have been worst. I took a nearly-clean bowl out of the sink, poured some of the thickening milk into into it, and sprinkled some of the flaked cereal into it. I thought about finding a spoon, but who needs a spoon when you really don't give a shit. I would slurp it like the animal I was.

The teapot began to whistle its horrible song as steam spewed out of the spout like a stoner exhaling at a Phish concert. I scooped some coffee grounds out of the bag with my hand and poured their fragrant particles into the french press. I used to use a coffee pot like a normal person, but once I found the french press I never looked back. Very honestly, it's a completely different coffee experience. Like the difference between having sex when you are a teenager versus sex when you have an understanding of what the clitoris is. Or prostate. Whatever tickles your fancy, really. Like mind-blowingly different. I'm not sure "blowingly" is an actual word, but I guess it is now. Never mind...it is...I just googled it. Feel free to use it.

The smell of coffee began to fill the kitchen immediately after I poured the steaming water into the glass beaker. The smell brightened the gloom of the gray filtering in through the windows from the outside. I was beginning to feel better. The nightmare was slowly slipping away from my thoughts.

<<<:>>>

I half-hazardly carried the bowl of soggy cereal and the mug of piping hot black coffee into the dining room. Splashes of both semi-cold milk and scalding liquid both found their way onto the flesh of my hands. On one hand, it hurt. On the other, it didn't. Pain and indifference, really. The joys of life.

I sat down at the table and coaxed my laptop to wake up with a gentle touch to its mouse pad. I nearly spit out the mouthful of cereal I had just poured into my mouth from the bowl when I read what was typed in bold capitals on the shit story I was working on. There, in the middle of the screen of the electronic page were two words.

KEEP WRITING

"Fuck man..." I quietly said out loud to myself. Even though I convinced myself I must have just written that as a message to myself in my sleepy/high state the night prior, it still gave me chills. I thought back to the dream. The sharp whisper I had heard. There it was again; that unsettled feeling in the bottom of my stomach. But that too could be explained away by the half-spoiled milk I was consuming.

I had to get out of that house for a little while. I felt like I had given myself cabin fever.

<<<:>>>

I found my old black boots by the front door and rummaged through a box to find my long black rain coat that was still packed away. I opened the large oak door that squealed when moved and was smacked in the face with a brisk wind. Deciding that I needed to re-think my outfit (which included dirty sweatpants, a faded Tenacious D t-shirt, the boots, and the coat), I made my way up the wooden staircase to find an outfit better suited for the elements. I had also worn the same sweats and t-shirt for over a week... if not, longer. Thinking about it, I had not really left the house for probably two weeks. That is just sort of my brand of a writing lifestyle I guess. Disgusting? Absolutely. But it bought the house and the things I needed just the same.

I pulled a tattered black sweater over my head and over the Tenacious D t-shirt. The fabric of the sweater was stretched in odd places, but it was comfortable and warm. I pulled off the stinking black sweat pants as well as the crispy boxers. I thought for a moment about showering and then decided against it. What good was deodorant if it couldn't cover up the smell of filth? Besides, the cigarette I planned to smoke when I got out on the porch would provide a strong enough fragrant blanket to cover up the sweaty ass smell. And if it didn't...so be it.

After completing my outfit with a fresh pair of boxers, stained jeans, thick wool socks, long striped gray scarf, and an olive-green knit hat, I was ready to be off on my way to do whatever I was going to do. I didn't really have a plan. Maybe a walk to the tiny downtown. Anything that would get me out of the house. I couldn't bring myself to really care.

As I turned to leave the enormous bedroom my eyesight caught something on the wall just above the headboard. There, on the white wall it looked like a symbol was leaking through the paint. You know how when your paint a lighter color over a darker color and sometimes it kind of comes through? It's always faint, yet always noticeable.

It was hard to see, but it definitely wasn't my imagination. A red symbol shaped like an eye was coming out of the white. Just enough to be seen by me at that moment despite the depressing light filtering in through the wall of windows.

I felt myself want to approach the wall to examine the symbol more, but found myself caught by a momentary feeling of fear and hesitation again. I couldn't stand there any longer and ponder its meaning. I had to fucking get out that house just for a little bit of time. It wouldn't take long for me to recharge.

Get out of the house.

I nearly tripped down the staircase as I feverishly fumbled to slip on my coat to get out of that prison-like space. I yanked open the heavy oak door with haste and nearly let out a scream as I found myself face to face with a tiny old woman. She let out startled gasp at my rapid presence. She was standing on my porch nearly lost within a bundle of winter coat and scarf. She had a plastic bag over her hair which I found both funny and alarming. I assumed it was to keep her hair dry. Or, at least I hoped.

"I am so sorry for startling you honey," the woman said with a sweetly calm voice.

"Uh...yeah...likewise..." I said in an almost whisper. I was internally trying to convince my heart to stop beating itself to death.

"My name is Emma," the woman said with a smile, "I live just across the street." She pointed to the historic home directly across from my house. It was in pristine condition. The beam across the woman's face as well as the intricately manicured landscape across the front of her yard revealed that she was proud of her dwelling. "I've lived there over 50 years. My husband and I..."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Ambrose," I said, cutting her off. I said it in a pleasant tone, but I secretly wished she wasn't there. I needed to get the hell away from that space. For the love of God, I silently thought, shut the fuck up...

"Oh Ambrose, what a pretty name..." Emma said with a smile.

"I thought so too when I picked it out..." I said. Annoyance peeked through the pleasantry of my tone. I needed to work on conversation and people skills. My response obviously confused the woman. She didn't know Ambrose wasn't my real name. How would she? And I wasn't about to explain how I was a writer who came up with some bullshit of a name to write under. It was far more humorous to watch her try to work it out in her head how I had named myself when I was a baby.

"I hate to rush you," I said while coaxing myself out of the door and onto the large porch, "but I'm running a bit late for an...an appointment. Big client. You know...things to do and places to be."

The woman's smile faltered for a second and then found itself back; stretched across her face as if hiding a grimace.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey. I won't be keeping you," she said while patting my hand with her pink gloved hand. " I just wanted to pop on over and introduce myself real quick. I figured you have been here long enough to settle in. I didn't want to come over prematurely...didn't want you to think you were being watched or anything...."

The way she said "watched" was horrifying, because what she really was saying was that she had been watching me. Lonely old hag just watching the new guy. Trying to spy and see what he was up to. Nosy bitch.

I faked a smile.

"Well, it was great to meet you Emma. Thank you for stopping by. Maybe one day soon we can sit down for some coffee or something. It would be great to chat with you...I'm sure you have a lot of stories of this town that I would absolutely love to hear!" I lied.

"Oh of course, of course sweetie!" She said with that same forced smile and overly sweet tone. "I brought you a little house warming gift...nothing big...just something I think everyone needs..." Emma reached inside her cartoonishly large flower-print purse and pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. It was complete with a large pink bow on top. Fucking gag.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," I said, faking surprise and gratitude. I know she was being nice and all, but something just felt off. Like when a dog growls at one person but not the next.

"Oh, it's nothing my dear. I just hope you get some use out of it," the old woman said, handing the wrapped gift over to me. Immediately when my hands held the package I could tell it was a book. A fairly large one. My curiosity was momentarily tickled as I pondered what book it could be.

And with that, the woman was off. Not in a speedy way. She was old as shit. But at least she was making her way off my porch to leave me in peace. Wrapped book still in hand, I pulled a cigarette out of the pack that was nestled in an interior breast pocket of my rain coat that I had found earlier. I lit it with the tiny green bic that I kept in the mailbox attached to the brick by the front door. I breathed in that familiar smoke. The smoke that reminded me I was alive, even if I sometimes wished I wasn't.

I looked at the gift Emma had given me in my hand. The paper wrapped around was perfectly pressed and folded. It was a print of lavender bunches, all repeated over and over. The bow wrapped around it had been painstakingly tied. Almost too perfect. Like something a robot would do.

I exhaled a puff of smoke through my nose as I fumbled to untie the artwork. I couldn't see her, but I imagined the old woman was watching me through one of the windows of her house. I imagined her beady little eyes watching my every move. Just the thought made me shudder a little, despite the warmth of my attire.

And then there it was.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." I said out loud to the rainy world around me as I realized what the gift was. "A fucking bible?"

Yep. A bible. And not like the little orange ones the weirdos try to force in your hands at festivals. No, it was a big-ass one bound in soft brown leather. It seemed to be fairly new; the pages still stiff. I opened the front cover and found a note perfectly written in black ink on the first blank page. The letters were scripted in cursive; beautiful calligraphy etched on the paper.

The Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.

2 Thessalonians 3:3

My heart skipped a beat when I read "evil one". Those two words were written thicker than all of the other words, making them bounce off the page and into my face.

"What....the actual FUCK!?" I whispered in horror out loud to myself.

The rain continued to pour as I stood on my porch with the half-smoked cigarette hanging out my mouth and leather-bound bible in my hand.

Maybe moving there wasn't the right decision after all.

#prose #writers #writers on tumblr #spilled words #literature #my writing #short fiction #short story #horror #thriller #paranormal #halloween #all hallows eve #improvisation #demon #detroit

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saintheartwing · 6 years ago

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Undertale: Frost

Author's Note:

This was a story I had always intended to write, but never really found the time to. Now I've got more time to, having settled into my new job, working at a brand new hospital. With this story, I intend to be fairly historically accurate to the times the tale takes place in, and the cultures as well. I'll try hard to be respectful, and to be understanding, but I recognize I will make some mistakes. Don't hesitate to let me know what you think, and point out what you like and where I can improve. This story will be covering some very tough, hard subject matter, and I won't really shy away from it though I'll try to not create anything so dark it gets an M rating. Above all else, I want the story to FEEL real, and to feel like the people within actually, truly lived. If I can tell that story, and make you enjoy it, and make you perhaps think a little about the big issues within this story...I'll be happy.

Seriously, nothing makes a writer feel better than knowing people read their work. So please. Don't be afraid to comment or review. And so, without further ado, I give you my vision of the past. I give you...Frost.

————————————————-

The sun softly lilted over the quiet city of Lincoln, England, the skies above filled with soft, lilting clouds as a gentle zephyr blew through the hair of those walking into the cathedral. It was the tallest building in the world, towering higher even than the Great Pyramid of Giza, with a magnificent central spire reaching to the heavens above in the center of the large church, and smaller spires at the front, its big, huge double doors open and letting all inside.

Even the monsters.

They passed their way into the cathedral's south entrance under the "Bishop's Eye", an enormous, beautiful stained glass rose window, a companion piece to the "Dean Eye" on the north where people would be exiting. This was, of course, deliberate, for the South represented the Holy Spirit, whilst the North stood for the Devil. The Bishop gazed out at the south, to invite in, whilst the Dean gazed out to the North to shun. The Cathedral, therefore, looked upon both Heaven and Hell…metaphorically speaking. All were welcome inside, but when they left by the North, they'd be reminded to be wary of the guiles of the evil one.

And there…there she was. One of the biggest reasons people had decided that perhaps letting the monster race into the town of Lincoln wasn't such a bad idea. She was clad in her plain robes, but her white fur shone beautifully, her eyes closed as she sang for the assembled crowds making their way into the church. The backup choir behind her harmonized along with her powerful yet soft voice, a voice likes that of an angel that instantly drew your attention. Though she had little tiny nubs for horns atop her faintly goat-like skull, and her finger's nails were somewhat pointed, the cute, large feet, the little sweet pot belly you could see, and her voice, the VOICE! All of that was disarming. Even her eyes weren't scary, though red in color, they were very close to brown, and came off as more soothing than sinister as Toriel, proud member of Saint Mary's Cathedral, sang for the masses, as Father White watched in his own soft robes not far away from the pulpit.

As Toriel sang, her cross necklace glinted in the light filtering in through the stained glass windows of the cathedral, and people were practically hypnotized as the words lilted through the air. Her words brought to mind soft grass in a valley, of the wind blowing through flowers, with petals dancing on the wind. It made you think of warm rays of the sun that faintly kissed your skin, and a tenderness that was rare to find on Earth.

"She's one of the good ones, without a doubt." Said Tobias's father as the young lad with the cute smile and rosy cheeks quietly watched her, blushing a bit more as he gazed at her face.

"She's, um…quite a lovely singer, yes." He finally murmured out.

"If only ALL the monsters had as fine a voice as this "Baphomine"." Tobias's father James commented with a sigh as he put his arm around his wife Marietta. Quite a few of the inhabitants in the church nodded at this quietly murmured remark, though Tobias flinched at this, and it comforted him to see quite a few people turning to give James a rather irritated and angry look. "Remember, Tobias. In the service of the lord, even beings as lowly and wretched as monsters can be made almost human. Truly, the church's mercy is a thing to admire that even such beasts can be admired in some way."

"Well…beasts can't talk…" Tobias muttered. "I've not ever heard a dog or cow or frog speak."

"Oh, they can imitate our language much like they imitate our songs, but I doubt they really understand it. Much like how a…PARROT can imitate human speech but not comprehend it. They're merely following our lead, my son." James reasoned. Tobias held his tongue, though for a brief, dark, horrible moment, he imagined kicking his father in the shins.

At last, Toriel had finished her song and bowed, as people clapped in the aisles, and Father White moved forward, nodding his head at Toriel, taking the young, teenage monster's hands in his. "Bless you, Toriel. Bless your heart. And bless all of thee for coming. The Lord be With You."

"And also with you." The masses repeated back.

"We profess our belief in the Lord, Jesus. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, so that whomever believed in him should have eternal life. This is the Gospel of the Lord."

"Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ."

Father White's thick black hair fell about his face as he his slightly scraggly-bearded face looked out among the throng. His blue eyes flitted very briefly over to Toriel before he spoke, loudly and firmly. "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees! Hypocrites! For thou are like whited sepulchers, beautiful upon the outside, yet inwardly rotten, full of dead men's bones and all uncleanliness. Though thou appear outwardly righteous, within thee is hypocrisy and iniquity! The Gospel of Matthew, one of my absolute most favorite parts of all the New Testament. Every one of thee should know it. Matthew, one of the 12 Apostles, wrote this fine Gospel primarily for a specific audience. Do any here know who they were? Come, please. Raise thy hands. This is a safe place for all who want to believe, and you won't be judged or mocked if you get it wrong."

Tobias slowly raised a hand up, before anyone else, and when Father White pointed at him, he spoke as clearly as he could, Toriel's eyes looking right into his own. "Was the gospel written for the Jews, Father White?"

"Yes. Matthew makes mention of more Old Testament sections than any other gospel, and he saw Jesus as King of the Jews, who fulfills the prophecies within the Old Testament. He wanted Jewish people to be able to welcome Him into their hearts, and to convince them with that which they themselves held dear, the holy words and prophecies and lessons they took to heart. By showing them this, and the miracles Jesus performed, Matthew hoped they would welcome Jesus. Let us pray upon this."

He bowed his head, the people in the Cathedral following suit as Toriel bowed her own head. Come about 45 minutes later, the service was over, and she was nodding as people left the Cathedral…before quickly rushing over to one particular person. Or rather, one particular monster.

"Careful!" She quickly ushered the burning, constantly-on-fire Pyrope away from a tapestry just in time. Phew. Now the depiction of Christ on the cross wouldn't go up in flames! The big, coal-like, large-mouthed monster's head hopped up and down on the coiled, rope-like chest, stomach and lower body of his frame, wearing fancy sandals as the fiery hair he had slightly flared up before it cooled down at the sight of her worried face.

"My apologies." Percival Pyrope remarked, the burning fire upon his round, black, eyeless face turning into a very thin layer of fire, his "normal" state when he wasn't excited. The Pyrope and monsters much like him who could accidentally damage the church had to sit rather separated from the throngs of humans. Didn't want them burning down the church!

"Its alright, really. You've been VERY well behaved, thank you so kindly." Toriel said warmly, bowing at Percival Pyrope as he left the church and Toriel, in turn, walked over to Father White as he looked over a big copy of the Bible at his podium. "You were very, very considerate to use Matthew in today's sermon." She said, as Father Michael took her hands again and shook them.

"Anytime, Toriel. You are as a shining light in our church, and welcome here anytime you desire. You'll never be turned away from here." Father White insisted kindly as he briefly peered over Toriel's shoulder, taking notice of the fact that…yes. There he was. Little Toby had stayed behind and was nervously rocking back and forth on his feet. "May I help you, Toby?"

"Um…may I have confession, sir?"

"Of course. Come this way." Father White led Tobias off across the church and towards the booth used for confession as Toriel, in turn, made her way out of the church and towards the local inn to get lunch.

Though many of the townsfolk smiled a little at her, or bowed their heads, others quietly shuffled out of her way, a few muttering nervously, looking a bit pale as she entered the inn and sat down at a table, the innkeeper sending a server over to her as several people she'd not seen in town before glanced in her direction.

"…oh. Those. Let's…not stay. I'm not hungry at the moment." One of the men grumbled as his friends nodded, the bartender sighing a bit as he watched them leave, Toriel quickly digging into her robes pockets.

"Here, I'll pay a little extra to make up for your lost business."

"A pleasure doing business with you, then!" The innkeeper remarked with a big grin as he nodded at the server. "Hannah, give Ms. Choir Girl anything she'd like!"

"Not a problem at all…" Hannah said with a nod as she stood by Toriel. "So what do you want?"

"I'll have the usual." Toriel remarked as Hannah nodded, going off to get Toriel her salted meat dish she so adored, combined with a nice local ale as Toriel, in turn, took something else out of her pocket…silver shine polish for her cross necklace, a creation of her own design she'd made by herself. In fact, she made quite a bit of good money selling her artistic creations, and used a bit of the proceeds to help the church. It was only fair, she felt, given how they'd let her join, the first monster in Saint Mary's-

Toriel sniffed at the air, turning. Oh. A man behind her was looking over a pie that had been served to him and he tilted his head to the side as he examined it. "I wouldn't eat that if I were you, sir." Toriel spoke up softly as the man glanced up at her, then at the pie. "It smells…" She sniffed at the air. "Yes, I think whomever baked it didn't quite use proper butter."

"You can tell from smell?" The man asked. He HAD looked irritated looking at her but now his expression was one of wonder. "I had no idea. Is it because you Baphomine part goat?"

Toriel inwardly flinched, but she said nothing outwardly and shook her head. "No, no, my kind aren't part goat, we just resemble them somewhat. Much like how a statue only resembles a living being, but isn't truly one. And, uh…we'd prefer being called "púca", good sir."

"Pooka? That's…Irish, isn't it?" The man inquired, wearing a thick robe that looked quite fancy and having a short moustache and beard. He looked very nondescript otherwise as he sniffed the pie. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Thank you very much, Miss…um…your name?"

"Toriel."

"Do you have a second name?"

"Oh, no, we monsters don't always have that either."

"I'm learning so many things about your kind! My name's Hugh, by the way." He said with a small smile as, at last, Toriel's own meal arrived. "Please, sit with me. I'd like to know more about you and your kind. I don't mean to impose, but I've heard so much, and I'd like to come away from this knowing you and your ilk better."

Toriel nodded, and she moved her meal to his little table, sitting across from him. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and probably wouldn't be the last, but she didn't mind, not really. If it meant a better understanding of her people and of her, then this was fine. It reminded her of a story that Father White had said, of somebody seeing someone on the beach, picking up starfish and tossing them into the sea. The second person had admonished this starfish saver. "Look, there's hundreds of these, you'll never save them all. You can't think you're making a difference." But the other man had simply smiled, picked up another starfish, and tossed them off into the ocean, saying "It made a difference to THAT one."

Toriel would be that Good Samaritan. And Mr. Hugh would be yet another starfish. As she began to speak about her kind, she felt something almost familiar in him. Almost-

Ah. Now she realized. His hair. It was rather like that of her friend off in Wales. She wondered how he was doing.

As it were, winter was soon to settle in Wales, and the first quilting of clouds passed its way towards the ramparts of the castle on the hill. The sun's rays were being slowly but surely obscured by the greying blanket that was making its way over the inhabitants of the castle as the guard nonchalantly sat on its ramparts, keeping their eyes peeled. They had their weapons close at hand, ready to snatch up at a moments notice, bows had fresh drawstrings put in them, the spears had been finely shined and armor a-glinted in the few remaining rays of light that burst through the clouds above. A light wind ruffled through their hair as they looked about at each other, ready to make their move. The only question was…who would break first? Their opponent was crafty and calculating and-

"HA."

Lord Llywelyn Ap Iorwerth was smirking in delight, and he picked up the winnings from the men, shaking them about in one hand and looking supremely smug. His moustache quivered in that way it did whenever he was especially pleased with himself, his cloaked frame rising up as he put the winnings from the dice roll in his bag and shook it about in the air, his thick Welsh accent audible for all the men gathered about to hear. "Hear that, me lads? THAT'S the sound of success."

"Just wait." One of the men grumbled as his buddy scratched the bald patch in the midst of the spiky hair on either side of his head. "We'll get our money back soon enough. Another round!" He insisted, shaking his fist defiantly at their lord as his ponytail flopped off the side of his shoulder, his bowman friend adjusting the bag of arrows he had slung around his back. "How about it?" He asked as he turned to another pal.

"…I dunno, Arthus." The somewhat shorter, tubbier spearman shook his head as he plucked a bit at the stringed lute as had in his lap at the moment, humming a bit, his rather large chin slightly bouncing as he hummed a few bars, playing some more of the lute. "I think I want to cut my losses." He said, the slight wind in the air a-ruffling his somewhat poofy hair.

"Dylann is right. Ol' Bowen's up for anything…but not a second pounding at the dice." Bowen the Bowman said in his oddly low voice as he sighed and hung his head, shaking it back and forth. Sitting not far away two knights glanced at each other briefly as they stood on opposite sides of Lord Llywelyn, one with a half-visor esque helm who's lower half was slightly dotted with little holes, chainmail on his arms and legs as he hung his own head in dice defeat. His comrade, who wore a helm that was smooth and square-like and with a slightly jutting-out front with plate armor on his arms, but not his legs shook his head too.

"Gawain and I aren't interested in losing again."

"Iolo, come now!" proclaimed Arthus, looking rather mortified. "That's two week's pay you've lost!"

"And I don't want to lose another two weeks." The plate-mail having knight commented. "My dear "Artie"…one must know when to cut one's losses."

"Perhaps Elisud wants in?" Arthus asked as he and the others turned to the young lad who was looking out over the ramparts, who hadn't joined in the fun at all. Elisud, though being the youngest there at age 16, looked far older than he really was. He was already showing the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow with the faintest sign he was going to have quite the beard/moustache combination. He also had a bit of a receding hairline, his hair wafting about in the wind somewhat as he looked across the long stretches of grass to the east.

Elisud turned to look back at them, a slightly surprised…even annoyed…expression on his face. "Um…well, it is just…I mean, I've been told gambling is a sin, good sirs, and I don't want to sin. I AM going to be a Friar."

"Exactly. A Friar. You Franciscans have to take vows of chastity, poverty and obedience. Nothin' in there that says you can't GAMBLE, that ain't one of the 10 Commandments!" Arthus laughed.

"Besides, if you're concerned about the money…just give it back to these fine gentlemen. You can call that "charity"." Lord Llywelyn said with a smile at Elisud as he rubbed the back of his neck. Elisud had been training to be a self-taught Friar for weeks now, he'd read book after book about what it took and he wanted to establish a Franciscan monastery in Wales, there weren't ANY in the entire land and he wanted to be the first.

"Well…okay." He said at last before glancing back across the grass. "But are you absolutely sure we don't need to worry about them?" He wanted to know as he looked back over the long stretches of green at the distinctly white-skinned, odd mixture of ugly and cute that was sitting about 100 yards away from them. He'd been watching that froglike creature for a good ten minutes, and he'd been most unsettled at how it was just STARING at them all.

Froggits, they were called. They looked much like their namesakes, but there was…SOMETHING underneath their little bodies that peered out, some kind of bug of some kind that people suspected allowed the frog-like top to call forth flies to buzz forth and attack the monster's target. The fact that they were only about a foot tall made them a bit more worrisome to deal with than a normal frog, but still…

A frog monster with big stupid eyes that could summon a couple flies or so to buzz at you wasn't too intimidating. At least, the men clearly didn't think so as Dylann plucked at his lute some more and began to play a tune, the men sniggering all around.

"Elisud, it's a damn froggit. They're not scary!" Bowen said as he tapped his foot along to Dylann's tune, the others beginning to hum along as their Lord strolled over to Elisud to look over at the froglike creatures as well. "I mean, a good, hard shot from an arrow will send them scampering away."

"You could kick one into oblivion." Said Sir Iolo as Gawain nodded his agreement. "They're not as dangerous as the Melusine or the Baphomine race."

"Their magical skill's pathetic." Arthus commented. "All they do is summon flies."

Elisud glanced about. "…do any of you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Dylann asked as he stopped fooling with the lute, tilting his head to the side.

"Sort of a…buzzing noise?" Elisud murmured, looking over at the froggits, eyes a little narrowed. "Are they trying to summon their flies?"

"I don't see any over there." The lord remarked as he gazed upon the froggits as well, tilting his head somewhat.

"Really, don't worry, Elisud! The foolish froggits may have numbers but that is all they have. Should any attempt to get within reach of the castle, we shall let loose our arrows on them and they shall perish from the onslaught." Sir Gawain offered to Elisud. "Now come, come!" Gawain rose up too and clasped Elisud on the back. "Try a liiiiittle bit of gambling. You've got a good month to go before you leave us and get started on building the monastery. You can live a little."

"And it's of course an honor to build it with your permission…and money, Lord Llywelyn." Elisud added with a bow. "But if thee don't mind my asking, why did your wife want to help me set it up?"

"I suspect that papal decree from Pope Honorius III has gotten her very grateful towards the Church." Lord Llewelyn mused aloud. "Who am I to deny her? Now come, come! You want to win this gold, don't you?" He asked, shaking the bag about, making it jingle with its many coins. Elisud smiled warmly and sat down on the ramparts as his lord did the same, and Sir Gawain and Iolo began to hum merrily, Dylann beginning to sing as he so often did whilst Bowen and Arthus got out their own respective instruments from nearby bags, a flute and a viol, playing along with Dylann as he closed his eyes and sang joyously.

The song wafted through the air as Elisud and Lord Llywelyn rolled their dice, eager to keep the fun going as the minutes went on, the singing making the group practically glow with a kind of warm, soft light that brought a smile to Elisud's face. Still, even though he was enjoying their singing immensely, he couldn't bring himself to join in, whenever he tried to open his mouth to join in the revelry, he felt himself choke up, his neck tightening.

"If only I had a bit more bravery in me." He sighed sadly. Still, he didn't mind. It was just…nice…to enjoy his time with his wonderful, wonderful comrades here, and nice to have such a good, sweet lord.

"Alas. Snake eyes." His lord sighed as he hung his head, Elisud cheerily holding up the bag of gold he'd just gotten.

"Winning!" He giggled as he held the top open and, one after the other, poured out the winnings for everyone else to take hold of in their palms. "Here you are everyone. My sincerest compliments." He remarked before an idea came to him and he made his way towards the eastern rampart's wall, holding up the still-remaining coins in one hand. "Hello? Froggits?"

The frog monsters ALL turned to look directly in his direction.

"Look, if I were to give thee some coins, would thoust please leave?" Elisud inquired, the rest of his group looking a bit stunned by this, whilst his Lord sighed somewhat. The froggits glanced about at each other, and then "harrumphed".

"Mayhaps they don't have anywhere to put it. Ah well." Lord Llywelyn said with a shrug. "Not everyone welcomes the virtue of charity." He remarked as Elisud walked over to him, giving HIM the last bit of gold he had left, a look of surprise popping on the ruler of Wales's face.

"You didn't have to give me any of it back, I lost it, fair and square." Lord Llywelyn remarked.

"You're already giving me so much, sir." Elisud insisted with a beaming smile. "I could NEVER thank thee enough for that but at the very least I can give you a bit of coinage. Mayhaps use it to buy your wife a new dress with my compliments and deepest gratitude?"

Then he heard it once more. "There it is again!" He groaned, looking left and right. "That BUZZING noise. Don't all of thee hear it?"

The others glanced around, then Bowen sighed as he rose up, readying his bow and arrow and peering down over the ramparts, looking down the walls. "I don't see any silly froggit flies trying to climb up the walls." He called out. "You sure you're not a-hearin' things, Elisud?" He inquired as Elisud rose up, looking about, holding a hand to his ear and closing his eyes.

"The sound is coming from…over…there." He said, gesturing off towards the west as he quickly made his way to the far side of the castle, strolling over a connected pathway bridge, finally arriving at the other side…and his eyes bulged wide with horror. "OH MY GOD!"

Oh his God indeed, for now he saw what the buzzing noise was. The froggits on the eastern side had been a distraction, for a much larger frog that was a good three feet tall and with a crown upon its head stood there, eyes burning like coals, its mouth looking almost like it had been sewn shut, ready to burst open and let loose a horrific, soul-shattering croak. Underneath its body were burning, sickeningly bright eyes, and sweeping all about it…was a SWARM of flies that were sweeping along the grass, barreling towards the castle.

"SIRS! SIRS! We've got a MASSIVE, crowned Froggit to the west!" Elisud cried out. "He's unleashing a swarm of flies upon us all!" Elisud cried out as the men in the courtyard below and on the ramparts immediately bolted upright. Cries rang out as they took hold of their weaponry, Lord Llywelyn seeing the froggits on the east racing towards them.

"They are trying to ensnare us in a pincer movement! We must strike back! Ready your positions! Take aim with your bows, my bowmen and fire, fire, fire! Get me some boiling oil to keep them from getting inside the castle!" He roared out as Elisud reached into the folds of his robes, readying the small crossbow he had by his side as he got out his small little quiver of bows. He drew the string back, readying the bow as he took aim, then cringed. No, no, he could maybe hit a FEW flies but he'd never be able to do any proper damage.

"Light your arrows!" Lord Llywelyn yelled as he and others held up torches, the arrowmen lighting up the arrows they were ready to fire as Elisud did the same, nodding at his lord. "We'll be able to strike more down this way! Here they come!"

The flies had almost reached the castle, that horrific, foul, unnatural buzzing filling the air as the Final Froggit let loose a big, loud, ear-splitting GRRROAAAARRRKKKKK of a noise, and Lord Llywelyn cried "FIRE!"

THWOOSH-THWOOSH-THWOOSH! Arrows soared forth, rapped in burning flames, barreling down at the flies, others aimed at the onslaught of froggits. The screeches and cries of dying Froggits was oddly human in how they sounded, it was SCARY how much a frog's cry was like a man's. But down they went all the same as the bowmen kept firing, big, large, burning chunks getting torn through the ensuing flies. The horde broke again and again, the attempt to break through the castle defenses appeared to be failing.

But Elisud could see a distinctly smug look on the Final Froggit's face. He kept hopping leisurely towards the castle, and the flies kept coming. Elisud didn't know why he was so smug and cheery but-

Then he realized why as he reached into his quiver and found out that he'd run out of arrows. And evidently, so had most of his friends! The men were clearly out of arrows and now they were trying to pour down boiling oil as the flies soared towards them…but the flies could dodge these far more easily than the arrows, soaring up, away from the boiling oil to shoot down at the men.

"AGGGHHH!" Elisud could see his comrades being swarmed by loads and loads of flies. Though the Froggit assault from their front line had failed miserably, the Final Froggit's flies were succeeding very well. They tried to swat and slash and bat at the insects sweeping all about them, getting in their eyes, biting at their flesh, but though they knocked several of them down, it was proving nigh-impossible to kill the little pests.

Only those who'd put on armor had some degree of protection as they were being kept from being bit…until the flies got into their hoods, forcing folks like Gawain and Iolo to rip their helmets off as quickly as they could, spluttering, coughing, digging at their eyes, the flies trying to eat their eyeballs out!

Elisud gasped in horror, surrounded on all sides by his beset friends, the screaming of the dying and the hurt and the terrified all around him. He had to do something. ANYTHING! Anything at all! He had to get rid of all of these flies! He turned, seeing the Final Froggit now atop the ramparts, a distinctly smug look on its features as it stuck its tongue out mockingly at him.

"Not so high and mighty in your castle NOW, are you, humans?" It inquired as Elisud felt a shudder go over him, the frog-like monster gazing right at him as…something unexpected happened.

In fact…three things happened in quick succession.

PING! A big, green heart manifested in midair in front of Elisud, and the Final Froggit sneered at him again, Elisud's eyes widening.

A powerful, yet oddly soothing and tender balm of emerald light rose up around Esliud's frame as his vibrant verdant eyes sparkled.

And he covered his face and his head with his arms, flopping onto his knees, wanting the flies and the froggy monster to just go away, as an enormous, pulsating, throbbing shield of green light cascaded forth, shooting out from his body. THA-THWOOOOM! All of the flies around him, and the Final Froggit too, went sailing through the air, the other flies dissolving away in midair as the Final Froggit's concentration was shattered by the sudden burst of what could only be described…

As MAGIC. Pure Green Magic…from a Soul of Kindness.

TRHROMPH. He hit the ground, groaning, the men gazing in amazement, fear and wonder at Elisud as he looked down at his hands, which slightly glowed with the same green light as the shield, the Final Froggit quickly hopping away from the castle as fast as his little legs could carry him, not wanting to stick around to fight a MAGE as Lord Llywelyn approached Elisud, and the obvious question came from his lips.

"Elisud…how in the name of everything holy did you do that?"

"I haven't any idea." Elisud whispered. "…what did I just DO?"

"That's MAGIC, my boy. Magic, right there. No doubt about it!" Gawain whispered, bite marks all over his cheeks and left side of his face, whilst poor Bowen was missing one of his fingers, nibbled off by the flies as he had his hand wrapped up, and was cringing in pain. "I've only heard stories of the wonders of the mages."

"Does anyone know anything of what green magic does?" Dylann inquired as Iolo rubbed over his eye. He had a VERY nasty wound, the flies had tried to eat it out of its socket and had eaten the eyelid away.

"It's healing magic. Shielding magic. The sign of a compassionate and kind soul." He whispered as Elisud's mouth fell agape. "Perchance he could heal our wounds."

"I can…try." Elisud murmured.

"Try to think of how you used it just now. What was going through your mind?" Lord Llywelyn asked, putting a hand on Elisud's shoulder as he bit his lip.

"I…just wanted that monster to leave us alone. That thought flared in my mind, in my heart. I just wanted him to GO, and…and something erupted up inside me."

"Concentrate then on…Bowen, for starters. Bowen, your wound!" Lord Llywelyn proclaimed as Bowen raced over to Elisud, the others watching on in awe, as Esliud held onto Bowen's hand. "Think only of healing his wound. Try to picture his healed hand in your mind. All of you, stay silent! Let him focus. Let him breathe. Let him feel the swell of healing light within." The lord reasoned as Esliud took in deep, long breaths, as he closed his eyes, his hands feeling over Bowen's injured hand, picturing the flesh growing back.

Slowly but surely, he felt the surge a-swelling up in him but…no, no, it was more like a soft ripple. A gentle wave, a balm that soothingly slid from his hands in a tender green aura, as Bowen's finger began to grow back, good as new, right before their eyes.

"Tis a miracle." Bowen softly whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. "Tis truly a blessing from God himself that you'd gain this power, at our most dire hour! There can't be any other explanation!"

"Now, now, Elisud has other wounds to treat. But once he has finished, we celebrate." Lord Llywelyn proclaimed firmly as he gently patted Elisud's back. "Esliud, your hands were meant to heal, that much is true. And we'll celebrate tonight with a glorious feast in your name."

"I don't know if I deserve it, sir. Anyone with my gift would surely do the same." Esliud said humbly as he blushed somewhat.

"Then we'll celebrate to God's grace, that allowed us to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Sound better to thy ears?" Lord Llywelyn asked as Esliud warmly smiled back.

"I don't think God would mind that at all, sir. Nor would I. You all honor me with your faith in my new skills, I only hope I can do right by you." He insisted with a bow of his head.

Meanwhile, the Final Froggit had made his way far across the expanse to the west, and had found refuge within the forest, a deep, dark woods indeed. The lack of sun from the quilt of clouds above made the only light from within be illuminated all the more as a burning figure stood in powerful armor, sitting on a big, gigantic dolmen, surrounded by a host of other creatures, all of whom were radically different from each other. There were creatures with only one eye and nasty, foul horns, the eye in the center of their gigantic head. It would blink every once in a while, and shift, and the one eye became two tiny ones with a little, smirking mouth. Another being would have been adorable in its tiny little winged armor, save for the coldness that emanated from its helmet as it spun a spear about. A big, hulking, horned knight of a monster had a gigantic Morningstar resting upon its shoulder, and it turned to the burning, humanoid being in armor, clearing its throat.

"The Regimental Leader of the Froggit Squad's Welsh Platoon 1 is here, sir."

The Final Froggit was allowed to pass by the towering behemoth of a monster as the burning being folded his arms over his chest. Upon examination, the being was…just barely an adult. He looked eighteen, really, with fire for skin, for hair, and lacking a proper face, save for two yellowish, intense spots that resembled eyes.

"How did it go?"

"…miserably." The Regimental Leader sighed. "I'm very, very sorry Lord Grillersby. They had a mage with them. One blast of his shield scattered my flies and sent me flying, and my divisions…well…I have no divisions. They crumbled from the onslaught of arrows, and are now but dust in the wind."

"That is very unfortunate." Grillersby, better known as "Grillby" to his friends, sighed as he hopped off the dolmen and paced back and forth. "Still, we need a good foothold in Wales and killing their king would finally teach the humans they can't keep pushing us around. He's the weakest and easiest to get to of all the rulers of these islands. If we can't get to him, we certainly won't be able to get any of the others!"

"What of the one they call Cu Chulainn, sir?" The Regimental Leader asked as everyone else drew in a deep, harsh breath. "Has Melusine not proven effective against him?"

"You would THINK." Grillersby grunted. "…you would think. Unfortunately, it would seem the rumors are true. He's as a demon on the field of battle. Sigh." He hung his head. "I'm going to have to write back to poor Asgore and let him know the bad news. And that means he's going to have to give his Father the bad news. And I'll have to deliver it myself to ensure the letter isn't intercepted before it gets to our dear skeletal friends in England..."

#undertale #fanfiction #fanfics #fanfic #fantasy #racism #bigotry #toriel #grillby #wd gaster #drama #prequel

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shanastoryteller · 7 years ago

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Hey so I've loved your Retold Fairytales for some time but I just binged your entire Gods and Monsters and I??? love Styx. A lot. And I'm curious about Hephaestus and Styx growing up as best friends in the Underworld. If you could work your magic when you have the time, I'd love to see a story about them!

Styx does not have a homein the underworld, not really. She has a room in Hades’s palace, of course, anda nook in Hecate’s house. Charon has acottage by her river, a humble thing for a being of such great power, and she’sshoved her way onto his narrow bed and curled into the warmth of his chest morethan once. She darts through the horrors of Tartarus, and plays in the ElysiumFields.

All of the underworld is open to her, and she’s lived herethe entirety of her existence. But she’s yet to find a piece of it that feelsas if it belongs to her, that doesn’tfeel borrowed.

Hecate brings home a baby with no legs beneath the knee andwide, curious eyes.

Styx adores him instantly.

Hecate is a busy woman – her duties in the underworld keepher constantly moving, and she spends much of her time shrouded in her secrets.She is the goddess of magic, and there are things that only she can do, thingsthat other people can’t even know about. She is not a person with much time tospare, and babies take a lot of time.

Hades watches him often, directing the traffic of souls andoverseeing construction with the child held to his chest. Charon fashions asling, and the baby sleeps against his back while Charon ferries souls acrossher river.

Time passes. The baby is not like her.

The baby grows.

Hephaestus is a child, and he lives in a dangerous place.His aunt raises him, and she is a busy woman who does important things, and itseems to him like nothing in their home is safe to touch, that it is all cursedor corrosive or even, at time, sentient.

The palace is not much better. Hades always welcomes him,has a warm smile for him, but is too busy to linger. He walks on wobbly legs ofglass that Aunt Hecate fashioned for him, and they allow him to walk, but theypain him too. He cannot run or jump, he cannot explore the edges of the underworldlike he so desperately wants to because his legs are delicate, clumsy things.They are glass, and they shatter too easily.

“Don’t be sad,” a voice says in his ear, and he’s grinningbefore he even turns around. Lady Styx is there, smiling at him. She looks tobe his age, although she is much older, and she has black skin and grey hairand eyes. Her skin is the color of her river’s water, and her hair and eyes thecolor of the foam when it rushes too fast. For as long as he can remember, shehas always had kindness to spare.

“I’m not sad,” he says stubbornly. “Aren’t you busy?” She isa goddess, one as powerful and important as his aunt or Hades. He wants to growup to be just like her.

She shrugs, “My river knows what to do. Do you want to go onan adventure?”

“Yes,” he says instantly. The only time he’s allowed toexplore is when Styx is with him. If his glass legs break, she can carry him,and if anything tries to attack or hurt them, she can stop it.

She grabs his hand, smiling. It’s cold. She’s always cold,the same icy temperature as her river. “There are volcanos in Tartarus. Have Itaken you there before?”

He shakes his head, and in the next instant they’re gone.

Styx and Hephaestus manage to get in all manner of trouble,including, but not limited to: accidentally giving Cerberus two extra heads,devising and implementing a manner of torture for Tantalus that is so brilliantHades can’t even get mad at them for it, and figuring out it is possible to surf of Styx’s roughwaters with glass legs, but only if you’re very, very stupid and have thegoddess in question by your side and laughing so hard she forgets that herprimary job here is to prevent you from dying.

When he’d found them, Hades had given them the worstadmonishment he knew how to give: a disappointed frown. Hecate had laughed andtold them to be careful of his legs.

Hephaestus’s childhood had its bright spots. Almost all ofthose bright spots included Styx.

Hephaestus looks older than her now, a young man when sheis, as always, a child. He’s gotten quieter as he ages, his dark eyespermanently thoughtful.

“You shouldn’t come here without me,” she scolds, sittingdown beside him. He doesn’t respond, swinging his hammer down on glowing metalwith a boom loud enough that the volcano shakes with it. “You know Hecatedoesn’t like you going into Tartarus alone.”

“You were busy,” he says, not accusatory, just a statementof fact. “Here, cool this for me.”

She sighs, but cool water rushes from her hands and onto thesuperheated metal. It hisses and steams, but when the air clears Hephaestusholds it up and appears to be satisfied. “Must it be in a volcano? We can makeyou a forge in safer part of the underworld.”

“Volcanos are useful,” he says, the same answer he alwaysgives her. “I have more of these to do if you want to stick around.”

Helping him build whatever he’s currently working on ispretty boring. But he’s her friend, and it must be important if he’s riskinghis life by going into Tartarus on his glass legs to do it. “Sure,” she sighsslumping down to sit crosslegged next to him. He pats her on the head, whichshe’s all prepared to be insulted by - she’s a kid, but she’s not a kid – when she sees his lips curled up aroundthe corners of his mouth. He’s making fun of her on purpose, which is stillannoying, but is less hurtful than him treating her like a kid just because helooks older.

The first set of legs that Hephaestus makes for himself aremade of iron. They’re not as pretty as he’d like them to be, but that’s allright. He can run in these legs, jump in them, fight in them. He is no longer abeing made of glass, no longer someone who can be easily broken.

Styx is the first person he shows them to. He leaps andsomersaults in them, something he could never do before. She’s delighted atfirst, smiling and clapping, but by the time he finishes, arms out-thrown andbeaming, she’s wilted. She sits hunched and tries to keep her smile in place,but it’s trembling.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling in front of her. “Ithought you would be happy for me.”

“I am!” she hiccups, and now she’s crying, big fat tearsthat he wants to wipe away but can’t. She cries the water of her river. If hetouches them, he’ll burn. “I am happy!’

He risks it, tugging the end of his sleeve down to quicklywipe her left cheek, then ripping it and throwing the cloth away as it burns.“You don’t look happy.”

“You’re going to leave,” she says, and he goes cold. “Youhave legs, and now you’re going to leave, and I’m not. I am the Goddess of theRiver Styx, I must stay with my river. But you’re going to leave.”

His heart breaks seeing Styx cry. He loves Hecate, lovesCharon, loves Hades. But if there is one person in this realm he can truly callfamily, it is her. They share no blood, but she’s the only sister he’s everknown. “I’ll visit! You can visit me too. I wasn’t born here, Styx. Hecateisn’t my mom. I was born on Olympus, and I can’t hide in the underworld fromHera forever. I don’t want toeither.”

“I know!” she says, her breath coming in stuttering gasps asshe tries and fails to stop crying. “You’re so smart, and all the things youmake are amazing. You need to go out there, so other gods can see you, so thatpeople can see you. I just – I’m going to miss you.”

He’s a god – a little river water won’t kill him. He pullsStyx into his arms, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as her tears burn throughhis skin. She resists for a moment, then goes slack, throwing her arms aroundhis neck. He says, “I’m going to miss you too.”

Hephaestus does not want to cause an uproar. He’s hadfantasies of storming Mount Olympus, of confronting Hera, of doing any numberof foolish, stupid things. But he is not a foolish, stupid man.

Hecate has picked out a volcano for him already, one shetells fits all his requirements and is not in the domain of any other god, eventhe lesser ones. He will go slow. He will build, and improve the lives of themortals. Temples will be erected in his honor, tributes placed at his feet, hisname on all their lips. He’ll build his power the hard way, until they canignore him no longer, until Hera and Zeus have no choice but to offer him aplace at their table on Olympus.

But not yet.

For now, he builds something else, something even moreimportant.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Styx asks, pouting.

Hephaestus’s hands are on her shoulders, pushing herforward. “No.”

She scowls. She can tell they’re by her river, in a bendwhere no one travels through, but that’s it. Her knowledge of the geography ofthe underworld is always in relation to her river. “What about now?”

“Yes,” he says.

She wasn’t expecting it, so it takes her a moment to blinkher eyes open. “Did you make this?”

“Hecate helped,” he admits, “I wasn’t sure what to do forthings like curtains and windchimes. Do you like it?”

It’s a house. A small one, not much bigger than Charon’s.It’s made of obsidian, but not several pieces put together. It looks like thewhole things was carved out of one massive piece of obsidian. The walls are blackand smooth and shining. There’s a large, round bed in the center that’s a paleblue, the chairs in a deep purple, and her curtains are a soft yellow. Thehouse is black, but Hephaestus has filled it with color, given her a rainbowtucked in every space. Copper pots hang in the kitchen, and there are signs ofhis forging everywhere – in the cabinets, the door knobs in the shape of flowers,the singular windchime hanging in her open window, even though there is no windhere.

“Do you like it?” he repeats. “I know you tend to just – endup wherever, but I thought you should have a place that was just yours. If youwant something different I can change it–”

“No.” She swallows and touches her wall, the silver designin her walls that he must have inlaid himself. “It – it’s perfect.” Quieterthen, “You gave me a home.”

No place in the whole of the underworld has ever felt likeit belonged to her. This one does. It doesn’t feel borrowed.

Hephaestus ruffles her hair, “It seems only fair, since youdid the same for me. This realm wouldn’t have been my home without you.”

They’re smiling at each other, and the tension she’d beencarrying ever since she realized Hephaestus would be leaving drains out of her.

He’s older now, almost an adult, and he’s leaving theunderworld. But he’s not leaving her.

“You’re my best friend,” she tells him, in case he’sforgotten.

“Good,” he tells her, “because you’re my best friend too.”

gods and monsters series, part xxiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

#gods and monsters series #styx #river styx #hepheastus #greek mytholofgy #greek myth #hades #hecate #i hope you like it!! :) <3 #pitviperofdoom #asks #this is so .. unexpectedly wholesome #i wasn't trying for that it just happened

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ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie · 8 years ago

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"#when your fav is problematic" Excuse you? I'm not at all- okay yeah I'm v problematic

You’re totally problematic, but problematic in the best way! And as it turns out, you’re not the only problematic one…

A gift for you - my very first official fanfic. I hope you enjoy it, because I legitimately wrote it just for you, @son-of-rome :)

Empty Kisses and Broken Bottles

It had been 11 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days.

Exactly.

Not that she was counting.

She was staring out of the frost-covered window of the apartment, looking over the city before her, but seeing nothing.The streets were broken memories of a love long lost, but never forgotten. Itall felt empty now.

Sometimes there were good days. Where she almost forgot,where she felt like she could breathe. But today was too much. The pressure onher chest, where her heart was supposed to be, hurt too much.

Supposed to be.

Because her heart was, and forever would be, with him.

She blinked once, twice, and looked around the comfortableroom. Her new home.

She wiggled further into the worn-out couch, pulling herblanket tighter around her, as the fire roared in the fireplace. The distantsound of One Direction playing over the speakers in the kitchen pulled her outof her stupor, but it was the terrible off-key singing which accompanied itthat brought the small smile to her face.

The delicious smells swirling in the air reminded her thatshe hadn’t eaten since that morning. Her stomach growled in protest.

She sat up, the large quilt slipping off of her as shestretched and walked towards the kitchen. It had been a gift from hermother-in-law. All of his T-shirts were sewn together in a swirling pattern,allowing her to surround herself with the only memory she allowed of him.

Of Percy.

Her bare feet padded against the cold hardwood floors as shecrossed her arms, pulling her sweater tighter around her body. Her long, blondeponytail swayed at her back.

She walked into the kitchen and instantly stepped up behindJason, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into his back.

A small smile she couldn’t see grew on his lips, as heintertwined his fingers with hers, reminded once again of how much he lovedher. Of how happy he was to have her with him. He bobbed his head to the music,shaking his hips against her to drag a laugh out of the lips she had pressed tohis back, as he stirred the various pots on the stove top with his other hand.

After Percy had died, he was the one desperately trying tomake sure she didn’t fall apart. He hadn’t really cared for the guy, but he’dspent his life loving Annabeth, even if she hadn’t known it.

Everyone thought he was the asshole stealing the dead hero’sgirl.

He didn’t care what they thought.

He just wanted her to be happy. He didn’t care if she didn’tlove him. And most days, he was almost sure she didn’t.

All he wanted was to keep her alive. After the accident, hehad been the one to find her at the hospital sobbing on the ground, fallinginto oblivion.

He was the one who made sure she survived.

He made sure she ate, and hydrated, and showered, and showedup to work on time, and stayed alive.

But he knew that nights were the worst of all. And there wasnothing he could do about that.

Until the day she couldn’t take it anymore. Being alone.Looking at the empty bed where her husband used to lie.

Until the day she asked him to stay. So he did.

And other days, she stayed with him.

Some days she hadto stay with him. Some days she couldn’t look at their house anymore. At thememories. The porch swing where they’d sat up all night looking at the stars. Thebed where they slept together. The kitchen where they’d cooked together,because neither of them was good enough to cook alone- and the blue-stainedcounters from the food coloring he insisted on putting in every batch ofpancakes. The bathroom, with its memories of their morning showers. The couchwhere they would marathon show after show, not really paying attention, andhaving to watch the same episode countless times. The tomato sauce stain on thecarpet where they’d knocked over their pizza in anger the day the Mets playedthe Yankees. She couldn’t even remember which team won anymore, she justremembered their laughter as they’d tried to clean it up. Her breathy giggleson the phone as she attempted to order another, while he placed soft kissesalong her neck.

The beach where he’d proposed.

Tears pricked her eyes.

And then she was pulled out of her memories again. “Annabeth,you asleep back there?” He turned his head, rubbing her hand.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, “I was trying to be.” She hated lettinghim see her like this. Hated the look on his face, the sadness there, that sheknew was reflected in her. The love, that was not reflected.

She loved him, that much was for sure. He had been thereason she had begun to smile again.

But even after everything he’d done for her, she couldn’tlove him the way he loved her.

She couldn’t love him enough.

He chuckled at her grumbled response, pulling her armstighter around him, and turning back to whatever he was sautéing.

He found her on one of those days, in her old house, their old house, on the floor, aching,sobbing, breaking.

Broken.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even remember what hadtriggered her. Just that she had been. And suddenly she was in the hospitalagain. The panic had hit, the misery swept through her heart, the pain, god the pain was unbearable, shepulled her hair, feeling herself falling apart, as she curled up in a ball onthe ground, shaking, dying. No, notdying. But wishing she was.

And he’d found her there.

And she’d begged him, beggedhim, to take her away. And he had. And she hadn’t set foot in Montauk since.

That was the first night she’d kissed him. The first nightshe’d done more. The first time she’d selfishly used him, as a distraction. Assomething, anything, to pull her away. And she hated herself, because deepdown, she knew it wasn’t the last.

But when she moved in, it grew. The love grew. And somedays, the good days, he was all she saw. He was the light in her life. And theylaughed, and they held hands, and she was there, and she was with him, and shewas happy to be there with him. They kissed, and they touched, and sometimesshe couldn’t keep her hands off him, and she didn’t want to.

But the bad days. God,the bad days. Those were the hardest of all.

There were different kinds of bad days. First, the kindwhere she started to cry, and she couldn’t stop. When it all became too much.The memories. The sadness. The abandonment. The darkness. Too much. But it wasokay, because he held her. And she knew he would never let go.

Then, there were the bad days filled with guilt. The dayswhere she couldn’t even look at him. The days she screamed. The days shecouldn’t eat. Where if she did, she’d throw up. Where she hated herself forbeing with Jason, feeling like she’d left Percy. Where she hated herself forfeeling that way. Where she hated herself for being with Jason because she knewthat he deserved so, so, much better.

Lastly, there were the silent days. The days where she wassimply numb. Where she didn’t know what to say. Where she felt like there wasnothing to say at all. Where she was too broken to breathe. Too shattered toexist. Those were the days that Jason had to do the most to pull her through.Where she was a ghost. They were also the days that scared him the most.Because he could feel her slipping away.

He stepped out of her arms to grab more spices and shesmiled up at him as he turned back towards her.

He bent down, placing a sweet kiss to her nose as he pulledher into his chest.

His hands went straight to her ass as she stood up on hertoes, pulling herself out of her memories, and kissing his lips. He was alittle shorter than Percy, easier to reach. Her hips ground against his as herarms wrapped around his neck. He growled against her lips, gently biting themas one of his hands climbed up her back, reaching under her shirt. He pulledhis lips off of hers to press gentle kisses to her neck, nipping at thesensitive spot right where it met her shoulder, and sending chills down herspine. A hazy moan slipped past her lips as he sucked on her collar bone.“Dinner is going to burn,” he murmured against her warm skin, “and it’s goingto be all your fault.” She pulled his head back up to meet her eyes, a realsmile on her lips as she kissed him softly one last time.

“Thank you,” she whispered, causing him to chuckle as hecompletely misunderstood the reason behind it. Turning around to grab forks andknives, she let him get back to making dinner.

“Really,” he continued, “it’s probably more your leggings’fault than anything else. Those things make your ass look way better thanshould be legal.”

The sound of metal hitting the ground caused him to quicklyturn around, just in time to see her bending over, her face turned towards him,a mischievous smile on her lips. “Oops,” she grinned as he bit his lip, thelust evident in his stormy blue eyes.

He moved as though he was about to step forward, and thenquickly turned back to the stove top, aggressively stirring his sauce. Shepretended not to notice as he adjusted his pants, and grabbed some plates andwine glasses to bring to the table.

The wine rack called to her on the way back, and she stoppedto assess their collection. “White or red,” she called out to him, over thesounds of his dying whale noises.

“How about a nice Cabernet Sauvignion?”

Reaching for the bottle he’d brought back from his last tripto California, she began the hunt for a corkscrew.

Soon enough, the table was set, the food was served, andJason had even begun to look with her, but the corkscrew was nowhere to befound.

Suddenly, he stopped.

“Hold up, I got this.”

Bottle of wine in hand, he headed into the basement.

Annabeth simply shook her head, rolled her eyes, and resumedher search. Her boyfriend claimed to “have it” far more often than he actuallydid.

Boyfriend.

Husband.

Dead husband.

And there it was. Just like that, it began.

She stopped breathing. She couldn’t breathe. Silent tears poured out of her as she fell to theground.

The wake. The closed casket because her husband’s body hadbeen too battered, too broken, too burned to show.

The funeral. The bodies. Friends, family, neighbors, strangers.All gathered. Percy had always said that he wanted a celebration at his death.People remembering his happy life, instead of the sad end. So that’s what shedid, she smiled, and celebrated, and hosted, and put on a mask. The perfectwife, the perfect widow, while people cried around her, and she comforted them.She comforted them. Telling them itwould be okay. Telling them hewouldn’t want their tears.

But when all was said and done. When there was no one left.When she crawled into bed alone, staring at the spot where he used to lie.There was no one there to dry her tears. No one to tell her it would be okay.And even though she knew it, there was no one there to tell her Percy wouldn’twant her to cry.

And again they fell. Rolling down her cheeks, unstoppable, asa chill settled in her heart and wouldn’t leave. This time felt different. Itfelt like they would never leave.

Jason cheered comingup the stairs, a giddy smile on his face, not knowing the storm he was about towalk into. “Babe, I just opened a wine bottle with a screwdriver. Call me Bobthe Builder, fixing shit. Solving problems.” He laughed, taking a victory swigfrom the bottle, before he turned towards her.

The bottle shattered against the tiles of the empty kitchen,as he ran over and fell down to the ground beside her, wrapping her into hiswarm embrace.

This was a different kind of bad day.

Dinner was forgottenas he surrounded all of her with all of him. She felt so small in that moment.And it killed him.

He scooped her shaking body into his arms, pulling her intohis lap, and holding her close. Aching sobs racked through her chest, echoingthrough the apartment. He rocked back and forth, trying to whisper comfort intoher soft blonde curls. His armstightened around her as the intolerable pain felt like it would take her allover again.

She loved him.

And he was gone.

Jason’s heart was breaking for the girl he loved.

The girl who would never fully love again.

So he held the broken pieces of his shattered soul mate,kissing her tears away, desperately trying to hold her together.

Because he may not have been the love of her life.

But she would always be the love of his.

Note: Jason x Piper (Jasper/Jasiper/whatever you want to call them) was never a thing in this AU.

#enjoy dan #pjo #son-of-rome #hoo #jasabeth #fanfic #oh look it's me #I guess I'm writing now #jason grace #annabeth chase #when your fave is problematic

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