#original passing thoughts was them being neighbors that kept running into each other. I like paralegal and detective WAY more wjxjsjx | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

misterewrites · 3 years

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Mystery at the Salt-Irons

Hey everyone! E here with a new chapter! kept you waiting huh? Haha sorry it's been a busy few weeks. Nothing serious but I had to keep starting and stopping this chapter so it threw me off but it's here, it's ready and I hope you enjoy it!

I have some special guests in this story, some ocs made by my friends because you know what I can so I will and honestly, they were really great oc ideas guys. so keep an eye out for @hains-mae and Biz_fantasist OC(I don’t know if she has a tumblr but it’s late so I’ll edit it later)

That's it for me! I hope you are all stay safe, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, push to give everyone the vaccine cuz this is getting ridiculous. I hope you have a great week, thank you for reading. I deeply appreciate and feel free to share it with your friends, give me feedback. Reblog and comments all that fun stuff! Thanks and I'll see you soon!

Here’s the chapter over at Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/85394095

Here’s the story from the beginning if you’re curious what this is about

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

and here’s a list of all my work both original and the various fandoms I write for

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary: Finnrick is called to solve a mysterious case as per his job as the city's only Private Investigator wizard but as he sinks deeper into the case, the more it seems that something is happening behind the scenes. Of course with an old friend in town and dark magic surrounding the case, Finnrick is as busy as ever. Ain't no rest for the wicked.

-----

The Salt-Iron Flats weren’t anything special on the surface: An unassuming apartment complex on the north side of Newton Haven, the only thing most people remembered about the place was how the price tag hurt their souls.

Of course, unlike the general housing market, the Salt-Irons (affectionately referred to by the locals) actually had a very reasonable reason for fetching such a high rate: The salt and cold iron baked into every single brick that formed the building.

If you weren’t in the magical know, you’d think it utterly insane that you’d be forced to pay such a large amount of cash because some weirdo decided to make a new age artistic statement with bricks. Of course, if you are aware of the greater community at large, you’d knew you were paying the insanely large sum because someone decided to make the Salt-Irons the single most protective location in the city.

Most mortals have forgotten their history, their lore and collective knowledge passed down throughout the generations: Why their ancestors used to place lines of salt in front of the door and windows, why the elders always suggested to the braver, recklessly youthful family members to carry iron whenever they ventured through the wild.

Outer beings were repelled by salt and iron. No one really had an idea why fae, angels and demons weren’t fond of salt or iron and there's been plenty of arguing about the subject but all in all the fact remained they did not do well when faced with either.

That was the main reason Finnrick didn’t find himself in the north side of town often.

Well that and the zealous Gate Keepers. Those guys were freaks but between them and the Salt-Irons being the only supernatural community up here, Finn never got a case from the area.

Until today.

The Salt-Irons were great at protecting you from any outside threats that wished you ill will: It didn’t protect you from anything you decided to bring in with you.

It was five in the morning when Finnrick got the call. The M.R.R.D representative didn’t have much to offer beyond the address and floor but he thanked her all the same.

Finnrick yawned tiredly, stretching the tension out of his neck while he sipped his coffee. He let out a sigh of relief as the sun slowly rose into the sky.

The Salt-Irons was a twelve story tall building painted a ghastly pale green that made Finnrick sick just looking at it.

“People are paying how much to live in that shade? I’d ask for discount if I were them.” Finnrick laughing to himself, making his way into the apartment complex.

Luckily the interior was much nicer than the outside: Everything was well kept and cleaned. Not a single speck of dust in sight and the wooden stairs didn’t creak when Finnrick placed his foot on them.

Which was good given Finnrick needed to go up seven flights of stairs.

Finnrick wheezed a little, wiping the sweat from his brow when he reached the seventh floor. He glanced down the hall one way then the other as he began to search for room 707 which basic deductive reasoning suggested should be around the corner.

Finnrick crushed the empty foam cup and tucked it into his coat pocket as he made his way to 707. It was a simple wooden door and immaculately spotless just like the rest of the place. He rose his hand and gently rapped on the door.

No response.

He frowned, checking if he was still alone in the empty hallway and rose his hand towards the door frame.

His eyes glowed with a blue energy as he whispered softly “Revelis”

The door gleamed with a bluish hue for a moment before fading away without a trace.

No protective spells laced over the frame so the only thing Finn had to worry about now if it was locked.

He tried the knob, unsurprised when it swung open silently.

“It’s not breaking and entering if someone’s expecting you” Finnrick justified to himself as he pushed the door in.

He nearly staggered backwards: The air tasted thick and foul like something had been left rotting inside. His skin prickled with anxiety, a chill running down his spine with each step he took further in.

Finnrick took deep, calming breathes while doing his best to ignore the bitter taste that seem to cling the air within.

He noticed the trail of footsteps, perfectly preserved in what appeared to be black dust leading deeper into the living room.

“Hey da! You here?” Finnrick called out, carefully stepping closer “You and ma still married?”

There was a deep grunt of acknowledgment before a voice responded “Sorry son, we’re divorced now. She got custody of you.”

“Well fuck. I guess I’m going to be eating kale and poorly cooked spinach for the rest of my life.”

Garrus Valka was not in fact Finnrick’s father, adoptive or otherwise. He was actually one of the highest ranked officers of the Magical Rapid Response Department: An elf clocking in at 200 years old with richly tanned skin. His bluish gray hair was slicked back in his preferred style. Garrus’s had his back turned to the detective but Finn knew his sliverish gray eyes were deep in concentration as he took down notes about the surroundings. His beautifully inhuman features were marred with a scar on the right side of his face: burnt skin on his cheek, healed by time and various surgeries. An old war wound though Finn never got the full story.

He was dressed in typical M.R.R.D fashion: Dark blue windbreaker, jeans and a blue shirt with the words “Powered by coffee and spite” splashed across the front. His Winchester rifle was slung across his back, ready for any action that may befall the elf.

“Drift.” Garrus greeted teasingly while offering a hand.

Finnrick gave it a playful shake “Da. So is mom here or she trying to smite pigeons again?”

“THEY TRIED TO STEAL MY HOTDOG!” Garrus’s partner Eden screamed from another room “I SHALL BRING MY GOD’S WRATH UPON THEM!”

“You know when they mean justice.” Finnrick called out “I don’t think they mean against winged rats.”

Eden chuckled darkly “You know not their sins.”

“Okay.” Finnrick nodded despite the fact she couldn’t see him “If you say so. What happened Da? Aside powerful necromancy.”

“Powerful necromancy” Garrus replied cheekily “and missing persons.”

Finnrick rose an eyebrow “Persons? More than one?”

“Two: A father and son. Richard Charles and his son Richard Jr. Recluses it seems. Neighbors hardly saw them. Mostly kept to themselves.”

Finnrick pursed his lips thoughtfully “Any magical abilities?”

“They’re not on records if that’s what you mean.” Garrus answered “Never signed up in the academy, not registered with The Council. If they were practitioners they didn’t tell anyone.”

“So what was the spell? I just smell the remnants of spookiness.”

“Hadn’t noticed the rest of the room huh?”

Finnrick frowned before finally getting a good look at the rest of the room: Every inch of the apartment was blanketed with the same black dust that he found in the entrance way. Inches and inches of the substance and that wasn’t the strangest part.

Everything was bent at different and odd angles: chair with crooked legs, the wall clock warped and twisted, the fridge leaning like someone folded it in half. Floorboard reached for the sky and walls split inward.

There was a common misconception about magic. Most people thought spell casters, especially wizards, could command reality to their wills. That magic was capable of impossible feats and it was as simple as snapping your fingers.

The truth was all magic, ranging from divinity to free range nature, was performed on a micro scale. Practitioners did not alter reality but rather shortcut it. Throwing fireballs was as simple as rapidly heating the air until it combusted. Turning invisible was less about vanishing completely as it was bending the light around you to not be seen. Magic was rooted in reality and imagination. If you had the magical strength to perform the magic, the magic often followed your lead.

Of course there were spells that required much more than magical hand and willpower. Powerful magic, like summoning outer beings or raising an army of zombies, required both time and materials. Magic was like any other energy: you needed enough of it to perform what you wanted. The human body could only generate so much magic without dying and resting was necessary to replace any expended in the use of spells. Materials were guidelines for the spell. Feathers for anything with flight, ash for fireballs etc etc.

The other thing needed was to gather energy and store it for the spell’s use. There were different ways to achieve this: Wands, talismans, potions were basically magic soups. The most efficient way to gather energy was the wizards preferred way: Circles.

Finnrick eyed the room closely this time, murmuring under his breath about angles and trajectory. Garrus paid him no mind, well familiar with the private investigators methods.

“If this went like that” he gestured to the wall clock “and that went here.”

Finnrick glanced about, carefully walking about as if worried he was going to step on a landmine.

“Here.” Finnrick found himself staring at a spot in the middle of the room “Ventus.”

He gestured with a hand and light breeze filled the room. It brushed away some of the dust covering floor, revealing the outline of a half melted metal ring.

“What is it?” Garrus turned curiously

“Spell circle. The source of the explosion. I’m willing to bet it’s custom made. Copper, steel. Maybe some bits of tin couldn’t stand the surge.”

“No iron or sliver?”

Finnrick shook his head “That’s for containing or repelling monsters. Necromancy is more about drawing in the evil entities. Or sucking out life.”

Garrus sighed tiredly “Don’t touch?”

“Only if you want to live to see retirement. Might have some pent up magic ready to blow outwards.”

“Understood. I’ll call in our guys. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

Finn nodded gratefully while pulling out a vial and motioning to the elf “Mind if I do?”

“Be my guest, you might find something we’d miss.”

Finnrick smiled gratefully before scooping up some of the dust and sealing it within the vial.

“Take care Garrus, stop fighting birds Ma!”

“Flying rats!”

-----

The cafe was lively despite being early but that was no surprise given it was Mother’s. Mother’s was the single best food establishment in all Newton Haven and if anyone disagreed, they were allowed to have their opinions.

They were also allowed to be wrong.

Finnrick paused in the doorway, breathing in the scent of well cooked eggs and sweet lemonade. The pop and sizzle of heated grease brought a sense of comfort to the hard working private investigator.

“Finny Drift!” Maddie Copperstone called from behind the counter “How’s my favorite customer holding up?”

Maddie was 40 years young with tastefully curled dark brown hair. Human, little on the short side but fierce. She wore a simple red blouse and jeans, both stained with flour that the apron around her waist did not prevent.

Finnrick bounced over cheerfully, reaching over the counter to give the matron the biggest hug he could muster “I’m good Maddie. Working a case.”

Maddie’s brown eyes searched his face carefully “You always working Finny. You resting as much?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Maddie let out a disbelieving chuckle “You weren’t ever a Scout.”

“Honorary scout after I stopped that bear from eating them.”

“Thought it was a giant raccoon.”

“Yes but people don’t take giant raccoon seriously. He here?”

Maddie clicked her tongue disappointingly but motioned to the booth at the far end of the establishment “Rest.”

Finnrick rose his hand in surrender “After.”

“Never you mean!” Maddie shouted after him.

Amos Frye hadn’t changed much since last he was roaming around Finnrick’s neck of the woods: Handsome with soft gray eyes that reminded Finn of gathering storm clouds. His long black hair was tied in a messy bun held up by a golden pin, a braided strand hung loosely near his face. His beard was much shorter than what Finnrick remembered though he noted the unkempt split ends indicated that Amos hadn’t trimmed it in a few weeks. His iconic dark red sleeveless jerkin and black jean combination would look ridiculous on a lesser man but had allowed the monster hunter to show off his muscular frame. His brown skin was a bit more pale than usual so no doubt Amos had been operating at night lately.

“Finnrick, you cheeky bastard! I am so glad you came!” Amos beamed happily, his various bangles and bracelets clinking together in equally joyous celebration as the two shook hands.

“Amos! Happy to see you.” Finn beamed brightly as he slid into the booth across his old friend “Why though? Family trouble?”

Amos’s joyfully gleam turned dark for a moment.

“No. Have you…?”

Finnrick shook his head quickly “Not a word. Sorry, I hadn’t meant to…”

Amos waved the apology away “No worries cuz. I understand why you’d think that. Coming across the pond isn’t a spur of the moment thing and Os has always been the black sheep of the family. I suppose no news is good news.”

“Right.” Finnrick cleared his throat awkwardly “So what’s the trouble? I doubt you’d call me up for a nip and chat.”

“Rightly so.” Amos confirmed, reaching into the bag at his side and pulling out a folder “Hunting business as usual cuz.”

That made sense: Amos was the latest of a long family whose specialized business was monster hunting. The Fryes had been striking at things that went bump in the night for centuries ever since the first Frye defended the folk of some underground society.

Amos was an average wizard if Finnrick was being generous. That was not a slight against his old friend, it was a matter of fact: Amos spent most of his time honing the physical aspects of his profession which was obvious given the size of his arms. Any spells he knew were purely for defensive or preventive measures so he often communicated with Finnrick for higher quality and complex spellwork.

Finnrick took the folder from Amos and began pouring over its contents.

Most were quickly scrawled notes Amos had noticed about his quarry: Long sliver hairs, canine in nature. Large paw prints found in the areas it had been sighted, far too big to any natural wolf. Wulfvur and werewolf were hastily written and as quickly crossed out. A pattern of hanging out in wild areas, often forests and swamps.

There were pictures too: flashes of sliver, blurs of fangs and muzzles darting in and out of camera frame. It was always a distance away, sprinting deeper into the wildness. It was hard to tell from the photos but Finn guessed it might’ve been 10 feet tall at the very least.

“Why we hunting wolves now?” Finnrick asked curiously.

Amos flagged down the waitress “Contract given to my pa. It was hanging around the marsh lands of the jolly old isles. Someone wanted it gone.”

Something wasn’t clicking with Finn “and you followed it here? From England?”

“Nah cuz” Amos gave a cheeky grin “I tackled it through a portal and found I illegally crossed into America.”

“Ah.” Finnrick nodded in understanding “Fae.”

“Fae?” Amos frowned thoughtfully “I thought that too but I never heard of any snarling wolfie breaking into homes and snatching out wee younglings in them old folktales.”

“Fae are weird.” Finnrick shrugged “Their whole shtick is not making any sense. I had to expel a cat the size of a bus once. Double decker tall.”

Amos whistled in appreciation as he scratched his bread “So fae. Slippy fellow as you can tell. Whatcha recommend?”

“What’s the contract?”

“Banishment. It’s looking like wolfie ended up in the wrong part of town.”

“I think you mean next town over. Fixed a pattern yet?”

“Not yet but I wasn’t looking for one.” Amos admitted “Thought I was tracking some mutant. Fae changes a lot. Magical circles?”

“Easiest way to catch it.” Finnrick agreed “Sliver for sure. Iron would hurt it and based on your files, it hasn’t done anything than thin the local wildlife population. No need to anger mister big bad wolf.”

“Good call. I got some talent to handle a few circles but tracking is not really my speed.”

“I’m on a case but if you swing by the M.R.R.D, maybe they’ll loan you a wizard.”

Amos let out a disappointed sigh “I need to take care this sometime this year Finny. Bloody bureaucracy probably set me back a month at least.”

“There’s always Jaime but she’s pretty busy at work.”

“Jaime huh?” Amos smiled mischievously “I haven’t talked to your sister in a long time.”

“I will curse you.” Finnrick playfully threatened “And not no simple hex either. I’ll make you bald.”

Amos gasped dramatically, clutching at his hair protectively “You wouldn’t dare mate.”

“Shinier than the sun.”

“Okay, okay” Amos conceded “I’m kidding. She’s with Casey anyway. Good couple. Cute couple. He still hopelessly selfless and she still trying to fast track her way to power?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna fix that?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s their lives. Their choices.”

“Idiots.” Amos chuckled “the lot of them.”

“All you need is love?”

“Spoken true the gospel of my land.”

-----

A few hours later with a brainstorm session completed and a promise to help out the next day, Finnrick left Amos to his work and continued with his own.

It was noon now and as the sun rose high in the sky, Finnrick found himself at the Grimyard.

The Grimyard was the premiere spot for all things magical in Newton Haven: Rows and rows of shops specifically catering to the magic community. The streets were paved with century old cobblestone and the buildings here were various hues of faded brick and mortar. It was easy to get lost in the Grimyard if it was your first time as the Grimyard did not spread out, it stacked downward. Layers upon layers of the Grimyard were actually underground to allow those with issues against the sun to sell their goods and services at all times of the day. Don’t let the dark fool you, anyone with worthy talent or product was here in the Grimyard.

Normally Finnrick would wander around a bit, checking out the various businesses and protective wards around the mile long patch of land but he was on the clock and the sooner he began to figure out what was going on, the sooner he could stop it.

Luckily for him, his destination was right here on the top floor of the marketplace. Specifically furthest back corner.

Knightly Ore was ran by the Knight family. Originally they only sold rare metals and ores which were necessary components for some of the more complicated magicks. At some point the owners expanded into selling more alchemical materials and eventually brewing potions, salves and such for a fee.

Despite decent business, it was the most rundown building in this part of the Grimyard: Broken window shudders with the paint faded down to the original shade when the business first opened decades ago. The humble black door was crooked and creaked whenever it moved

Finnrick knew the owners fairly well but here wasn’t here for them. He was here to see their son.

He pushed past the building, ducking into the alley that led to the lot directly behind the shop.

“Halt!” A voice called out “Who seeks the Brewmaster of the Grimyard?”

“It is I, Finnrick the detective. I got money and I need work done”

The Brewmaster was Theodore Knight, an incredibly talented alchemist who didn’t have the same opportunities Finnrick did: He was pretty tall for his age (14 or 15, Finnrick lost track once or twice) but clearly a teenager given his short lavender hair had a few strands dyed red. His eyes were an unnatural pale blue, paler than the blue of the sky. He wore the usual attire Finn often found him in: A sleeveless dark blue hoodie with a fist sized red gem clasped in front just under his neck and a lighter shade blue t-shirt. He wore black finger-less gloves gripping his brown messenger bag slung around his shoulder. A matching brown pouch hung around the waist of his gray cargo shorts and his brown boots were kept clean despite his place of business was in an alley behind his parents shop.

Theo jumped out from a hidden shadowy corner of the lot “Finn, whatcha got for me now?”

Finnrick reached into his pocket, showing the eager teen the vial that held blacken dust within.

“That’s it?” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes “I was expecting something…...cooler.”

He took the vial and raised it to the sun. Theo gave it a rough shake and watched it carefully for any properties the strange substance would display.

Theo frowned, clearly unsatisfied by what he saw “You brought me ash? Plain ash? It’s your money but even I think it’s a waste.”

“It’s ash?”

Theo shot the detective a look that screamed how obvious it should’ve been “Yes, ash. Thicker than what I’ve seen but ash all the same.”

Finnrick bit his cheek thoughtfully.

“Look Finn, you know my rates. I dunno what you want me to do but standard fees apply.”

“I’ll paying double.”

The Brewmaster’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “Double for ash? What’s so special about it?”

“Oh nothing." Finnrick pretended to look disinterested “Aside it was taken directly from a crime scene: Necromancy and cast via a half melted spell circle.”

It took Theo a minute to allow the implications of what Finnrick said to sink in. His eyes shifted from suspicion to wild excitement.

“Really?!” Theo clutched the vial like it was his first born child “Necromancy really doesn’t like many alchemy processes. It’s not going to be easy for me.”

“I know right?” Finnrick grinned impishly “It’s almost like I’m going to have to pay double for it.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to….” Theo pouted unhappily “Ha freaking ha. Okay smart guy, pay up.”

Finnrick handed over 50 gold. Theo took it eagerly, his eyes lightening up with glee.

Theo paused for a moment, his face turning oddly serious for a teenager.

“It might take me awhile depending on what you want.”

“I want to know what’s in it. Necromancy requires specific ingredients. After that it’ll be easier to track the seller.”

“And the buyer!” Theo blurted out excitedly “Smart.”

Finnrick ruffled his hair playfully “I wish I thought of it. You keep this up and you’re going to run me out of business.”

“I’ll text you when I have something.”

“Pleasure as always Theo.”

“It’s Brewmaster.”

-----

It was 2 in the afternoon when Finnrick made his way back to the Salt-Iron. He stood outside the complex, tossing the remains of his pizza into his waiting maw and crumpling the can of soda he was drinking before tucking into his coat pocket.

“What’s this?” Finnrick asked, utterly confused by the crushed foam cup he pulled from within “Oh right my coffee. I’ve been really at today.”

Finnrick wiped his hands clean and made his way inside the Salt-Iron once more, mulling over the details of the case as he ascended up the stairway.

Blacken ash cast by a spell circle. Both father and son missing with no indication where they went too. Recluses and rarely seen. Necromancy within a threshold.

It was hard to tell how deeply the father and son were involved in spell. Someone who had access to the apartment was behind it no doubt. Spell circles were the most consistent way to cast magic but they took time to build, set and channel energy. You didn’t build a spell circle without knowing exactly what you plan to do with it.

The nature of the magic was also a mystery: Dark magic had various applications and not a single one was good. Finnrick hadn’t much experience with that branch of magic but there was nothing logical about the aftereffects: Ash spread throughout the apartment, clinging to everything like a second skin. There was no signs of an outward blast given that nothing bent in the same direction. Everything in that room decided to twist in whatever wayit felt like. If the spell was supposed to draw in something then chair legs and wall tiles would’ve been pulled directly towards the circle.

“Curiouser and curiouser Alice” Finnrick spoke to no one in particular.

He was on the fifth floor when he noticed something odd.

Finnrick raised an eyebrow as the skies outside the window darken, black and stormy.

A thunderstorm it seems.

Finnrick peered out the window, glancing upwards to see what was going on.

Dark clouds swirled directly overhead. Rain began to lightly drizzle as the skies boomed. Thunder and a moment later lightning trailing across the gathering storm.

A thunderstorm that formed directly above this building.

Without warning.

“Well that’s not ominous.”

Finnrick made the mistake of leaning closer to the window, peering around to see if he could see where exactly the storm was coming from when it happened.

“Watch out below!”

Finnrick noticed three things in that moment: First, was of course, someone shouting to watch out below. Second was the distant sound of claws scratching something wooden, the walls perhaps. Lastly was the thudding of something falling down quickly and towards him.

Finnrick rose his hand, pivoting on his heels in time to see something crash into him.

It wasn’t much of a contest: Both Finnrick and whatever slammed into him broke through the fifth story window and went sprawling into a freefall.

#My story #Mirror's Edge #Original Work #original story

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

“Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

“Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

“Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

“Congratulations, your graces.”

The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

“Your grace?”

You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

“Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

“Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

“Are you all right, dear?”

You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

“Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

“You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

“Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

“Jemilla?”

You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

“Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

“Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

You nodded.

“How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

“Is that so?”

“Why yes. Look.”

He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

“How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

“My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

“I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

“Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

“It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

“Did you call me a coward?”

You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

“All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

“Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

“Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

“As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

“My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

“You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

You shook your head slightly.

“Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

“Quite fevered,” you whispered.

Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

“Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

“Already hiding from your husband?”

You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

“Tessa.”

You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

“Your grace,” she said.

Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

“I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

“We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

“Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

“Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

“So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

“Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

“Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

“And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

“Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

“Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

“We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

“You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

“Are we, your grace?”

Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

“I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

“Stare into my eyes.”

They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

“Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

“Stare into my eyes.”

You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

“If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

“One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

“Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

“No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

“After you, your grace.”

You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

“Welcome, your graces.”

You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

“I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

“Your room, your grace.”

“Thank you. what is your name?”

She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

“Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

“Hello there.”

The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

“Your grace, is something the matter?”

You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

“Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver a message?”

“No! No. Thank you.”

You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

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

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#pleasing the duke fic #rege jean page fanfiction #the duke of hastings fanfiction #regency fanfic #the duke of hastings x ofc #bridgerton fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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polpoka · 3 years

Text

Neighbor Au

Characters- Kim Rok Soo, Alberu Crossman, Lee Soo Hyuk, Choi Jung Soo, Tasha

Ratings- K+

Shippings- Kimrokberu

Type- (Fluff)

Part 5

((CW. mentioned racism))

The tray made a harsh clink as Alberu set it in front of Taerang, who was sitting on the lignum vitae chair, on the coffee table which formed a complete set with the said chair.

“So, sir, in the end,” Taerang took a pause to sip on the tea the host had provided, though he was the junior, “Did you tell him your name?”

Alberu averted his eyes, before answering in a low voice, “...Yes.”

Taerang sighed. He cared about his employer a lot, especially because of the fact that they had known each other for quite some time, and in that time, he had come to realize rather early on, that Alberu was rather soft on the inside, despite his harsh mannerisms and stern appearance. He cared far too deeply for people and always hesitated to let a connection go. It would be bad in their line of work, but well, sometimes it was necessary.

He remembered the way the younger college student had always shook his hand rather than barking at him and treating him like a meagre guard. Even though he was one, who had been given to him as a present for his achievements by his former ‘owner’, Angelica and right before Choi Jung Gun, and before that his guardian, Ahn Mon Ran.

He was always viewed as a tool, almost always at least, Ahn Mon Ran had no other option but to give him to Choi Jung Gun because of the hand the man had on him.

He asked once again, “Did you say anything that even remotely points out the fact that made the person think that you’re part of the elite Crossman family, and not your average joe?”

Alberu still didn’t meet Taerang’s eyes. Taerang knew what that meant and unfortunately Alberu did too.

Alberu struggled to meet Taerang’s eyes, “I’m sorry, hyung-”

“Don’t call me that right now, sir. You know you’re in trouble. Big time.”

Taerang took a sip of his lavender tea which had been poured til the brim of the teacup, “You were the one who originally asked for these rules to be made, and we can’t break them, since you specifically gave us instructions not to. No matter what you say at the time.”

Taerang looked at the man who was fidgeting anxiously. He knew why these rules were a safety precaution, and he didn’t want Alberu to go through that experience again. Well, technically speaking, he wasn’t there but he was told the story, and he didn’t like it either way, not one bit.

Alberu also knew the reasons, and the repercussions, and yet it felt horrible. He knew why this had happened, and he didn’t want it to happen again but still. He looked at the table silently for a moment, thinking about the various possibilities which seemed to end with his heartbreak.

Kim Rok Soo didn’t seem like the guy who would take advantage of him, he just didn’t. Not to mention, the connection- the connection felt as if he was a gust of wind that had finally found his tree, but he knew that in the end, this was the best move he could play. If he stayed, he had no idea what to do.

Would he confront Kim Rok Soo?

Would he pretend never to see him again, despite knowing that his heart longed for the other?

That would just be running away, but Alberu wasn’t even sure what Kim Rok Soo would want. He thought that Kim Rok Soo was free, and that he, a caged bird could never compare, even if he liquidised all his assets he couldn’t compare with that man, and so, he might as well not trouble the other.

Alberu was determined, yet this time he felt like he couldn’t win. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time. It reminded him of the time he had to deal with his dad, and those were memories he would rather not recall, but he was sure a broken person like him didn’t deserve Kim Rok Soo.

After this short exchange with himself, he looked at Taerang, his eyes looked soulless, and his voice was brittle as he spoke, “So let’s go through with it.”

Taerang felt something inside of him break, he couldn’t do anything but agree, “...Yes, let’s go through, sir.”

Alberu took a short sip of the liquid that had been sitting in front of him untouched, “Ah look, it’s gone cold.”

***

Kim Rok Soo’s apartment was in an overly pristine condition, despite it normally being clean, Choi Jung Soo could tell that he had cleaned the place intensely a couple of hours earlier. The yellow evening lights had been switched on a few hours ago and the three men were sitting on the floor on a neatly maintained rug, with more than an average number of bottles that three men should consume in a single night being kept on the table. It seemed that they had all acknowledged that the only function of the table right now was to act as storage.

“Rok Soo-ya?” Choi Jung Soo asked, waving his hand over the other’s face.

“Ah,” Kim Rok Soo blinked, adjusting his eyes to the light, before replying to the call of this man, “Yes?”

Choi Jung Soo took a seat next to him and could easily notice a couple of things that were odd off the bat. For example, the eyebags were deeper, he wasn’t paying attention at all, which even when separated from these discrepancies was odd. Not to mention he was drinking a lot, almost as if he was trying to get drunk. Even though Choi Jung Soo knew that Kim Rok Soo was aware of his own tolerance, which was inhumanly high, something must have happened and it was definitely not a good thing, seeing as the way Kim Rok Soo looked and acted.

Choi Jung Soo patted the other’s head gently, you could hear the tease in his tone, “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t really want to talk about it…Could you pour another one?” the other responded with a burnt out tone, letting the hand rest there.

‘I guess it didn’t go well.’ Choi Jung Soo poured another cup for himself, using the nearest half filled bottle, before filling Kim Rok Soo’s cup.

Lee Soo Hyuk on the other hand, was drinking a little too much than what a forty year old liver could take. He’d drunk two bottles. Downing them like they’re soup, well not like his dongsaeng hadn’t drunk about three bottles of the same type of strong alcohol in one sitting.

‘Really, the people around me really don’t take care of themselves,’ thought Choi Jung Soo drinking down his seventh cup of scotch. He sighed and looked at Kim Rok Soo, he was sure it was a rejection.

Kim Rok Soo felt like throwing up. He wanted to throw up all his feelings related to his former neighbor. It had only been a day, he wasn’t that close- So it wouldn’t be hard at all, if that was the case, right?

“Who am I kidding, of course not.” he murmured.

“Hmm?” the one beside him asked, “Is something wron-” Before Choi Jung Soo could finish his question, he was tackled with a hug from the one he had presumed to be on the other end of the table.

“Rok Soo yaaaaa~ Don’t worry, these kinds of things will always happen.”

Choi Jung Soo struggled to escape the bear hug he had, without his knowledge, stepped into. “Hyung- Kim Rok Soo is there- There-” he tried to point to the clearly dispirited Kim Rok Soo, failing and being pinned to the floor, while Lee Soo Hyuk fell asleep on him.

Gradually, Choi Jung Soo too, started losing consciousness, albeit something he did not sign up for, and drifting to sleep, while Kim Rok Soo was sitting in the end of the line of drunkards, well two pass outs and one drunk.

Kim Rok Soo shuffled to get the two blankets to cover his hyungs before getting his own to join in on the pile of corpses. He shifted the table a bit, and tucked himself to make the rug a little more comfortable to lie on. He tried to close his eyes, but he simply couldn’t. His mind was haunted by the brunette, and not in a good way. He turned to a couch, which brought back the incident that occured day before yesterday. He shifted once more, this time to look at the faces of his hyungs, this again reminded him of the time they were so excited about the whole soulmate jamboree.

Everything reminded Kim Rok Soo of Alberu, and he didn’t like it. No matter how hard he tried he could simply not forget the man. He had a striking appearance and a discernable mark on his life, despite them knowing each other for a day.

They hadn’t met each other since Kim Rok Soo had moved here, which was 6 years ago. Well, that was partly Kim Rok Soo’s fault for thinking that it was too much work to meet his neighbours, and he just ended it with seeing his then 24-year-old neighbour, who was too busy with his work once.

Now, he regretted his decision. If only he had met him earlier. If only he hadn’t ignored his neighbour. These thoughts were the only ones going through his head that night, as he kept on twisting and turning, before finally finding a comfortable position to sleep in.

***

Alberu got up to an undesired nostalgia of mahogany furniture and neatly lined bookshelves along with the scent of cookies permeating the room. It wasn’t dense but rather a soft scent, being accompanied by a denser scent of black coffee.

What was strange, was the fact that there was no coffee in the vicinity, and he knew his aunt, much like him, leaned towards tea. He was a bit curious about the fragrance but didn’t want to give it much thought as his brain was more preoccupied with other means- Kim Rok Soo.

How would he deal with him?

Alberu was fully aware of what a jerk he was being. He knew that it had been very unfair of him to just straight up leave.

“Aunt Tasha-” he called out to the similar looking black haired woman, her eyes glistened. Her hair was cut short which gave her a gentle look.

“Yes?” she answered with a hum.

“So��” he couldn’t help but fidget in worry, was he allowed to ask such a thing in the first place? He knew fully well that what his aunt was doing was for his best interests, for his sake.

Yet, it bugged him.

He wanted to see the other man desperately.

It nagged at him.

Like a gnawing frostbite that never seemed to go away.

“Speak up, Alberu. You know I’m willing to listen so take your time.”

Alberu looked at her, always supportive of him no matter what he wanted to do. Always watching, and he felt guilty about that.

Alberu gripped his arm, he told himself that he had to remain firm. This was just a simple and easy task, so what was he getting all anxious about?

“I think I found my soulmate,” Alberu blurted out, wanting to get it over with. It made him feel a bit too bizarre, a feeling he didn't enjoy. He thought a little about the man, his calming, and sarcastic attitude. It made him smile lovingly and softly, it was almost invisible.

When he saw Tasha’s eyes, his smile fell apart, she didn’t meet his eyes with the same gaze he did. Her face was instead painted with a base of shock, and another which was an even more unfavourable expression on it; outrage.

One glance is all it took for Tasha to assess the situation. She had already been informed by Taerang about his leaked identity, which in itself had been surprising. Tasha could smell the coffee and cookies off her nephew. She didn’t know how it got there since they had no coffee at home, and she knew her nephew didn’t drink coffee, and buttered chocolate cookies. It would have been plausible if he hadn’t come out of the bedroom.

She knew what this meant, the boy had found his soulmate, but she also knew one thing– you could have problems with your past lover. It was like any relationship, simply adding in the strong connection. It wasn’t that big of a deal as people made it up to be.

After all, her sister had also been in a similar kind of relationship and she easily got replaced. Zed had simply thrown her away when he realized that his soul mark had appeared again. It was plausible that the bad luck might have carried from the mother to the son. Even though deep down, she was sure that wasn’t the case. She was worried, and terribly, terribly protective of her nephew, for he was the only one part of her sister that had remained in the world of the living. Being a soulmate had led to her sister’s heartbreak and eventual death, and perhaps it wouldn’t be as severe in Alberu’s case, but he had suffered enough after his mother’s death, she concluded.

“You found a soulmate?” she asked, her expression now a bit less animated than her previous one, but Alberu could tell that she was not pleased one bit.

He had a rough idea why but he wasn’t all that into the details. He was young when his mother and ‘father’ divorced, and he knew how his mother had committed suicide after a weeks of the unusual event. After that, he knew how his life had spiralled down to. She died without gaining custody of her child because Alberu’s talents had been noteworthy and rather eye-catching and Zed thought the boy would fetch a pretty price as a showpiece.

He wasn’t wrong per se, but the exposure to the life of adults had dimmed his young eyes that had been previously filled with life. He had gotten used to going days without proper food and water, and that he wasn’t allowed anything as an emotional support. He wasn’t allowed to have a weakness, if he wanted to stay with his worth.

He had been locked, neglected, even abused if his scores or position went a bit under than perfect. Well, that was at first, then it escalated to him being the outsider of the ‘family’.

Alberu had noted at the ripe age of eighteen, the people he lived with were hypocrites. In private they would always say the opposite of what they said under the public eye.

‘The shame of this house.’

‘The joy of our family.’

‘You dirty leech. Shouldn’t you be working non-stop? You live here rent free anyway.’

‘He’s always such a darling brother of mine. I simply worry that he works too hard for his own good.’

‘Disgusting. That skin of yours looks so ugly, maybe it’d be better if we got rid of it’

‘He looks so handsome too! He looks just like father, well his skin tone doesn’t matter.’

‘Don’t you get it? You don’t have a place here.’

‘Even though he looks different, he fits right in. Exactly, it's petty to not care about someone who shares the same blood as your sons just because they have a different skin tone.’

They weren’t memories he would want to remember at all, even though they constantly played on his mind like a broken record player. Constantly.

That’s why he trusted his Aunt’s judgement, for she was the only one who had helped him get out of that hellhole. It was her acceptance that Alberu wanted the most.

Alberu nodded, in return to which Tasha’s unamusement became even more apparent with a long sigh. She was very reluctant to entrust her nephew in anyone’s hand, and the thought of him getting used made her boil over with rage, and so she simply cut off the communication between the two, by a few words, “Alberu, I don’t approve.”

***

Kim Rok Soo grumbled at the white noise that was playing on repeat in the background. He could hear the chattering that was going on between the two other men in the house. He laid on the makeshift bed until he heard a ringtone. A particular ringtone which made him sure of the person on the other line.

‘Basen.’

He stretched his hand out to reach his phone, still remaining tucked in his blanket and refusing to move. By the third ring of the phone, he had successfully maneuvered himself in a way that he could stay comfortable and pick up the phone. He finally received it.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end greeted Kim Rok Soo.

Kim Rok Soo, still groggy and voice still unsettled, spoke in a lower tone than his usual. It sounded synonymous to the croak of a frog, “Good morning Basen. What makes you call this early?”

Basen knew that tone belonged to his uncle, and he also knew that this was the tone of voice he had in the morning before he had even gotten up from bed. He’d found out so from the several sleepovers he had with him. Still it was odd to hear his voice this deep. Had his Ahjussi been drinking? “Uncle Rok Soo, how much did you drink last night?”

“Why do you ask?” Kim Rok Soo said, shuffling in the sheets, shifting his movements ever so slightly to stay within the warmth of the blanket that covered him up completely like a cocoon.

“Have you still not gotten up?” Basen asked, his tone a bit shocked.

Kim Rok Soo hummed to give an affirmative response.

Basen sighed, “Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s...” He slurred while reordering his position to face the clock. “Three.”

Basen sighed, his voice then went low as he turned his face away from his phone “Haaaa... What’s that Pen?”

Kim Rok Soo’s ears perked up, “Pen’s there?”

He could hear Basen crack up a bit, “Uncle Rok Soo, you attended the wedding, didn’t you? We’re married, so of course we’re living together.”

Kim Rok Soo relaxed again remembering the joyous event that had taken place a month ago, “Ah, yeah yeah.”

Basen slid the phone between his ear and shoulder, “Uncle, are you still out of it?”

Kim Rok Soo twisted his head, cocking it out of the blanket. “Maybe,” he yawned.

“Rok Soo-ya? You’re finally up?” Kim Rok Soo saw Lee Soo Hyuk standing in front of him.

“Um, yeah.” Kim Rok Soo lazily replied.

“Ah,” Basen said from the other end, “If Lee Soo Hyuk Ahjussi is there, why not give him the phone, and probably freshen up.”

Kim Rok Soo nodded and handed the phone to Lee Soo Hyuk, while informing the other person about his nephew, “It’s Basen, he wants to talk to you.”

Lee Soo Hyuk’s face quirked up to form a grin, “It’s been a long time since he’s talked to me, has he been busy with his lover?”

Kim Rok Soo looked over and casually answered,“Their honeymoon did get over a few weeks earlier. So it is a possibility.”

Lee Soo Hyuk sighed while taking the phone from Kim Rok Soo, “Aiya, I really am getting old. Everyone around me is getting married or starting to date someone. Ah, the woes of an old man.”

He heard an annoyed voice from the far side of the kitchen, “Did you forget that you’ve been with your lover for over 15 years, Mr. old man?”

The mention of Lee Soo Hyuk’s lover made Kim Rok Soo think about his friend, “Ah, I need to talk about the details about the meeting with Beacrox.”

Lee Soo Hyuk turned to him, his head tilted to the right, “He has been talking about that too. Do you have something in mind for the day?”

Kim Rok Soo could feel the headache rushing over him like a tidal wave, “I'll talk later, I need to wash my face and brush.”

“Oh wait, before you go-” Lee Soo Hyuk stopped him, causing Kim Rok Soo to turn, “You kinda smell like aloe vera? I didn’t know you kept any plants here?”

Kim Rok Soo pulled his t-shirt to sniff it, indeed, it smelled like the said succulent. He furrowed his eyebrows. It was odd, but it was too much for his woozy head to think about.

He pulled himself out of the mattress and walked to the bathroom, lazily scratching his hay-like hair. His eyes lazily lolled around, scanning the surroundings of his own apartment as if it was something foreign. He sighed, standing there for a moment facing his reflection in the mirror.

He ran his fingers through the messy strands that gently lay on the shoulder, remembering Alberu’s fingers cold touch. They were hardened and felt like they had been holding a pen their entire life, never wanting to try anything else, though Kim Rok Soo thought that Alberu merely never got the time to engage in hobbies.

‘That’s not how hair gel works, hyung.’

He remembered the annoyed tone the man could endlessly fill his voice with. He splashed some water on his eyes, still wondering where the other had gone. It would be quite foolish to disappear if he were fearing rejection, if that is the reason the dark man had disappeared, he would think of the said man to be quite dense to not recognize Kim Rok Soo’s feelings towards himself.

***

Alberu tried to keep the volume down as he washed the dishes in the empty and eerily huge villa’s secluded kitchen. To be fair, it wasn’t empty, there were servants and Aunt Tasha was lounging in the living room.

His mind was currently occupied with his aunt’s reaction.

He didn’t expect such a strong rejection since he believed his aunt would be a little more liberal towards this aspect.

However, Alberu knew the reason why his aunt was overprotective since he was well aware of what happened to his mother. Sure, he understood why she didn’t want him to date Kim Rok Soo, but she also refused to acknowledge that his soulmate was different than his mother’s and it wasn’t fair to not give him a chance. Or at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Bitten once, twice as shy, I guess.’ He thought, sighing.

He simply wanted to meet Kim Rok Soo, simply wanted to check something, a simple gut feeling.

An instinct.

Normally, he would have ignored it, but it was a sensation that he couldn’t help but dwell upon. It wasn’t gripping, more like a mild fever that had come over him. He thought that it was something that would easily go away and not bother him anymore, yet it stuck persistently, that it can’t help but get noticed no matter how much he tried to look the other way.

It felt real and that scared Alberu.

He didn’t hate the feeling of love.

It was just that, he was so scared of being involved with it, that it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The so-called love he knew was only based on the last sole affection he’s gotten from his mother.

He believed that Kim Rok Soo wouldn’t be the kind of person to ‘love’ him. Alberu wasn’t the type to have gotten everything in his life in a neatly packaged bow, and that included his relationships all the more.

Love? He couldn't trust it nor did he have the guts to risk letting the feeling take over him.

Any relationship he tried to maintain didn’t end on a good note, for numerous reasons. Even though his face wasn’t shown and he had a fake surname, his previous partners always knew he was rich. His arranged marriage partners thought of him as a mere money milking tool or someone who would just settle for just a crumb of bread.

The idea of that appalled Alberu. Somehow he couldn’t think of it in a good light. He didn’t want to be the sort of person who would force someone to be with him just for his money.

If that was the case he was better off without anyone.

But why was it that he couldn’t forget about him?

That man, who had seen him in his most vulnerable state had simply accepted it. Had waved off the thought that he was odd or unbelonging. He had given him the chance to feel these new sets of emotions he thought he would never experience in his lifetime.

Unbeknownst to Alberu, his hands were working fast and intensely out of all the stress. Only when he heard a loud clang was he snapped back to reality. His eyes immediately darted to the cause of the noise, which was a plate that had slipped from his hands and had fallen into the sink.

Alberu stared at it for a bit, sighed and washed it.

It was a good thing it didn’t break.

After neatly placing it in the dryer, he walked out of the kitchen and took a seat in the hall on the coach facing his aunt’s.

She tore her eyes away from the book she was reading to face him. Tasha noticed the lost look in his eyes, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Alberu blinked, turning his gaze away from the table and meeting his aunt’s, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He said, picking up a book lying on the Pacini e Cappellini coffee table to read.

Tasha sighed, sticking a bookmark between her copy of ‘War and Peace’, marking her progress in rereading the classic, “Are you still bothered by it?”

Alberu tried to feign ignorance, “By what?”

“We both know what you’re thinking about.” Tasha knew that he wouldn’t outright address the topic. He was far too self constricted with her for that.

Alberu met her eyes, but still had his eyes glazed over, it was as if he actually had no idea of what his aunt was talking about, “Like I said, what?”

Tasha however, was having none of that, she knew Alberu since he was a baby albeit she was young during those turbulent times. She motioned her hand as if she was pointing to the person in question, “Your soulmate, whoever that may be.”

“Huh.” Alberu mused, making it painfully obvious for Tasha to tell he was unimpressed, “What about my soulmate?”

Tasha, also aware of his current ‘yearnings’ spoke without batting an eye, “You want to meet them.”

“I sure do, but there’s someone who's preventing that, isn’t there?” He said, finally keeping his book down and sending his aunt a glare that was trying very hard not to reveal its true intentions.

Tasha got annoyed at the misconception Alberu had of her. She was doing this for him. How couldn’t he not get it?“ You know that I’m doing this for your sake. Your mother died because–”

“–Of her soulmate.” Alberu completed her sentence. He had heard it for so many times he was sure that was what the next few words entailed. He sighed.

“Aunt,” He said in a chilling voice, he was the closest to his aunt but there was definitely a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

Not everything was about his mother. He was well aware how his mother’s death had unfolded but not everyone was like his father, not everyone was as egregious as that man.

“I understand your concerns but do remember.” He paused to take a good look at his aunt, “I am not my mother,” he took another pause “and I never will be.”

Alberu could never be his mother. His mother was pure, and charismatic, not to mention she was the incarnation of beauty itself. Never attempting any foul means, she tried hard. She died protecting him.

And he could never be, not even an inch close to being as great as her. Or so he believed.

Tasha looked the other way, “I know that…but it still scares me. What if they lose interest in you and desert you–”

Alberu sighed again. The next few words he had said out of the simple motivation to prove Tasha wrong about soulmates, and snag a lover in one quick move. “Alright, since you are so bothered by the fact that they’ll cheat on me or lose interest. Let me put forward the idea of a bet. I’ll not visit my soulmate for two months and after those two months, let’s see whether they get over me in that period of time.” ‘–well formally, I won’t be meeting him.’

Alberu thought about it for a moment. He would use himself and Kim Rok Soo as an experiment. He set a bet like that out of impulse to prove her wrong. Even though he wouldn’t mind if he had really moved on, a part of him wanted to know the outcome to all this as well.

If fate would really allow them to be together, or would it be another curse that had befallen since his mother’s time?

Would things be different?

He didn’t know the answer to that. That was why he did this. That was why he made this stupid bet to at least convince himself that it was alright for him to love, or just have believed in his Aunt’s words in the first place.

Alberu was not the type to easily trust people but this time he wanted to try.

He wanted to try and place a bit of his faith on that man.

Tasha, who was also right at the end of her wits from this conversation, agreed in a fit of confusion and annoyance with the flow of the conversation, wanting it to end, “Ok, fine. Let’s do just that. When should we start?”

Alberu asked, also getting riled up, “How about right this second?”

Tasha leaned back, “Alright then. For 2 months which start at 5pm December 8th, 2XXX until 5pm February 8th, 2XXX(+1). Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Ok then. Taerang, write this down.” Tasha crossed her arms together, her eyes still lingering at her nephew who broke eye contact.

“Yes ma’am.” The mostly stationary man, who had been sitting on the chair beside Alberu finally spoke.

‘Now that this was sorted,’ thought Alberu, ‘I have to contact him, I guess. Hoo boy, this is gonna be a whole different game to play.’

#taerang tcf #alberu crosman #alberu #alberu crossman #cale #cale henituse #kim rok soo #tcf krs #tcf #tcf cjs #choi jung soo #tcf lsh #lee soo hyuk #trash of the count's family #tasha tcf #tcf GoD #tcf GoS

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “An Unknown Void.”

Hope you all enjoy your day today.

The deep blackness of space surrounded him, or it seemed t, with the lights on the bridge dimed and the blast shield lifted from the wind screen, he could see nothing, well, there was the occasional star in the sky, but according to star charts, this place was supposed to be the darkest in the known universe.

He reached down and tilted the ship slightly to the side to give a better view for the onboard telescopes. Scientists had a theory that this place wasn’t nearly as dark as it looked. A couple thousand years ago the Hubble telescope had been turned towards the darkest portion of the sky they could see, and returned with the Hubble deep space images depicting thousands if not trillions of unknown stars that had been invisible to the naked eye and inferior ground telescopes. He expected to see the same thing here.

Adam was not himself a scientist, though he tried his best to keep informed and educated on as many subjects as possible. Partially It Was due to his overwhelming desire for self improvement, while another part of him, a more subconscious part of him had someone he desperately wanted to impress.

He reached down to open the comm line to the science division, “See anything?”

There was only a momentary pause before, “Give us just another minute sir. We are having to recalibrate the telescopes.”

“Oh, is something wrong?”

“We tried taking a picture but didn’t see anything. It was probably just a younger scientist who forgot to remove the lens covers. We should be good to go.”

There was a pause.

“That’s weird.”

“What?”

There was quiet for a long moment, “Sir, we are still seeing nothing. I think there might be some sort of malfunction….”

Adam shifted in his seat, “turn the telescope back behind us and see if it works in that direction.”

“Sir, how would the direction-”

“Just do it.”

There was another long, two minute pause before, “Sir…. the images are coming in and they look…. Fine…”

Adam wasn’t sure what to think, “His first instinct was to assume a blak hole or something was eating up all the light in the area, but blackholes were visible due to their event horizon, and their machines would have noticed the anomaly in gravitation even this far out.”

Then a thought struck him.

Had they reached the end of the Universe.

No no obviously that wasn’t the case, There were plenty of known galaxies and stars all around them. It was just this narrow speck of the cosmos that didn’t seem to have anything. Somehow that thought made him feel slightly woozy. Adam had never been susceptible to Cosmic Schock, but even he didn't find the thought of an endless black void to be particularly comforting.

“I don’t like it.”

The voice in his head nearly startled him out of his sea, and he frowned in annoyance as Conn floated into view just outside the ship window.

Adam was about to say something scathing to the starborn bust stopped as he saw conn floated with his back to the window staring out at the vast blackness. He reached a hand back to absently touch the screen as if grounding himself against the void. Adam stirred uneasily as he felt Conn’s walls slip. Suddenly his own head was filled with a brimming uneasiness spilling over from Conn himself.

The sensation was strange and unsettling. Conn usually kept his emotions under close wraps, but to see him falter like that was more than strange.

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

The starborn had spent his entire life in the void of space, so to have him disquieted by something in space was enough to make Adam nervous as well.

He motioned to his navigation specialist, “Give me a rout back to the nearest star system. Conn, get inside.”

The starborn only hesitated for a few moments before doing as told and floating around the side of the ship..

***

The bright lights blinked on and then off.

They tended to agree, something strange was going on. Their one large eye blinked once as more lights ran up and down the sides of their body.

They stared through the analysis screen but the readout indicated absolutely nothing. There was no detectable UV light, or unknown radiation except for the constant radiation and background frequency that was to be expected in space.

They turned the analysis screen back towards the beginning of the star field to make sure their machine was not simply malfunctioning. It had never done so before, but there was always a statistical likelihood that it might again.When the star field came into view, the screen suddenly erupted with a bright array of blinking lights all with scientific analysis ready for use. That was obviously strange, but they were sure that their equipment was now working. They were about to turn their attention back towards the dark field when something on the analysis caught their eye. It was a bright blinking light, much smaller than the rest but indicating that it was far closer. They zoomed in on that particular indicator and was suddenly pleased at what they found. The signature was familiar, a known mixture of nitrogen and oxygen inside an enclosed container run by fusion energy.

They turned over and floated back through the door and down the tight tunneled hallway.

Bright orange and yellow eyes blinked at them as they passed by the others, flashing their lateral lights in question. They would have answered the questions if the others if they were not hurrying to inform their comandante of their new neighbors

They floated through a hole in the ceiling, or floor as it might have been in any orientation ad met the comandante on the bridge.

They turned, “Zheyar, have you found anything.” Bright lights blinked up and down their body to indicate the question dimming and expanding at moments.

“The dark field is….. Still dark. I can get no readings from it, however it seems that we are not alone.”

Bright lights flashed down their body in response to the news, “Oh, lovely, is it anyone that we know.”

“I believe they are a member of the species we met in the ice field, the ones that put us in contact with the GA.”

There was another bright exchange of lights before the comandante made their decision, “We will have to greet them certainly.”

***

Adam was just prepping his ship for a short warp to the nearest star when their comms specialist suddenly bolted upright in her seat. She leaned forward for a moment pressing her headset against her head, “Sir, sir I have a signal… we are being hailed.” He sat up in his seat, “Way the hell out here. Analyse the signal and send it through.”

There was only a momentary pause before, “Sir, I… its transmitting like a Mike ship.”

Adam perked up, “Mikes! I love those big guys. Hold on, patch the through, and get the translation team up here as soon as you can, I’m gonna need those LEDs .”

It was only minutes later that he had the translation team up and running standing next to him and carefully placing illumination stickers up and down the sides of his body. The little LEDs would brighten and dm in connection with his voice in order to translate to the mikes.

The screen before him lit up and he was excited to see one of them floating on screen before him.

He smiled, “It is a pleasure to see your kind again.” The little colorful dots brightened and dimmed up the sides of his body flashing in bright neons as he spoke. It was only slightly distracting, but he was pleased to speak to the mikes after so long of not seeing tem.

“It is you!” The creature exclaimed emphasizing its enthusiasm with even brighter light.

“I am happy to see you after such a long time. We had assumed you had returned to your home world.”

The mike flashed lights up and down its body. There was no translation so he assumed it was some sort of gesture like a shrug or a shake of the head would be for humans, “We are sorry that we coil not take your GA’s invitation for a visit, but we did have a deadline to consider. We do promise that our monarchs have taken the offer into consideration and will be sending a delegation soon. We are very pleased at the idea of joining your coalition, though we have had so many things to do as of late.”

Adam’s enthusiasm was picked up by the brightness of the LED stickers, “I am personally very excited to hear that. I had hoped that you would take us up on our offer.” he Tried to avoid using his hands too much knowing that the movement of his arms might obscure the lights, “It seems of an almost astronomical coincidence that we should run into each other. There must be a reason.”

“I assume that you are looking at the same piece of dead space as we are, tell me has your scientific equipment been abl to detect what ours have not.”

Adam shook his head, “I am afraid we are getting no readings from the space, though i daresay our equipment is far less superior in comparison to yours.”

The mike flashd a little, “Sometimes simplicity can outmaneuver complex machines, though I see that we are both lost on that particular subject.”

Adam nodded, “Then I propose that we work together for the time being, I supply manpower and technology?”

“It would be a pleasure to work with you, andI must say that you have found quite an ingenious way to speak our language. Yo wear them well.”

He laughed, “You flatter me. We should dock our ships together if you are willing.”

“The pleasure is ours.”

***

It wasn’t more than a few light minutes later when they had docked themselves with the human ship. The cargo doors opened and a waft of wind equalized the pressure between their two ships. The air on the human ship was just slightly heavier making them sink just a few inches towards the floor, though it was of no concern. The humans were waiting for them, standing against the ground, forced to hold up their entire skeletal structures against gravity. It must have been exhausting for them, and likely took a lot of energy.

Their original analysis of humans indicated that a human would have to eat multiple times a day in order to keep up the energy required to move, but these humans seemed bright and awake and likely well fed. Their leader was waiting for them wearing those bright LED dots in order to communicate as did everyone else who stood with him.

They were surprised to find other aliens with him, and were both eager and interested to examine the strange creatures. They floated forward and were met by the humans who bowed low. Another creature floated around the corner of the wall, and the mikes pulled back in surprise.

One of the Star children.

The human seemed to have noticed their surprise.

“You've met the starborn before?”

“On a few occasions,though we weren't aware they had friendly relations with…. anyone .”

The human twitched its upper body strangely before letting the gesture fall, “he i about as friendly as it gets and that’s not saying much.”

The entire group of them shivered lightly as a cold presence washed over them, “Don’t listen to him, he has a hard time admitting how much he loves me. We have a daughter together you know.”

The human’s head snapped to look over at the starborn two eyes narrowing, “Shut the hell up conn, that is not the first thing you need to bring up in front of the company.’

The LED lights on his body flashed bright green with his anger.

The Mikes watched in fascination.

One of the other strange creatures, taller than the human and with another set of limbs stepped forward to Examine the Mike. Its coloring was brightly colored and quite pleasant. It examined them while they examined her, and soon enough she was surrounded by a swarm of poking and prodding at her joints and limbs and strange carapace. They had never seen anything like it before.

The creature took it gracefully enough though their leader to apologize. They did enjoy learning about new things and new creatures. They were completely harmless of course.

The human waved a hand at the dogs on his sides and arms blinking, “Don’t worry, she’d be happy to assist your scientists. If you would please follow me, we can show you how ur ship works see if there is anything that you find useful.

In the end the two groups took tours of each other’s ships, shared as much scientific information as was possible and then began their conjectures about the dark space which they had come across. The Mikes could not penetrate it with any of their equipment and neither could the humans determine that there was really only one way to explore what lay beyond.

They were going to have to go there themselves.

It was suggested that they simply warp to the center of the darkfield, but that thought was quickly discarded as it involved far too much danger. The human offered to fly his ship slowly out into the abyss while the mikes tracked them to see if their signal was lost at any point which they decided was a good course of action if not very reckless.

They were soon to learn that humans tended to be reckless anyway, which both scared them and gave them no small measure of admiration.

They would soon learn quite a bit about humans.

Though both parties were unaware of a stirring in the darkness. A stirring that was well aware of their presence.

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wolfieyoungblood · 4 years

Text

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬𝐢

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader

trope: best friends to lovers

summary: when stiles finds out how much you miss fireflies in beacon hills’ preserve, he takes you out on a surprise boat trip and quite literally lights up your world

word count: 3k

song: please and thank you by wildcat! wildcat!

a/n: hey guys, waddup, here’s my first fic on this blog. i’ve actually already posted this as a peter parker one shot on my main blog, but since i originally wrote this for stiles, i thought i might as well post the original on here:) enjoy!

* * *

Slamming the car door shut, you let your back fall against the Jeep while you hugged yourself tightly. Your gaze flitted across your surroundings as Stiles snatched the keys from the ignition and grabbed his backpack. He had refused to weigh you in on its content, keeping it just like the whole point of this spontaneous expedition a big mystery.

The fact that you could be snuggling in the warmth of your bed right now, made you groan and you had to resist the urge to bang your head against the nearest tree. Stiles, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share the same sentiment at all as he stopped at your side with a big grin plastered on his face.

“Stop smiling so devilishly,” you grunted, and he looked at you offended.

“How was that a devilish smile?” His arms fell to his side.

“It’s the glimmer in your eyes.” You deadpanned. “Like you’re about to meet with Satan for Sunday brunch or something.”

He rolled his eyes at your words, dangling the gloves he brought for you in front of your yearning eyes before stuffing them into his jacket with a smirk and walking off. He ignored your cry and kept his gaze at the small path leading into the woods. When you fell into step with him, you walked next to each other in silence, letting the leaves underneath your shoes have a conversation of their own. Your thoughts wandered, and you pondered once more why you were even here.

It was only 7 P.M. but considering it was late autumn, it wouldn’t take long until your bodies would be swallowed by the blanket of the evening. The awareness that tonight was a full moon didn’t necessarily calm your nerves either. Images of fangs and claws took form in front of your eyes, and you quickly shook off those terrifying notions.

Realizing that you had spent some time in silence now, your eyes darted to Stiles. Just like you, he had been in deep thoughts as his face was pulled into a slight frown. But when you were about to reach out, his scattered moles caught your attention, prompting your gaze to travel over each of them with captivation. Aware of your boring eyes on his face, the boy looked up and caught your gaze with a cocked brow. You quickly strapped a meek smile to your face to cover up your flustered state, which he luckily returned without any teasing comments.

Finally, the trees around you became more familiar and scarcer in number and soon you had arrived at the destination of the night.

A wide lake stretched out before you, reaching into the woods for miles. As predicted, there was no one around, leaving you to turn to Stiles with a quizzical look only to realize that his eyes were already settled on you. His lips curved into a smirk, and he let out a short chuckle, fog fleeing his lips for a second.

Before you could say anything, he grabbed your elbow and pulled you down to the dock. The white wood led you out to the glimmering water. Your eyes danced across the sight in front of you in awe, taking in the orange leaves as they framed the lake like a golden portal.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” You heard Stiles say behind you, and you could only find it in your to nod.

“Doesn’t matter how many times I’ve already been here…”, Stiles continued and you glanced over to where he was crouching and fiddling with a rope attached to the dock.

“It just never gets old,” you finished for him, glimpsing his way with a warm look on your face.

“Exactly.” He smiled and stepped to your side to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

He held the rope in the other hand and gestured to the fisher boat as it appeared to wait for you both in serenity. Bowing his head slightly, he gave you a dopey grin. “Ladies first.”

Shooting him a look, you settled into the boat and picked up the paddle. Glancing up at the boy, his feet were still planted at the same spot while his gaze was far off. You threw a glance over your shoulder to catch what he was staring at, but when you couldn’t see anything suspicious, you turned back around. “Did you send me in first to see if there were any water monsters?” His eyes snapped to you, and you could see the confusion edged on his face until he registered your words.

“You caught me, huh,” Stiles joked and jumped off the dock to land in the boat with a thud, making it whip wildly while your eyes grew wide from the motion. “I always force my friends to partake in human sacrifices,” he added with a wink before bopping your nose. Using the paddle to slap his side, he yelped in surprise and you shot a glare his way.

“No more jokes about dark and traumatizing events that actually happened in real life, remember? At least not for a week.” You shrugged before adding with a serious tone, “And on that note, if you plan on pushing me into the water again, I will perform a handmade vasectomy on your balls.”

Menace dripped off your words, but Stiles being Stiles, he only raised his eyebrows at you before pursing his lips.

“Sounds to me like you’re just offering me a handjob.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And I would be an idiot to deny that, right?” He let his tongue run over his lip before cocking his head to the side. Scoffing at him, he stared back at you with the slightest hint of a smirk.

You blinked before throwing the paddle in the air to catch it with your hands positioned differently. Lancing it forward, the blade was now situated between Stiles’ thighs—pointing merely inches away at his junk.

Smiling sweetly, you mirrored his tilted head and asked with a stoic voice, “Still want that handjob, Stilinski?”

He gulped thickly. “How about a rain check?”

You didn’t move for a moment before reluctantly lowering the blade and casting it into the water.

“Brutal.” You heard him mutter before mirroring your action.

In light conversation, the two of you paddled toward the middle of the lake. Midway, you had handed Stiles your paddle to let him take over while you leaned back on your elbows to enjoy the view.

View meaning Stiles.

When you had reached the middle, he dropped the paddles and mirrored you, also leaning back and staring up at the cloudless sky. It was getting darker, and no birds nor planes were flying by. At that moment, it truly felt like Stiles and you were the only beings on this planet. You let your eyes flutter shut and took a moment to let your senses be flooded with the sounds of the vast forest. A small smile perched on your lips as you remembered the first time the boy across you had brought you this very location.

You had just moved to Beacon Hill and were ecstatic to find such a large and relatively solitary expanse to take refuge in. But you were even more psyched about the fact that your next-door neighbor and new friend was also into the quiet purity and sense of tranquility that nature offered. This corner of the preserve had easily become your guys’ little untouched hideaway.

Years passed and he had quickly become your favorite person. All it took for him to get you out here tonight was a soft knock on your window as you were sprawled out on your bed and conquering the mass of homework for the week. You were determined to stay, but one look at his puppy eyes and you were already sitting in his passenger seat while he was passionately going on about his newest topic of research. Sometimes it freaked you out how he had you right in the palm of his hands. He could ask you to conquer the world with him, and you wouldn’t even hesitate.

But at what cost came this willingness to do any possible thing for the painfully oblivious guy that you called your best friend?

Desperate to know the answer, you lowered your gaze to look at Stiles, only to find much to your exasperation that he had already been staring at you with matched curiosity.

“What?” You whispered amused.

He opened his mouth only to clamp it shut again. His hands were clasping and releasing the wood bench he was sitting on, and it made you cast your gaze downward. You ran your hand along the cool wood surface, your fingers delicately dipping into the grooves carved in the past, your lips twitching upwards as you realized they made up a smiley face.

You didn’t notice how Stiles’ eyes were fixated on you, watching your fingers dance along the wood while your lips were slightly parted. Then, you snapped your eyes to him, catching his gaze with widened eyes before falling to your knees and pushing his mystery bag aside to search for something on the side of the boat’s interior.

You noticed his frantic gaze and enlightened briefly. “Do you remember how we carved something into the side of this thing a while ago?” Your fingertips glided over the wood blindly as it was now too dark to make out anything.

Staring at you with confusion, he soon realized what you were talking about and snatched up his bag. Rummaging through it, he let out a victorious “Aha!” when he found what he was looking for.

“Y/N, take this,” Stiles ordered, and you looked up just in time to catch the end of a fairy lights string. Ignoring your confused stare, he moved swiftly around the narrow boat and grabbed the box of batteries.

“Since when do you own fairy lights?” You asked baffled before changing your question to the bigger obscurity at hand, “Do you always carry fairy lights with you?”

He snorted, but when he grasped that you were serious, he shot you a deadpan look. “Oh, no worries. I just do freelance kidnapping.”

You narrowed your eyes at his sarcasm, but he kept going. “I hold my victims hostage with fairy lights while I sing them Christmas carols. You know, personal preference. For me, at least.”

Ignoring your eye roll, he put the batteries in the box and flicked the switch. Instantly, the boat lit up. Yellow fairy lights illuminated your surroundings and the dancing reflections on the water surface deprived you of any signs of annoyance.

“Yesterday, you mentioned how much it sucked that fireflies were no longer around to this season, so I bring you…” He trailed off and gesticulated wildly. “Fireflies straight from your garage!”

You let out a light laugh, grinning broadly at the boy as he gave you a proud but dazzling smile. Since he was too busy admiring the glimmer dancing in your eyes, he didn’t even notice that you were staring at each other a bit longer than necessary but when he did, he quickly averted his gaze and plopped to his knees. Flashing you a cheeky smile, you felt his breath fan over your face before he snapped his head to the side and imitated your movements from earlier—fingers dancing over the interior of the boat. You followed suit and searched the wood as well. Now that you could see, it didn’t take you long until you found what you were looking for.

Stiles had found it at the same time as you, reaching out for the carved letters and tracing the heart shape that encircled them in trance. Your fingertips moved along the line, shaping the letter “S” while Stiles did the same, trailing the letter on the left—your initial. Meeting in the middle to outline the plus sign, your fingers brushed and queasiness bloomed in your stomach. You chastely smiled at Stiles.

Dipping his head for a second, he stared at his lap before looking back up. With a more confident look in his eyes, he took your hand in his, and you felt your breath hitch. He sat down with crossed legs and began to fiddle with your fingers, letting them dangle onto his warm palm.

“I still remember the night we did that,” He said tenderly and nodded toward the carved initials. “Freshmen year. You were sad about not having a date to the winter ball, so we ditched and I took you out here.” His voice was soft, and you couldn’t help but hang onto every word that crossed his lips.

“My dad even made me wear that stupid suit.” He chuckled. “The sleeves were too long so I had to scrunch them up and you kept making terrible jokes about how I looked like I was the outcast of a mafia gang.”

A smile sprung to your lips at the memory. “Those weren’t jokes, by the way. You did look like the lost duckling of a mob gang,” you teased, and he gave you a pointed look before cracking a smile.

It was silent for a moment before he hesitantly settled your intertwined hands on his lap. His gaze held so much warmth and comfort that it rendered you speechless. All of a sudden, you felt something cold touch your wrist. Glancing down, you made out the shape of a bracelet that Stiles had slipped on. Gaping at it, your eyes flitted back and forth between your wrist and his anxious stare. He gnawed on his bottom lip while fidgeting with his hands. “Do you like it?” He spluttered, cheeks glowing a faint shade of pink.

You twisted your wrist carefully to admire the thin gold chain with its dangling charms. It kept slipping up and down since it still had to be adjusted, but you loved everything about it.

At the sight of a Batman charm, you let out a laugh, filling the quietness with a melody that Stiles couldn’t get enough of. The boy dropped his hand from his neck and heaved a sigh of relief. “I love it.” You pouted and attacked him with a wild hug, not caring that you almost flipped over the whole boat.

He didn’t hug you back at first, overwhelmed with the scent of your perfume, but then you felt him wrap his arms around your waist just as tightly. “Thank God.” He muttered into your hair and you giggled.

Pulling away with a grin, you let your arms drop to your side, feeling immediately how the bracelet slid from your wrist and dropped to the ground, prompting you both to bend down at the same time.

Both being dangerously clumsy, you bumped your foreheads and both let out a yelp. “Sorry, head-butting was not part of the gift,” Stiles cursed under his breath while rubbing his head.

You waved him off, intending to make a joke about concussions being great Christmas gifts, but instead, you froze. There were only paltry inches left between his nose and yours, and you could have easily counted each and every one of his lashes if you wanted to. Awkwardly aware of how close you two were, he flashed you a nervous smile.

“What’chu doing?” He said lightheartedly and you had to laugh.

“Living the dream,” you whispered while your eyes flickered to his lips.

“Yeah?” His tongue ran over his bottom lip. “Feels like it, doesn’t it?”

He gulped before leaning forward, lips hovering over yours.

“Your face is very close to mine,” Stiles observed, gaze flitting to your lips and back to your amused eyes. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned in. Lips brushing yours when he whispered. “And your lips are very soft.”

“Chapstick,” you replied mindlessly, enjoying his nervous chattering.

“The honey one?” His voice was barely audible.

You hummed while your fingers fiddled with the collar of his shirt.

“I like honey.”

Halting your movements, you opened your eyes and cocked a brow.

“Stilinski, stop talking and kiss me already.”

The corner of Stiles’ mouth curved into a broad grin as he cupped your cheek and finally brought you in for a passionate lip-lock. Your chest sparked with adoration as you slowly ran your fingers through his hair. He tugged you closer, one hand resting on your cheek while the other ran down your back and settled on the small of your back. Using it to press you closer to his chest, he leaned in further, not getting enough of your lips molding together. They moved in perfect synch. So much even that everything felt undoubtedly right and you forgot that you were on a boat.

Instead, you drowned yourself in Stiles’ touch. His touch was warm, igniting a trail of sparkles on your body and encasing both of your lips in a smile. You were the first to pull back, but your eyes remained closed. You were breathing heavily and just as you decided to take a peek, you found Stiles also fluttering his eyes open.

He beamed at you dopily, and you couldn’t help but steal another brief kiss.

And another.

And when you had leaned back for good, he couldn’t help but press yet another kiss at the corner of your lips. Shuffling backward, he propped himself against the wood bench of the boat and let your back lean against his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around your frame and you sunk further into his embrace.

Taking your wrist in his hand, he slipped the bracelet back on and adjusted the clasp before intertwining your hands together.

“Stiles?” You asked softly after a second of him tenderly pressing soft kisses on your knuckles.

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, and you tilted your head upward to meet his affectionate gaze.

“Stop breaking into my garage, you weirdo.”

* * *

aaaaaaand the end:) i hope you guys liked this one! it’s kind of a lot of fluff but welp. i write for the hopeless romantics so it’s fine lol if you want to get tagged in any of my future writing, just send me an ask! wishing you all a sweet day. stay hydrated x

masterlist

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x y/n #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski one shot #stiles stilinski fluff

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jadoue1999 · 3 years

Text

Wanda and the life she deserved (she’ll made sure of it) Chapter 7

Summary: After unknowingly saving Wanda from Agnes’ clutches, the Maximoff twins take walk.

Previous parts: Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, epilogue

Chapter 7: The circus

They continued walking for awhile, talking about their childhood. Wanda was aware that many memories coming from her brother were wrong, but she ignored it. It was nice talking to him alone. They had settled on finding Vision, she was certain he was around Ellis Avenue, his last known location. Wanting to make the moment last longer, Wanda requested that they didn’t use magic, or superspeed. Pietro had originally agreed, but his fidgeting was steadily increasing with each step they took. She spotted a circus where the abandoned Avenue once was. Unsure about what they might encounter, she turned to her twin. “I can go get Vision on my own, go help Agnes. I’m sure she’ll have enough stuff to do that you won’t even see the time pass.”

“You sure, sis? I can wait.” Pietro might have believed his words, but Wanda could see how much he wanted to run and move. She assured him she’d be fine, and he was gone in the blink of an eye.

Wanda looked up at the circus banner, finding irony in the state of the soldiers. Them, who wanted to understand the situation so badly, were now in it. How’s that for firsthand experience? She walked through the various performers, they were filling typical roles any circus would have clowns, gymnast, they even had a strong man and a psychic.

“Hello!” Greeted a man dress in a blue leotard, he was holding his nose that was obviously broken. “Are you here for any specific performance?”

She ignored the man’s injury, knowing S.W.O.R.D, he probably deserved it anyway. She looked around at the various entertainment, they were all pretty straightforward. Her eyes landed on one specific tent, the psychic. She decided to amuse herself and walked over, the board next to the tent read: Charles the Xtraordinary.

Coming in, it wasn’t all that impressive, there was a crystal ball at the center of the table and various cushions were laid on the ground. A bald man, probably in his forties, was seated on one side of the table.

“Welcome,” he said, opening his eyes to greet his guest. “I am Charles, I suppose you’re here to know your fortune?”

“Shouldn’t you know that already?” Joked Wanda with a smirk.

The man returned her smile, “yes, I suppose so.” He motioned her to take a seat. ”Shall we begin?” As the man put his hands over the ball, it began to glow. Closing his eyes, the man hummed pensively, “I see pain, a lot of pain,” he sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry Wanda, so much loss.”

She froze in shock, she had met many psychics in her lifetime, but a circus charlatan certainly couldn’t be the real deal, right? But then again, how could he know her name, and what she lived through?

The man continued, “I see a great battle, one that was unfortunately lost. But then everything was made right,” he frowned, “but not for you. You were still alone.” Her senses were on high alert, her magic was pushing for a rewind, but she had to know more. She needed to know how he could achieve this. “I see... a breaking point, and great suffering. Oh Wanda... what have you done?”

Wanda couldn’t take it anymore, she had to know who he was. What kind of S.W.O.R.D. Agent was he? She tentatively lifted a hand to his temple and let her magic do the work. The man’s eyes opened, and he gasped as he was released from her spell. He looked around him, confused at his surroundings before gripping his head in pain. He looked at her, seemingly to thank her for releasing him before he froze. “Wanda Maximoff! What an honor to meet you!” Charles went to shake her hand, but she backed off before he could reach her. Although slightly taken aback from her movement, the psychic continued. “We have a slight misunderstanding here, your brother, Pietro as you call him, he’s not your brother, not really.” Charles paused as he tried to take in her reaction, but Wanda was unreadable. “You see, a team composed of myself and a couple of others, including his father, are here to bring him back. We crossed universes to get here, it took weeks to find the right calculations. Thanks to your broadcast, we had a good grounding point. The military base kept us updated about Peter. We were brought in as you expanded the Hex, even our member with teleportation powers couldn’t escape. I’m certain it wasn’t your intention to trap us, or Peter, but you have to let us go. We’re not from your universe, we don’t belong here, we- “

“No,” interrupted Wanda, startling the man. He certainly hadn’t expected that reaction. “This is my home, I have my husband, my children and my brother. I will not let you take them away.”

“Ms. Maximoff, you have to come to reason, you cannot keep up this lie forever. What you’re doing is wrong, putting an entire town under mind control- “

“Is better than putting the entire Earth under it,” completed Wanda. Her accent was out once again, rage oozing off her body as she stared at the man. She could feel his stare, and something else, it was nudging at her brain. A telepath, Wanda realized. She quickly shielded her mind and her magic acted without her realizing. In a move that could challenge her brother’s speed, she put the spell back on the man. Eager to finish this awful conversation and go home. She hadn’t found Vision, why had she even stayed? The consequences tied to the man’s words quickly clicked, Peter’s team was here, here for him. That could only mean that his father wasn’t far. If he was anything like her brother had described, she would be in trouble.

As she ran out of the tent, she looked around with more attention. In her frantic state, everything seemed so overwhelming, yet no one took notice of her panic. She couldn’t see much that was out of the ordinary, so she assumed that most clowns were probably soldiers.

‘That leave the specific role to...’ Wanda didn’t finish that thought as her eyes stopped on another attraction: Nightcrawler and his disappearing act. The psychic had mentioned a team, with one of their members not being able to teleport away in time. The irony of the name had to have meaning. Suddenly she stopped in her track. No, no, no, please. I’m not ready! She ran over to the banner, not wanting to believe the writing on it. There, written on bold red letters, was the confirmation that her little world couldn’t continue much longer.

��Magneto, the man of steel.

Wanda supposed it was ironic that the man controlling metal was nicknamed like that, but then again, her magic had a twisted sense of humor. She quickly left the circus, appearance be damned; she used her magic to reach her house faster. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. Vision was apparently still mad at her, she wished she could make it better. Wanda made a mental note to sit down with him and apologize, he deserved to know the truth. Though right now, she was feeling better. She closed her front door, heading for Agnes’ house; she had missed her children. She ringed the doorbell, she could see movement inside and seconds later, her neighbor opened the door.

“Hi Wanda! Feeling better?”

“Yes, can I come in?”

Agnes opened the door wider to let her in, Wanda felt something was amiss, but she tossed her worry aside as her neighbor started offering drink options. She settled for a tea and sat at the table.

After a few moments, she noticed the eerie silence of the house, save from the television. There were no arguments about who could do something better than the other or even a reaction to whatever show the boys would be watching. There was also no sign of Pietro, no sign of anything being repaired either.

“Where are the twins?” Wanda asked, “and Pietro?”

Agnes paused the making of her tea, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and turned to her. “Oh, your brother is fixing a leaky pipe in the basement, I tried to tell the kids to leave him be, but they wanted to be with their uncle, so I let them go with him.”

That makes sense. Wanda wasn’t sure if her mind was being sarcastic or not. She opened the basement door, calling her children. After no answer came, she walked down the stairs, ignoring how creepy the basement slowly became after each step. Her instincts were screaming at her to run away, but she had to get to her boys. After calling their names once again and getting no answers, true bone chilling fear settled in her body. As she turned a corner next to a glowing door, she had only one thought. Please be alright.

She arrived in a bigger room, a lair? She walked around trying to make sense of the place. Wanda passed a cabinet containing various bones when she felt drawn to her right. A black book radiating orange energy was on the table. The gears in her head finally clicked. This is a dungeon, probably the very same dungeon Peter talked about. Get out, get out, get out-

“Wanda, Wanda,” Agnes’ voice resonated through the room. “You didn’t think you were the only magical girl in town, did you?” With a flick of her fingers, a far away door closed by itself. She resumed petting her rabbit, “the name’s Agatha Harkness, lovely to finally meet you dear.”

_____________________________________________________

Notes: The circus is in town! And it brought in unexpected visitors...

35 notes · View notes

eureka-its-zico · 4 years

Text

Nothing Like Us

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: So this is actually part 3 of a series I decided to do, because a certain person loved these little one shots I made after songs Jungkook sang renditions of. This is the third part of that and the ending. I’ll go ahead and tag the original two on here if anyone is interested. I tried editing this as much as I could while at work and no matter what I did, it couldn’t make me happy. As always, I hope you all enjoy this little piece of fiction. Love, Jenn

Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 4115

Genre: Angst x Fluff(ish)

It was cruel the way the universe placed him perfectly under the halo of the streetlight. The luminescence cascading over a face you’d dreamed of for months; you’d grieved. No matter how much your heart hurt you knew underneath was a monster of rage brewing below it’s depths. The ache in your chest a colossal power that swelled, the waves of grief crashing against you, until it threatened to consume you. When it finally did, it choked your sobs free from your throat with an angry fist.

You counted out hours. Days. Weeks. Stopped counting when weeks turned into full fledge months. Things that you’d spoken in the confines of your mind were now being spoken out loud on brave days to the silent audience of your room. There were days your sadness turned to anger. White hot and blinding: so pure you swore it could’ve torn buildings down to the mortar.

How could Jungkook completely stop talking to you? Seeing you? How could it be possible to not wake up looking for texts from each other or sharing meals together, ending with him still being hungry, because Jungkook was an endless pit. One you happily shared food with just to see him move his shoulders in giddy shakes with every bite.

No one should be able to move on from birthdays where the two of you eagerly watched the other open their gift. Just to let out an unknown sigh of relief at the happiness the present brought. Why was it even possible to let years of knowing become nothing more than fading memories?

You’d spent months wondering these things and in all of them you imagined what it would be like if you ever saw him again. Not on TV. Not your phone from YouTube or Instagram. Saw him the way only the two of you’d shared together. A part of you willing to bet you’d scream at him or yell. Maybe you would cry.

No.

Now with Jungkook a mere few feet away all you could feel was an all consuming need to run to him. A feverish fear heated up your skin at the idea he could turn around and be gone in an instant; nothing more than a phantom of longing you’d created just to see his face. But you knew it was him without ever needing to take another step off the small landing of your porch.

The sounds of the night continued to swell between the sea of pavement between you. Neither of you made a move towards the other. No one moving a finger, as if you shared in the fear if either of you even took a breath it would scare the other away.

Your mind continued to be lost in its endless debate on whether to go to him or to remain motionless. The shoebox and its contents falling flat onto the floor and the only letters scribbled on a photo of you running in tall grass that you’d read flashed over and over: “ I wish I would’ve kissed you first.”

Your mind played them on repeat until your head spun. Your thoughts stuck on his opening words and one of the dozens of photos that accompanied many more. The second one you’d pulled being the first time you’d gone ice skating together. The memory joyous and painful all at once. Your mind was still trying to recover on what to do; your eyes watching him bury his hands deeper inside the pockets of his coat. His gaze hoovering on your figure before he turned and began to move back down the street; leaving you again.

“Jungkook!”

You weren’t aware you were off your porch until you felt your feet moving rapidly down the steps. Your legs burning trying to keep up with the sudden furious pace of your panic. Even then, your lungs were still able to carry enough air for you to continue to scream his name. It didn’t matter if he, your neighbors, or anyone else could hear your pain; the frenzied way you called his name religiously to get him to stop.

Your heart skipped for a split second when he finally did. Jungkook’s body rigid as you came closer to his back while he continued to face away from you. You didn’t know if he was dreading the knowledge that you were coming closer. You had no way to tell if he was just as frantic to see you or wanted nothing to do with you.

It could all be a painful accident that you’d seen him outside your door. He could’ve just been passing through and somehow forgot he just so happened to be in your neighborhood. You knew, it was none of those. Jungkook, some part of him, must miss you or why else would he even be here?

“Jungkook?”

God. How small your voice sounded. How hopeful.

Still, Jungkook would not answer you; wouldn’t bother to glance in your direction. Suddenly, your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. Sour and weighed down by a fear tinged regret at showing your hand at how much you’d missed him. When he had shown you nothing.

You’d grown accustomed to disappoint, however, and braced yourself for what you did next. If Jungkook wouldn’t turn to face you, then you would simply half to walk around to face him. When you were a quarter of the way around, a timid hand reached out to lightly grab at the fabric of his jacket.

You had that sudden sensation again of being lost at sea, in need of something to keep you from drowning, with Jungkook being your only shore for miles.

Jungkook hadn’t expected you to touch him and his body gave a noticeable jolt at your touch. It didn’t deter you. You were now in front of him and could see the pain etched into every line of his features. It was evident he was close to tears as your eyes drank him in. Jungkook was the one person you’d known who’d always been so certain. The man standing before you now looked as lost as you felt, and it all felt more than you could take. Your hand was still holding onto him, but now it felt like maybe Jungkook needed to feel your touch just as much as you’d needed to touch him.

“Jungkook,” you whispered. “It really is you.”

He didn’t answer you. His eyes diverted to look everywhere but where you stood before him. It was driving you crazy. Did you not deserve to have his full attention after all this time? Didn’t you deserve that, at least?

Jungkook wasn’t pulling away from you yet, and it seemed like he didn’t want to take the steps to remove you from him. So how could he continue to act like you weren’t there?

In a blur of sparked rage your gentle hand on his arm released and shoved into his chest. All that anger and weak attempts to hate him spewed back up to make you lash out in all the ways you’d dreamed about doing.

“Why come here if you can’t speak to me, huh? Did you come just to hurt me more!? Is this some kind of game to you?”

You hurled your words at him and watched as they struck home. All the frustration and tears you’d thought you’d shed came flooding back like a monsoon. You weren’t able to control the tears from streaming hot and raw against your cheeks. Jungkook eyes now hopelessly transfixed on you as you moved forward to shove against him. His hands easily reached out to take hold of your shoulders and kept you firmly in place. The movement caused you both to be only a few inches apart, and oh how you hated the small amount of distance between you.

“I never wanted to hurt you in the first place, Y/N!”

His admission made you go rigid mimicking like he had earlier. The pain in his gaze quieted the last remaining fire of your anger. Instead, what rose up felt even worse. You’d missed him so much. He was still jungkook: your Jungkook, but different now. His features carved out from that baby softness to now show a more mature him. Your hands registering easily that his lean frame had grown thicker with muscles. The muscle bunny he’d always wanted to be. Looking up at him now your lips came alive with the memory of him and you hated yourself for that.

“Then why did you leave me alone in the park, Kook? You never answered a phone call or a text. You didn’t even try. You let me go.”

The despair your parting words held hit home like a hammer. All this time you felt like you were missing a part of yourself. A phantom limb. Jungkook was that limb. Being so close to him you knew there wasn’t ever any doubt. He was much a part of you as your own self and standing there with him felt like it’d finally come home.

You were so lost in your sadness that when he released your shoulders and embraced you, a small shriek of surprise left you. It was an embarrassing noise. One Jungkook knew would ultimately leave you blushing into his chest; the same chest that vibrated with laughter.

A part of you wanted to stay upset with him. To demand what was so funny, but even you could feel a smile curl your lips and the tension in your shoulders ease as you found comfort against him.

You couldn’t stop your hands from pinching at his ticklish sides and playfully demand, “What was so funny?”

“You always did sound like the tiniest mouse when you were scared.”

Jungkook pressed his lips against your hair as he spoke. The intimacy of it sending a breath of goosebumps along your skin.

“This is about you abandoning me not my odd noises.”

Your words came out in mumbles with your mouth still pressed into his chest. If you wanted to be more serious about the issue you would’ve pulled away from him, but your arms were helplessly glued around him. The heavy sigh that escaped Jungkook’s lips sent your hair fluttering, and you knew he wasn’t letting go either.

“I know. It’s just easier to talk about how cute your noises are than about what happened.”

“Fair enough.”

You risked moving just enough to look around. It was close to eleven-thirty when you’d heard his knock on the door. The time now closer to midnight or after; the night is perfect to hide you both. But you couldn’t risk people walking by and gawking if one of you had an outburst. Besides, something so private deserved no audience. Even from the night herself.

Reluctantly, you stepped back from him. Your hand beginning to reach out to take his own. You nodded in the direction of your apartment in hopes he would understand where you were wanting to go.

“Come on. I think it’s safer if we just talk inside.”

Jungkook gave a simple nod that he agreed. His gaze wandered down to your hands as you began to take the few steps back to your home. Neither of you spoke as you walked to your front door. The only time you stopped was to pick up the box you’d discarded on your stoop.

The silence continued to follow you both to your front door. Your fingers moved quickly to type in the code to enter with the sound of the deadbolt sliding home seconds later to allow you entrance. The two of you headed inside; your body resting on the door to hold it open for Jungkook to enter.

You watched the careful way his feet carried him over the threshold. His eyes roaming around the small studio apartment, taking in everything he could as he came to a stop inside the hallway. Your apartment was a messy thing to behold.Books in towers, clothes hung up on makeshift closet racks, and the wall of art.

A part of you wondered how long it would take him to realize what exactly it was that decorated that particular wall. This small shrine to a time when everything seemed so simple. Jungkook moved to remove his shoes, his head still looking up to take in an apartment he’d never seen, when his eyes lit up with the realization of what it was he was looking at. His gaze fixated on the wall of drawings and paintings. Every single one signed in the form of bunny ears and exaggerated initials.

His eyes were so engrossed on them that he fumbled in taking off his shoes. So distracted he was by it that he fumbled, in a goofy dance, while trying to remove his shoes. His eyes on something he deemed more important.

“You - you put up all the art I’d given you.”

His voice was little more than a whisper of wonder. Jungkook finally taking his eyes off the wall to look back at you. Appreciation brightening up all the features of his face until he practically glowed.

Your nerves were beginning to fade as his attention was now falling back on you. Your free hand digging down into the pockets of your dress, the other tightening around the box in a weak attempt to stop them from fidgeting. You knew if you began to talk, they would fly around everywhere. A tell-tale sign that Jungkook knew meant you were two syllables away from stuttering.

“Of course I did, Jungkook. You gave me one during every single holiday. Why would I throw them away?”

“We haven’t seen each other in years, Y/N, and yet, you kept these.”

You allowed yourself a brief moment to prepare yourself for what came next. Sure, you needed to take off your shoes but could’ve done so easily while still talking to him, but you needed to look away from him. To gather your wits and fight off the ache that swelled viciously back in your chest. Your fingers gingerly moving to touch along the lid of the box and reminding yourself what was inside.

“Just because we ended...whatever it was that we were, Kook, doesn’t mean I would throw them all away. One bad moment couldn’t possibly diminish all the good ones.”

It was Jungkook’s turn to stand there with a face that told you plainly he didn’t believe you. A sad smile was the last thing you saw before his eyes turned to the floor. His own hands now deeply planted inside the pockets of his sweater.

“I guess you’re right.”

“I am right,” you replied with certainty. It earned you a snort as he brought his face back up to look at you.

The length of his hair hide his face from perfect view. Only allowing a small curtain to part just enough to allow one eye to peek through.

“Let’s sit and talk about this. Ok?”

You put the small box in front of you and gave it a good shake for good measure. Just in case there was anything else he randomly thought you wanted to speak about, but Jungkook knew.

The two of you moved in silence towards the couch. When you sat down you somehow ended up both together, barely inches apart. The way you always used too when you had to share. A hidden air that nothing had changed between you when, of course, everything had.

The box sat in your lap while your fingers drummed out a beat against the worn cardboard. Your body painfully aware of how close he was; closer than he ever used to sit before the kiss. This was ridiculous. It was just Jungkook - a much more grown, somehow even more handsome, version of the boy you kissed out there on the grass.

You willed yourself to turn and look at him. Your breath hitching in your throat in surprise a second after. Jungkook was already staring at you. His gaze mapping out the contours of your face like he would save them to memory. As if he wasn’t sitting right beside you. His hand moved out to rest on the top of the box. His fingers grazing over yours making their way to its edge, and gently began to open it.

“At first,” he began, voice breathless beside you, “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me. I wasn’t even sure if you’d take this.” His hand moved to open up the box, exposing the contents inside little by little. “The time we spent apart left me to think a lot about our time together. The memories we made. The ones I treasure.”

As Jungkook spoke his hand moved the dozen of photos around inside the box. You thought maybe he was just stirring them up; a way for him to fidget while he talked. He proved you wrong when his fingers snagged a photo he’d been searching for: a photo Yoongi had taken. You’d gone out with them to grab a bite to eat after they’d finish learning a new choreography. Taeyhung came along and Yoongi played the adult chaperon.

Tae teased Jungkook relentlessly with a chant that he had a crush on you. When Tae had first started his teasing, every time his words went without a denial from Jungkook your heart felt like it was ready to burst. You could still feel the heat on your cheeks that you desperately tried to hide so he wouldn’t see. The time came eventually though, when Jungkook would answer him, and when he finally did your swelling heart began to break.

“She’s my best friend, Tae.You can’t crush on your friends, anyways.”

You were so caught up in the memory you didn’t see when Jungkook had turned the photo around. Exposing the stark white of the back that was now covered in a letter of writing.

“This day was the first day that I lied about us.” Jungkook said, his voice barely above a whisper now. So light you felt like you needed to lean in even closer just to hear him. “Taehyung was just embarrassing me so much and I thought if I denied it, he would leave it alone. But the truth is, I did have a crush on you.”

Jungkook’s words fell away into a backdrop of noise. You tried your best not to let your emotions carry you away from reason. You promised yourself all you wanted was an explanation to what happened between you, but you felt yourself breaking that promise as your eyes scanned over the back of the photo.

“I told you I didn’t have a crush. I spoke it so loudly; I almost made myself believe it. But the rest of the time at dinner all I could recall was the way your face lit up with laughter. How you offered up extra food for us to take home for everyone else…

But Mostly I remember how you looked

At me

And I knew then: you were my happy place”

The tears you told yourself you wouldn’t shed pricked mercilessly to be released. Your head turning just enough to really take him in, and wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Jungkook already looking back. His hand now discarding the photo back inside the box and reached up to rest the palm of his hand on your cheek. And just like that, the first tear fell as yours eyes closed and you nuzzled into the feel of his hand.

“Jungkook-“

“I needed to write down these moments for you to keep. The things I was too scared to say in fear of ruining what we had. You deserve to know, Y/N that I love you. The way you loved me, cared for me, has stayed with me for so many years.”

You were now only inches apart. So close if Jungkook really wanted he could have breathed you to him. You were both looking at one another, but there were moments you both stopped; your eyes falling to the others lips. The two of you so damn close, and yet your body was close to freezing up. The hidden panic of being rejected again keeping you from going those extra few inches.

Jungkook’s thumb lightly moved across your cheek. The same painstakingly slow movement like when his eyes traced your face earlier. Committing this moment to his memory with the chance that you would pull away; deny him. How could you ever deny him? Didn’t this idiot know how much you loved him?

“Y/N.”

“Yes.”

Your voice was raspy from disuse. Your tongue licking across what felt like the desert now resided on your lips. And of course, Jungkook’s eyes hungrily ate up every flick of your tongue.

“Would you allow me a redo of our first kiss?”

You wanted to scream at him, “Of course you idiot! Just do it and stop teasing!”

In reality, you stayed quiet. The only answer you were able to give a soft nod of your head. Jungkook’s face lit up like a firework, literally the bloom of your yes made his features light up in phases until the glow it created was absolutely breathtaking. The smile you’d witnessed a thousand times now felt brand new all over again; especially in the way it made your body feel like you were floating.

You felt your lungs hold in the last breathe you took, a kidnapper of air, as you helplessly began to wait for him to make his move. The ugly sadness of the last few years began to try and rear its ugly head once more. Whispers about his lack of movement causing the fear of doubt to spring into your chest. You wanted so badly to put it out until it spread, but you were so accustomed to that voice you weren’t sure how you could ever defeat it.

And in the span of a millisecond, Jungkook filled that last bit of space between you. His lips brushed against yours in a soft caress; waiting for you to move in those last few inches. He didn’t need to wait long before your body turned to fully face him. Your hands losing their previous grip on that shoebox, full of memories as love notes, and instead curled into the soft cotton of his sweatshirt.

It was all the answer Jungkook needed to deepen the kiss. The soft caress of earlier turning more frantic; his other hand moving to mimic the other. Both holding each side of your face to tilt it up just right to meet his hungry lips. The kiss was now fueled by a desire that had long been suppressed between you. A feeling like he would consume you from the mouth down, and you were more than willing to let him.

A soft moan escaped your lips that somehow broke this spell that had overtaken you both. He pulled away just enough, enough to show a satisfied smirk curl his lips, as he placed his forehead against yours.

“Well, I would say that went better than expected.”

“And what were you expecting?”

You were still trying desperately to slow your racing heart. To not be consumed in the moment but ultimately found yourself reminiscing about the girl that day in the park. Who was so afraid to take that leap, and looking at Jungkook now you just wanted to tell her that the choice she made to take it was the best thing she’d ever done.

“To be honest,” he said between another peek to your lips, “I had this terrible fear you would just throw me out.”

“I mean I still could,” you teased.

Jungkook’s hands finally moved down from your face allowing you enough time to notice his body wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

“You have tattoos now!” You gawked.

A breath of laughter escaped him as he looked down into his lap, at his right hand, and back at you.

“Quite a few, actually.”

“Wow. It seems there’s a lot we’re going to have to catch up on.”

“I totally agree.”

Silence enveloped around you as you both began to work into a nervous dance. Neither of you exactly knew where it was supposed to go from here or the steps to get from point A to B. I mean, where did you begin? Did you go right into talking about the last year or so? New hobbies?

Luckily, Jungkook saved you again as he leaned in and planted a lingering kiss on your lips. When he pulled away that sly smirk was back as he asked, “Would it be okay if we kissed a little while longer?”

A smile of your own spread wide across your face. Your reply a sweet kiss against his lips.

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manychocolatefactories · 4 years

Text

CatCF Dark Chocolate: Part 1, the Kids

About this version:

This retelling was mostly inspired by the original book, as well as Dahl's first drafts for it. I wanted a more old-fashioned feeling to it: in this setting television is still only present in rich and upper-class houses, the regular people using newspaper and radios to get information. Imagine a mix of 40s and 50s with some touches of 60s thrown in.

You have here 8 Golden Tickets.

First winner: Augustus Pottle

(Based on Augustus Gloop )

Augustus Pottle is an enormously fat boy, with a head like a ball of dough and a body like a blimp. He bears an uncanny ressemblance to a pig: he has a pink and greasy skin, numerous folds of flesh and chins bulging out of his neck, small greedy eyes, and an upturned and always sniffing nose looking like a snout. All the outfits he wears are always much too tight for him or about to pop (and it doesn't help that he literaly gains weight the minute he eats something). He has two outfits during the story (inspired by the two outfits Quentin Blake drew for him): during his interview he wears a green jacket, brown pants and a turquoise shirt ; and during the tour he wears beige pants, a blue jacket and a white shirt with pink spots. Of course he can never wear his jackets and his shirts are always about to rip.

Eating is not just Augustus hobby and obsession - it is also his career. Augustus is considered a "champion" because he kept winning eating contests: the biggest eater, the fastest eater, the fattest eater... It all comes down to his mother, a thick lady wearing a lot of shiny but ugly jewelery. Mrs. Gloop always tried to find fame and attention, but when her attempts to find it at radio failed, she reported all her dreams on his son: he had inherited from his tall and bearded father a large and stout body. People were amazed at how big and gluttonous the boy was, and Mrs. Gloop thought it was an excellent way to get attention and fame. So she bred him to become the fattest and most gluttonous boy alive, so that everyone would look at him (and at her). It goes so far that Augustus is used to sleep in the dining room - being so full after meals he can't even pass the door to get up to his bedroom.

The excess of greasy and sugary food made his brain fat too, clogging it with blubber, and resulting in him being quite simple-minded. He only now has two thoughts in his brain. The first is "eat, eat, eat", he is a true glutton obsessed with eating and devouring. The second is "I'm a champion, I'm the best, I need to beat everyone else", he sees others as rivals and life as a contest, and his own fatness and gluttony is for him a sign of dominance over other people.

Second winner: Elvira Salt

(Based on Veruca Salt)

I wanted here to get away from the angry, screaming, demanding Veruca Salt, so I create this character.

Just like Veruca, Elvira is a spoiled and filfthy rich girl who thinks she can get everything she wants with money or by asking. But she is not an angry, screaming, bratty child. She rather believes it is natural and normal for her to have everything, or for money to solve every problem. She seems detached from the world. She doesn't think or believe one would say "No" to her, and basically considers the entire world to be a shop with people at her service, or a field from which she can pick flowers without a care.

She looks like a glamorous movie star of old, like Marilyn Monroe, always wearing elegant silk dresses and gloves and wearing fur coats (with furs of lovely and cute animals like guinea pigs, mink, chinchilla or rabbits). In fact, Elvira enjoys only things that are cute, pleasant or elegant. For example give her the biggest pearl in the world - if said pearl is actually ugly she will throw it out without a care. She is a girl that bathes in milk and honey, that has for a snack expensive truffes, foie gras, chocolate and champaign, that doesn't walk but get carried around, and that considers it normal for a young girl to receive as gifts emeralds, rubies, diamonds and other precious jewels. To put it shortly, she lives an extravagant and excentric life. Always smiling, always happy, always content, she basically lives in a world of luxury where misery, poverty or lack of money does not exist, and as a result actually forgets that other people around hers have needs and desires too. She thinks she is the princess of some sort of fairytales, and the others are just background characters here to serve her story.

For the tour, she wears a candy-pink velvet dress and a "fur" made of clubbed baby seals. As her father... well fun fact, Elvira sepnds so much money her father actually looks like a beggar or a homeless man, because he has no money left for himself - but a beggar with plump and thick wallets in his pockets.

Third winner: Violet Beauregard

(Based on Violet Beauregarde)

The Beauregard parents (who look so similar to each other it is difficult to say who is the father and who is the mother) are competition freaks. They are obsessed with their children being the best, breaking records, being a champion, earning trophies.

However, for their misery, they got Violet. Violet isn't good at sports, neither at school. She doesn't have any talent for anything. She doesn't have any interest or dreams. She is a plain, dull girl wearing plain and dull clothes, with dim eyes and a big mop of hair of an undetermined color. The only thing that stands out is her great, thick, muscular jaw - because her parents, desperate that they were, found a way for her to be a champion. Chewing gum. She spends her time chewing gum, so that would be her talent, isn't it? Her parents worked hard to make chewing a sportive and intellectual talent, making her break unexisting records of gum-chewing, organizing uninteresting chewing contests... They now think that their little girl deserves to be with Olympic champions just for chewing-gum, forgetting how useless and stupid this is.

They also extended her "abilities" to chewing other kind of foods and candies, including chewing chocolate bars: and here she found the Golden Ticket, which was a dream come true for the Beauregard parents, a perfect mediatic exposure! Fun fact: Violet chewed a bit of her Golden Ticket.

Fourth winner(s): Wilbur Rice and Tommy Troutbeck

(Based on Wilbur Rice and Tommy Troutbeck)

I wanted to reuse the characters from the deleted "Fudge Mountain" chapter of the book. A lot of this characterization is my own invention: I based myself on the few personnality clues found in the chapter, and for their appearance I used Quentin Blake's illustrations.

Tommy and Wilbur are best friends in the world. They are neighbors, they go to school together, they always share everything (even though they may fight for it first) - this is why when they discovered the fourth Golden Ticket they shared it. However their friendship is filled with a strange sort of disdain, and they really bond over their main hobby: pranking people. They like to do pranks and jokes and to have a good laugh. Unfortunately for everyone else, they are devilish little brats and cruel children, whose definition of a good laugh involves making believe someone's house was robbed, putting someone's dress on fire or pretending their little brother is dead. The worst is hurts or distress people, the better it will be for them. Causing black outs, using dangerous chemical products, hurting their own parents, it is all just a good fun.

The Rice family are the definition of bourgeois and nouveau riche, small shop owners who became extremely wealthy thanks to their trade. As a result they are boasting their money and spending a lot of it: their small house became bloated with numerous architectural additions that don't fit with each other, and they collect cars, having so much they can't even drive them all. Mr. Rice is a tall and very thin man always dressed in expensive but ugly suits and with a thick mustache looking like a caterpillar, while Wilbur is a small dark-haired boy with a round face and a round belly, chubby and flabby. Wilbur is an arrogant, haughty, snobbish boy that is friend with Tommy only because he thinks of him as a sort of "pet" - he is so arrogant that he also disdains his own parents, but Mr. Rice merely thinks Wilbur is being a "good lad", an "energetic boy" or a "little man" and is quite proud of this unruliness.

The Troutbeck family is the opposite of the Rice. They used to be nobility, living in a great manor, but they fell on hard times. Their nobility title not worth anything, money flying by, their family fell into poverty. They still live in their manor, but it is now run-down, dirty and unkept. Mrs. Troutbeck is an obese woman always wearing faded pajamas or worn-out jumpsuits and a thick layer of makeup, and Tommy is a tall and thin boy, skinny, with an angular face covered in moles, beauty marks and freckles. He has spiky strawberry blond hair and always wears tattered ans stained clothes. The Rice parents are hoarding misers, skinflints who refuse to spend and disdain the "show-off" Rice (the same way the Rice disdain the poor and "low" Troutbeck), in fact they only had a kid so he could later work and make money for them, and they encourage him to steal rather than buy things. Tommy is also a rude, violent boy, known to punch and insult all those that displease him - something he inherited from his parents, that also raised him with insults and slaps on the head (no wonder he doesn't have any respect for them).

The two kids have another element cementing their friendship: their love for candies. Wilbur spends his time buying candies to stuff his belly, and Tommy keeps stealing candies from other children, messily devouring them. And it is during one of their sugary feasts that they found the Golden Ticket.

For the tour, Wilbur is wearing a light blue jacket with a red bow tie, and Tommy a navy-blue turtleneck.

Fifth winner:Michael Themmen-Vry

(Based on Mike Teavee)

This name was a suggestion of ArtMakerProductions, who said I could invent a name whihc would have "T-V" initials. So I created Themmen-Vry, a name based on the names of the two actors who played Mike Teavee.

The Themmen-Vry family is exceedingly rich, grossly rich. But the Themmen-Vry parents are quite pleasant people: the father friendly and affable despite looking like a pigmy hippo, and the mother being an excellent hostess despite not being very bright and quite young. However their sson... it's a different story.

Michael is the oldest of the winners, being near the end of the his teenage years and almost a man. But he stayed stuck to the mental age of a child. Michael adores television, he has several elevision sets in every room of his manor to never miss his favorite shows. And Michael always liked to play, to disguise himself as his heroes. Couple that with very wealthy and very permissive parents, and you get this brat. Michael always plays at some game when he isn't watching television. He has an impressive array of costumes and toys to play with, and when he plays, he truly plays. He forces everyone to get into his roleplay and refer to him by his fictional identities. He forces other people into playing with him - he even kidnaps children from the nearby school to play with him. And he also wants realism to go so far... well let's say he won't be afraid to use a real gun to play a hunter. His parents are so permissive, seeing this as merely "harmless childish fun", that they allowed their manor to be burned down only because Michael wanted to play a firefighter.

No need to also mention you that Michael is a self-centered and disdainful brat that is always the hero of his stories and that uses "playing" as an excuse to bully and insult other people by having them be villains, monsters or preys. Basically he is the ultimate worst RPG player you can think of.

Tall and thin, Michael has long and thick hair covering his ears and forehead like a helmet, and a face covered in acne. As for his outfits, they change all the time: one time he is dressed as a mad hunter, another time he is a monster-killing alien-king, another time he is a ninja-cowboy from the Far West, and that's when he is not a policeman-Robin Hood.

His outfit for the tour is a vividly colored cosmonaut outfit, and he is armed with a ray gun. Actually a laser gun using real, harmful lasers. He is also one of the few kids allowed to come to th tour without his parents, due to him being old enough.

Sixth winner: Marvin Prune

(Based on Marvin Prune)

In the original drafts of Roald Dahl, Marvin Prune was a conceited school-obsessed boy that embodied the "all work and no play" mentality, disdaining all childish fun and freedom and rather dedicating himself to harsh studies and strict intellect. I decided to reuse this concept for a new interpretation:

Marvin Prune and his parents (his father, a man with a face like a boiled onio, and his mother, a woman who looks a lot like a donkey) are extremely arrogant and conceited so-called intellectuals. Marvin Prune thinks of himself as superior to everyone else and more intelligent than others because he read a lot of books, learned a lot of things and is an excellent school student. As a result, he thinks that he has all the rights to disdain others, insult them, treat them as complete idiots. But the thing is that Marvin actually has a very poor knowledge of the world and his "intellect" is up to discussion. He has numerous facts wrong - for exemple he thinks sugar comes naturally as a white powder and can't exist under any other forms, or he believes all the ancient Greek artworks were entirely white and that Greeks never used colors. If he gets so many of his facts wrong, it is because he believes simply learning about something is enough to be an expert - for exemple he claims to know all about foreign countries because he read about them in books, but he actually never visited them or met people from said countries.

This arrogance and this quest for "intellectuality" leads the Prunes to worship all that is "antique" "ancient" or "proper" - which results in them only collecting ancient furnitures, putting dust and cobwebs in their house to make it look more ancient, and Marvin wearing outdated outfits, like puff ties or jabots. He also likes to wear glasses, though he doesn't need them - he just thinks wearing glasses makes him look more intelligent. With narrow shoulders and chocolate-colored curls, the most defining trait of Marvin is his nose, which is really big, really long, really pointy and sharp, compared to a shark's fin. He always uses the royal plural "we" instead of "I" because he believes himself to be the most intelligent boy of the country or perhaps the world, and this bloated ego of him actually leads to a darker side of his personnality: he disdains all that is considered childish and worthless, up to the point of destruction. For exemple, he only reads encyclopedia, scientific books and teaching manuals. As for the rest - children book, novels, comic books... he deems them irrelevant and stupid and so wishes to burn all of them. Yep, we have a little book burner here.

Marvin only searched for a Golden Ticket because he wished to learn more about the Wonka Factory and know all of its secrets, as well as to be able to "correct" Wonka - because he is that kind of kid that considers everybody else is doing things wrong, and that he knows how to fix mistakes and improve everything. And he pretends that to find his Golden Ticket he used a lot of calculations, planning and studies, comparing the weather, selling patterns, geography, trafic levels... but in truth he actually got it by pure luck.

Seventh winner: Bertie Upside

(Based on Bertie Upside)

Bertie Upside actually surprises everyone because he isn't a brat like the other kids. He is a wealthy and rich orphan, but he is kind, healthy, gentle, generous, cute, humble, decent giving money to charity and being very respectful and wise. He sees the best in people, and during the tour he prevents the other kids from breaking the rules or bullying Charlie, deeming him a true "bore". He is basically the perfect kid, that is repeatedly said to have a "heart of gold".

For his physical appearance I based him on Quentin Blake's illustration of Charlie: tall and thin, blond with blue eyes. He always has clothes that match his hair and eyes: light blue jacket and yellow tie for his interview, and golden jacket with light blue shirt for the tour.

Eighth winner: Charlie Bucket

(Based on Charlie Bucket)

This Charlie I based on the original drafts of Roald Dahl, which depicted Charlie as black.

As usual Charlie is a small malnourished boy, all skins and bones, living with his poor family in a shabby and run-down house. His father is a newspaper deliveryman, which is how the Bucket family has a newspaper every morning, and his mother works at a toothpaste factory (like in the 2005 movie). Their job doesn't bring much money, but it is enough to survive. As for the Grandparents you have Grandpa Georges (got his leg cut off after the war, and is always criticizing, insulting and being revolted by the other Golden Ticket winners), Grandma Georgina (can't walk due to the family being too poor to have her hip and knee fixed, she quells and calms her husband's wrath and fury), Grandma Josephine (has a weak heart and can't do a lot of physical activities, but has a wild an insane past, resulting in her often telling stories not suited for kids) and Grandpa Joe (bad arthritis, usually tempers or censors his wife's stories).

Charlie tries to help his family: he makes a bit of money by collecting glass bottles and metallic scraps. As for the food the Bucket family survives with, I wanted to include elements of the "soul food": as a result the daily diet of the Buckets is black-eyed peas, turnips and sweet potatoes. When they have enough money they buy a pork feet or a chicken liver to add meat to their diet, but it is quite rare. Charlie is a little angel of a kid, ever complaining, working hard at school and always sharing what he has with his family.

#charlie and the chocolate factory #catcf #retelling #dark chocolate #augustus gloop #charlie bucket #violet beauregarde #veruca salt #mike teavee #wilbur rice #tommy troutbeck #marvin prune #bertie upside

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eleanor-devil · 3 years

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Boruto: Sacrifices [Remade] | Chap.5 - Mitsuki's Decision

Written by: Eleanor-Devil & @mirage-05

He was making a lot of noise in the early morning, but he didn't care. Ever since Sarada called him the other night and told him that Mitsuki, his best friend... was being mistreated, he couldn't sit still. It took him a great deal of self-control to wait until the morning, when they decided to meet. So, by any right, if he was waking up some people and they were complaining about it, he wasn't about to give them a rat's ass. “Boruto…” Sarada was practically running to keep up with her friend. It wasn’t exactly rare to see Boruto getting worked up about something, but he was really pissed off now. “Just try to calm down for a bit…” “How can I calm down?!” was his answer as he didn’t even break his pace. “How come he didn’t tell me he was being harassed?!” Sarada had no words to offer to that… She hadn’t seen anything other than the graffitis on the door but she had spoken to Shikadai… “Well, let’s see what he has to s-” The Uzumaki’s words were cut in half as they reached his friend’s door. Eyes huge in disbelief, he took them all in, one by one, getting more and more terrified and outraged the more he looked at them. These were not just simple harassments - they were threats, and pretty horrible ones at that…

“What the hell…?” he mumbled, raising a hand to touch one of the drawings. Then he turned to Sarada, the look of shock still in place. “W-wait, did you also know about these…?” “W-well, I…” And then they heard a click, and they were suddenly face to face with Mitsuki. The blue haired boy took a look at his expression, and sighed. “Boruto…” “When were you going to tell me?!” the blond practically spat out of gritted teeth. “Tell you what?” “Don’t play dumb with me!” Boruto yelled, banging his fist on the door, and Mitsuki flinched a little. “I’m talking about these graffitis Mitsuki!” “Oh…” the boy mused, giving the said graffitis a fleeting look. “Oh? Oh?! That’s all you have to say?!” “Boruto please…” Sarada glanced awkwardly around. “You really should keep your voice down…” “I would have if Mitsuki told me about this earlier!” The blue haired boy sighed again. “Boruto, I didn’t want to worry you about this. I wouldn’t have told Sarada either but she saw it… I didn’t want to worry either of you.” "How can I not worry when my best friend is being harassed?!" Boruto yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Why are they even doing it, huh?! But you know what?!" The blond took his cell phone out. "Boruto, that's not nec-" "Shut the hell up." At that time, a neighboring door opened and a groggy-looking man popped his head out. "Hey, brats, keep it down, will you?" "And you just shut up, too, okay?!" Sarada turned an apologetic look to the man, who just silently slid back into his apartment. Boruto took a few photos of the door. "There. My dad is going to hear about this." "Boruto..." the Uchiha began. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about this! What if you got seriously hurt?! I thought we were friends!!" At these words, the blue haired boy couldn’t help it. "We are. That's the reason I didn't tell you." "Because you didn't want to worry me?!" Boruto scoffed, and actually took a step to his friend. "Bullshit!" At that, the girl finally stepped in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders and actually pushing him back a little. "Boruto, please!" she said urgently. "Calm down before you say or do something you will regret!" And just like that, Boruto's furiosity vanished on the spot, leaving behind only remnants of resentment. The last time he had almost... lost his father. He didn't want anything like that to happen - ever again. He gulped and stepped away from Sarada, his eyes on his best friend. "...fine. But don't think that this matter is over. My dad will know of this." Sarada sighed, a little relieved that the storm had passed. "Okay, um... let's get going, shall we?" … She had really, really hoped the day would proceed without any unpleasant incidents - but of course, in the current situation, it was too much to ask. They haven't even reached the outskirts of the village yet. Boruto was still seething and Mitsuki was quiet, but Sarada was on the lookout, just in case. And then she heard a rustle, quick footsteps and her instincts took over. "Boruto!" she called to her friend as she quickly stepped in front of Mitsuki, activating her Sharingan, as he turned at her voice. The blond had acted very quickly indeed, their months of team-work had really paid off. Before the person Sarada felt a minute ago could do anything, he was by his side, grabbing his wrist. The girl felt sad when she saw the boy couldn't be older than eight years old. "Just what do you think you are doing?!" Boruto asked through gritted teeth. "Throwing..." he looked at the squished red blob on the ground and raised an eyebrow. "Tomatoes? Seriously?" "We don't want him here." the child said stubbornly, nodding towards Mitsuki. "He's making everyone restless. My mom and dad had not stopped arguing since yesterday!" The blond's look got darker. "Well, it's not my friend's fault if your parents are dumb." "Guys, drop it, he's just a kid..." Mitsuki began, but Boruto wasn't about to listen. "You land anything on him, and you.are.dead.meat." he hissed dangerously, inching his face closer to the boy. "What the hell is going on here?" An older boy has stepped out from the corner of a building, a menacing look on his face. "Who do you think you are, bullying my brother like that, you little piece of..." As Boruto turned towards him slowly, seething with anger, the boy came to a halt. "Wrong," the boy said, and the elder boy actually took a step back. "The question is, who do YOU think you are, messing with my best friend?!" It took the boy a moment, but he finally snapped out of it and hurried forward, taking his younger brother by his shoulders. "Fumio, what did I tell you? Do not mess with that snake while the Hokage's son is with him! Now we're going to get in trouble!" "Stay away from him if you know what is best for you!" Boruto yelled at them as the brothers scampered away. After they were out of sight, he turned to look at his friends. Sarada deactivated her Sharingan with a sigh. Mitsuki wasn't looking at him, his eyes on the ground. "This is not your fault!" he said fervently, bothered by how Mitsuki wasn't even meeting his eyes. "They need to know that in Konoha you can't bully someone because of his origins! No one will allow it!" The blue haired boy sighed. "Boruto, just please... let's move on." "No! Not until you stop letting these stupid people get to you!" "I can't give you a promise I can't keep." Mitsuki said curtly before turning on his heels and started walking again. Boruto and Sarada looked at each other for a brief second before they started following him. ... The walk to the orphanage had been no different. Noone bothered them this time, at least not verbally, but every now and then they found at least a pair of unfriendly eyes peeking at them from around a corner. It came to the point where Boruto had it and turned to snap at one of those; "What are you looking at?!" But they never stayed long when they saw the Hokage's son was with them. They were now just a few blocks away from the main building. Not knowing what they should be expecting, because they never got to come to the orphanage after the attack, Sarada felt her pulse quickening as they approached. All three of them came to a halt when the campus came into view. The news never covered much, and although they knew it was bad, they had no idea of the scope. The whole front of the building was in ruins, seemingly blown apart by an enormous force. Pieces of rubble laid everywhere, and there were stains on them... dark stains... Stains that reminded all of them terribly of... Dried blood... As if he was in a trance, Mitsuki took a step forward, stopped for a moment, and then kept walking. Boruto, snapping out of his shock, noticed him. "Mitsuki - wait, don’t just walk inside like that!" The boy was aware that someone was calling for him, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. This much pain... Why...? Someone grabbing his arm finally made him come to a stop, and he turned to see Sarada, with a worried expression on her face. "Don't rush inside!" she said. Mitsuki opened his mouth to say something, but someone cut him off before he got a word out. "Oh hey, it's you guys!" All of them looked up to see Inojin, Shikadai and Chouchou coming out of the building, their arms full of rubble and other things. "Yo, what's up?" Chouchou said nonchalantly, approaching them. "I thought you guys weren't supposed to be here?" "Not... supposed to be here?" Mitsuki mumbled, not quite understanding. "What she meant to say was, we didn't know you were also assigned here," Inojin immediately interjected before his friend said anything else. "We didn't come here on an assignment," Boruto sighed, coming up from behind his friends. "We just wanted to, uh..." "See how the renovations were coming up," Sarada finished helpfully. "Well, they are coming up pretty troublesome," Shikadai said with a bored expression. "At least the director is a pretty nice guy - even after all this..." Mitsuki's eyes widened. "Wait... Is Kabuto-san here?" "Of course," Shikadai raised an eyebrow. "Where else?" The blue haired boy then turned to his friends. "I need to talk to him." "Cool, I'm coming with you." "Boruto," Mitsuki sighed. "I'm gonna talk to him alone." "I can wait outside." Mitsuki looked at Shikadai with a bored expression. "Please... do stop him if he comes after me." ... He found Kabuto-san in one of the back rooms, one of the few rooms that didn't sustain a lot of damage. The man looked up when Mitsuki entered. "Oh, Mitsuki..." he said. "I didn't expect to see you." "I just wanted to see all of this myself." Kabuto sighed, and they both stayed silent for a while. "Why...?" "Hm?" Kabuto turned to the boy, questions in his eyes. Mitsuki was gazing out of the doorway with a distant look in his eyes, and it wasn't too hard for the older man to understand where the boy's mind was. "You are one of the few people who knows my father like the back of his hand. Why? Why would my father do this? For what motive?" "I'm afraid I don't have an answer for that question. The truth is that Orochimaru always has a reason behind his actions..." "Exactly." the boy turned to the man, grasping for some answers. "So why would he attack innocent children? Not just the Shin clones, but other children, too." The man put a hand on the boy's arm, and his tone was gentle as he spoke. "Mitsuki, I understand that it's hard for you to handle it and I wouldn't believe it, either... But I saw your father's curse mark on that man with my own eyes." The boy didn't know what to say to that, and he lowered his eyes to the ground. Kabuto-san looked at him carefully. "Anyone bothering you?" he asked, quickly assessing the situation. Mitsuki gave a small smile as he thought about his friends. "Nothing I can't handle. And I have some very good friends." "I'm glad to hear that." Mitsuki kept looking around, his gaze taking a serious quality once again as he took in the damage, people rushing around... "Kabuto-san..." he said after a minute. "How did you become a medic?" "Where did that come from?" the older man asked, totally confused. "Just wondering... And how did you become a director at this orphanage?" Kabuto thought about it for a second. "They are actually connected." "Connected? How?" "You know... I was orphaned in the Third Ninja World War. Konoha took me in and in this orphanage, I was raised by a woman who taught me about medical ninjutsu. I guess you can say that I wanted to do what she did to me... To raise children in a family environment, to heal their wounds in one way or another..." He sighed and looked away. "It's too sad it didn't work out that way... I guess your past never really leaves you." They didn't say anything more as Mitsuki thought bitterly how true those words were... ... His mind was in overdrive when he was making his way back to his friends. Working to save, heal people... That seemed like a noble cause. Frankly, before he came here, even when he started his way as a ninja, he didn't have a clue of what will become of him in the future. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the day they met their sensei and Konohamaru asked what his future dream was. He had simply smiled and said that he wanted to become as great a ninja as his father, maybe even surpassing him one day. He wanted, no, needed so badly to make Orochimaru proud of him. He didn't know if this path he was about to choose would make him proud or not... But working to heal the wounds his father might or might not have caused, well... That seemed like a noble cause, too. Now if his sensei asked him just about this moment, he would say that he wanted to become a med-nin. He didn't know yet who he could be trained under to pursue this goal. Hopefully... not even all of the adults were against him? Naturally, the first person to come to mind was Kabuto, an uncle to him in more than one way. But he already had so much on his plate to take in a pupil. Of course the most famous med-nin in Konoha was Sarada's mother, or the Fifth Hokage, but Mitsuki wasn't exactly sure how he could approach them. Well... there was always Karin as his back-up plan, but... An unpleasant tingling was triggered in his chest just thinking about it. That would mean he would also have to leave his friends behind, and he... really didn't want that. Boruto and Sarada... The first real family he had in Konoha… He wasn't really paying attention, lost too much in his own thoughts. "What the hell do you think you are doing here?" Many things happened all at once that Mitsuki couldn't really find the time to react. When he turned back, he saw someone running towards him with a hateful expression, but before he could come too close, someone stopped him by throwing himself on that person. Metal Lee raised his head to look at him, and his eyes widened. "Mitsuki, watch out!" The blue haired boy turned just in time to dodge a punch aimed right at his face. "Asahi, Fuuto, help us!" Metal called. But no one helped him and Mitsuki actually had to grab the assailant's fist the next time. "I don't want to fight you." he declared in a calm tone. "Too bad, because I'm about to turn you to a pulp! How dare you even show your face here?!" Then the boy came to a sudden stop and the younger let go of his hand. "Two on one? You really are looking for trouble, aren't you?" Just by the manner of his speech, Mitsuki was quick to understand how the attacker had been stopped. "I'll show you who's gonna turn into a pulp!" "Boruto, no!" the boy yelled when he saw his best friend charging, but Shikadai acted before him. "Sheesh, hold your horses, won't you?" "Shikadai..." Boruto, who had also been stopped dead, growled through his teeth, clearly pissed off. "You better let me go. I really don't want to take this out on you." "Not before you calm down, no." "How can you even expect me to calm down?!" the blond yelled. "These two were just about to attack my best friend!" "Boruto, just calm down..." Mitsuki sighed, already getting tired of this. "How can you even call that thing your friend?" one of the other boys asked, and everyone tensed. "You better watch out what you're saying..." said Sarada, at the end of her patience. "It's way better than hanging out with the likes of you!" Boruto yelled at them, trying hard to get out of the shadow mimic technique. "Well, seeing that we outnumber you by at least a third, I would advise you to back down - unless you want us to get really mad." Inojin put in, all with a sweet but dangerous smile. The two thought about it for a second. "We will be back." they said, throwing dirty looks at the blue haired boy. "To get your asses handed to you? Anytime!" Boruto countered. As the two ran away, Metal looked at his teammates. "Why didn't you guys help us out back then?" The girl didn't say anything, but after a second of hesitation, Fuuto spoke. "Why... did you help?" he asked, and his tone was confused; not accusing, not degrading; just curious. "Seriously?" Metal asked unbelievably. "You really think I would just stand aside and let a friend - anyone - get bullied right in front of me?! We were taught better than that!" "Don't bother, Metal," Boruto said, a little ruder than he normally would. "Thank you for your help, anyway." ... The way back had been awfully quiet. They had stopped by a fast-food restaurant to have lunch on their way back, but the glares never ceased, even with Boruto glaring right back at those. They were almost at Mitsuki's house when it happened again. "You still here in this village, you snake?" Boruto tensed and turned back, his hands balling into fists. "You have any problems with your eyesight?" he growled at the group that gathered behind them, especially to Sarutobi Ichiro, who had just spoken. "I can't see any snakes here but you, waiting to strike, hidden behind corners!" "You know, you are overly confident, being the hokage's son and all... But we're gonna make our voices heard, too. He can't be hidden, protected under your wings for too long." "Try me..." Boruto hissed, shaking with anger. "Boruto, don't..." Sarada began. "And why do you protect him, anyway? Do you really think he would do the same for you if this situation was reversed?" one of the other kids shouted. "Don't... play... with fire...!" "Oh yeah? Well let me tell you one thing, not all of us agree with daddy dearest!" Mitsuki was having a hard time processing his emotions regarding this - did they really think that low of him? Why was it harder to just ignore this, tell himself this didn’t matter anyway, like so many other times before? He snapped back to the moment when he saw Boruto hurrying forward, and grabbed his arm in a fruitless attempt. "Let it go, Boruto." "Well, too bad for you that my 'daddy dearest' is the hokage, and you have to follow his orders!" "Well, you see... things can change, and then we will have our say!" "Boruto!" Mitsuki yelled, but it was too late. Already too agitated, Boruto freed his arm from his best friend with an angry yell, and actually charged the group before Sarada or Mitsuki could react properly. He had aimed for Ichiro, and as the two actually tumbled to the ground with Boruto's momentum, the other kids stood back a little, clearly indecisive about whether or not getting in a fight with the Hokage's son is a good idea. But they did hold back Mitsuki and Sarada when they rushed to help their friend. The fight didn't last for too long, really, but for the two, it seemed to drag on as they watched, helpless. Boruto and the older boy traded punches and kicks, none of them seemingly stronger than the other. It was after one particularly hard punch which left a cut over Boruto's eyebrow that Sarada finally snapped. "You little..." she growled through gritted teeth, and felt her chakra growing in her hand as she pushed away those who were holding her back. "Shannaro!" When she hit the ground with her fist, all the other children were thrown back by the force, including the one the blond had been fighting. Mitsuki was there to catch his friend. "Now run away before I get really angry!" Sarada yelled at the group, who didn't stay long after that. Boruto got up, wiping some blood that was making its way to his eye. "Come on, we're going to my dad's office NOW." "We should check on that wound first..." Sarada countered. "It's just a little blood, I'm fine. Come on..." Mitsuki had remained silent for a while, but he shook his head when he heard this. "No, I... I need to be alone." "I'm not gonna leave you alone anywhere, 'ttebasa, so you better move it!" the blond snapped at his friend. But that was too much. He had let his best friend get hurt over him... This wasn’t what a friend was supposed to be, was it? How could he hope to help people even when he couldn’t protect his own friend...? Maybe it was because this was the first time he saw this haunted and sad look in his friend's eyes… but it surely took the blond by surprise. Boruto's frown started to soften, actually turning into a look of worry. "You're not safe around me anymore..." Mitsuki mumbled, the slight cracking in his voice the only give off in his otherwise perfect facade. "I'll... I'll just stay at home, I promise..." "Mitsuki stop this, it's just a little blood, I'm not dying here..." the blond tried to reason, but the younger didn't look back as he rushed inside. "Shit..." Boruto mumbled and him and Sarada followed their friend inside. Mitsuki was quicker - he opened his door and slid inside before his friends made it. Boruto reached the door first and knocked it normally. "Mitsuki! Come on, this is nothing, and it certainly isn't your fault! We have to report this to my dad!" When there was no reply, Boruto banged his fist on the door. "Dammit, stop doing this! You can't just stay down because idiotic people make idiotic remarks about you! Come out so we can talk about it!" "Boruto..." Sarada put her hand on his arm. "Let's just leave him for the day." "What? Are you out of your mind?" "I... I think he needs it. We have training tomorrow, we can talk to him then." It was pretty obvious that the boy didn't like this, but he finally sighed and nodded. ... Mitsuki had been behind the door all the time, listening to his friends. When he heard them walking away, he slowly slid against the door, bringing his knees closer to him. His presence... was no longer wanted, nor needed in Konoha, that much was pretty clear. But his friend getting injured for that... He felt something wetting his cheeks and raised his hand to check. He stared at the tear on his fingertip for a moment, mesmerized. So that was… how crying felt like then? A let out of emotions, emotions that were too foreign and… simply too much for him. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. This was not the time to show weakness. He had other things to do. ... A knock brought Naruto back from his thoughts. "Come in." A ninja peeked in. "Lord seventh, your son is..." Before he could finish his sentence, the said son pushed his way through the man, tailed by Sarada. "Dad, we need to talk." "Boruto, how many times do I have to tell you, don't call me da..." Naruto did a double take when he got a closer look at his son's face. "What the hell happened to you?!" The blond sighed, trying not to roll his eyes. "For the last time, I'm not bleeding to death." "You should go check with the clinic immediately..." Naruto began. "Stuff it, dad, this is not about me!" Boruto snapped. "Do you even know what's been going on??" "About what...?" "Mitsuki! My best friend is being threatened and harassed all day! Look at this!" When his son shoved his phone under his nose, the hokage's eyes widened for a second, then he snatched the phone from Boruto and took a look at the other pictures as well, his expression growing darker with each one. "When did this start?" he asked finally, looking up at the two. "Yesterday," Sarada replied. "It just started as verbal assaults first, but then those graffitis and people attacking him today..." "Attacking?" Naruto felt his anger boiling. He was actually planning to send someone, maybe Konohamaru as he was their sensei, to check on the boy, but... this was taking it too far. "He didn't even do anything! He kept telling all those morons he didn't want to fight! Why are they doing this?!" Naruto sighed. "I should've known this." "Dad?" Boruto asked, his tone shocked. This wasn't the reaction he expected. "Some of the villagers... They are not very happy with my decision of letting Mitsuki stay in Konoha." "Wha... what...?" Boruto asked blankly, not even knowing what the hokage's words meant. "Where... where else is he supposed to live?" "They wanted me to exile him." Naruto said openly, looking at the two right in the eyes. Boruto and Sarada were so appalled that they couldn't say anything for a while. "Why...?" Sarada mumbled at last, her voice weak. “Is it because… what was discussed in the meeting…?” “What are you talking about?” the younger blond was looking at his friend incredulously. Naruto simply nodded at Sarada before explaining further. "Because he is the son of a villain this village is not about to forget anytime soon." He was playing all cards on the table. Being his teammates and close friends, they needed to know. "But that is no reason!" Boruto shot back, snapping out of his shock. "No two people are ever the same! Dad, you can't-" "Of course not." Naruto cut in seriously, and his tone made his son go quiet. "He belongs in Konoha, a member of our family. I'm not going to give up on him." The two just stared up at him in awe. The man's expression softened a little. "I am going to deal with this, make sure anyone who is involved gets punished. Now, please go check with the clinic and leave the rest to me." Boruto gulped and nodded. "Thank you dad." ... The two were quiet as they walked out of the Hokage’s office. Sarada wanted to say something to cheer Boruto up, but if she was being honest… she didn’t feel like she would do much, she herself had a heavy heart. Feeling the blond coming to a halt, Sarada followed his gaze, and felt another pang in her chest. “Konohamaru-sensei…” she mumbled. It seemed like the jounin wasn’t even aware of them, not until the girl spoke anyway. Blinking in focus, he gave them a small smile that didn’t really reach his eyes. “Hey, you two. What are you doing out at this hour?” “Well, we-” Sarada started to say, but Boruto cut her in. “Konohamaru-nii-chan…” he started, catching the brunet off-guard - it had been some time since Boruto addressed him like that… And more so, the look in his eyes… it was sad, as sad as his voice, but also… disappointed somehow. “Let me just ask you one thing.” “What is it, Boruto?” It was true that he was out of it for the last couple of days, which he was coming to the realization and slowly coming out of it… he should as well start by paying closer attention to his team. “Was that… the reason you’ve been so distant with Mitsuki…?” And Konohamaru just blanked out for a moment, staring blankly at the pre-teens. “I… what are you talking about…?” “You barely talk to him and then yesterday, at the training… Konohamaru-nii-chan… are you blaming him too…?” The words were more like a slap on his face. The jounin had to keep his poker face, but it was hard… He… wasn’t even aware… “I… don’t blame him for anything, Boruto.” he said with a sigh, passing a hand through his face. “And I didn’t intend to be especially distant towards him… You three are all equal and important to me.” Boruto’s eyes softened a little at the sincerity in his words, but his expression was still very serious. “Well, you might wanna look at it from Mitsuki’s side. You might’ve come off as just the opposite, nii-chan…” “He had been through a lot, sensei,” Sarada put in, looking down with a sad expression. “There are a lot of villagers who want him gone… and they’re not being quiet about it…” “That’s an understatement!” Boruto almost yelled, he had been pushed way off his limit of tolerance today… and Konohamaru finally realized the cut above his eyebrow, making him frown a little. “They’d been harassing him, and now even with the attacks…” “I heard enough.” the jounin said, raising a hand… his stomach had become quite queasy. Just how much had he missed, god… he was feeling really lousy now. Yes, he had to do something to make this up… and quickly. “Don’t worry… I’m gonna talk to Mitsuki now.” That brought a smile to Boruto and Sarada’s faces. “Thank you, Konohamaru-nii-chan.” … “For the last time,” Mitsuki sighed as he looked at his two companions, his expression exasperated. “I didn’t summon you here to scare Mikazuki, Isis.” The scene would’ve been funny really, if it wasn’t for the fact that the kitten was so scared that he had been meowing non-stop… while Mitsuki’s summon, Isis, was hissing at him. At his words, though, the snake turned to shoot him a resentful look. “It wasn’t my fault, Mitsuki-sama!” “Neither was it his,” the blue haired boy explained calmly. “He is just a small kitten, he doesn’t know better.” And Isis was territorial, so she didn’t take it well that Mikazuki tried to paw at her swishing tail the moment she appeared. Striding forward, Mitsuki took the distressed kitten in his arms, before he alerted the whole apartment complex. So much for secrecy… “Listen Isis, I need to ask you a favor.” Isis decided to quit her hissing fit, although her eyes were still on Mikazuki. “What can I do for you?” “I want you to go to my father," Mitsuki replied clearly. "Tell him to meet me outside of Konoha's eastern border, to the end of the river." He couldn't have been more vague if he tried, something that Isis noticed herself. "If you need his help on a mission, you have to give him a more specific address." "No, I..." Mitsuki let out his breath and closed his eyes. "I'm leaving." "Not on a mission, no? Why then?" "I don't belong here anymore." There was a moment of silence. "Mitsuki-sama..." Isis began, her thin pupils regarding him carefully. "You do know you shouldn't satisfy anyone's needs by leaving..." "I'm not leaving to make anyone happy," the boy countered. "I am leaving to protect my friends. I should have never gotten them involved." The snake coiled around silently, deciding not to push forward. "When are you leaving?" Mitsuki checked his clock, and did a double take. Time really flew by. It was already nine pm. "In about two hours." "Got it." Opening his window, the boy watched as the snake slid out. And then a knock almost made him jump out of his skin. Calming down, he made his way to the door. Who could be visiting at this hour? He hoped it wasn’t his friends… not that his intentions were too visible - he didn’t have many things to pack after all - but it would just make things harder. It didn’t really help much that it was his sensei at the door. “Konohamaru-sensei…” he said simply in greeting, while Mikazuki meowed in unison. A small smile crossed his face as the brunet looked between the two of them. “Good evening, Mitsuki. Mind if I come in?” “Um… yeah, sure.” He stepped aside to let the jounin in. Konohamaru patted Mikazuki on the head, earning himself a purr from the now slightly calmed down kitten. As he walked in further, the brunet came to a halt. “Sorry it isn’t too much…” “Not at all…” It was more so the fact that… Mitsuki didn’t seem to have any personal belongings… pretty much the only sign of someone living here was the kitten in his student’s arms and the items all around the small apartment to take care of it. True, he hadn’t been to Mitsuki’s house before, but this wasn’t something he expected… “Umm… you can sit on the bed sensei…” It was kind of awkward for Mitsuki, he didn’t really have much accommodations to begin with. His sensei didn’t comment on it though, as he took his advice. For a moment neither of them spoke, although Mitsuki couldn’t help but make a mental calculation… he really didn’t have a lot of time to finish all he had to do and still make it in time… He could just hope his sensei would keep it quick. Although, well… Konohamaru seemed to be a little awkward now. “I see you’re taking good care of the kitten.” the young man said at last. The look in the boy’s eyes softened a little as he scratched Mikazuki behind the ears. “He has grown so much into me… I didn’t know how boring it could get before we started sharing this apartment.” “It seems that the feeling is mutual.” the jounin’s voice was gentle. “Yeah.” A thoughtful look crossed his eyes. “I… now I can’t imagine a life without him.” It wasn’t exactly easy to say that with a straight face, thinking about how he had to indeed leave Mikazuki behind, he couldn’t just take him to the hideout. “Here is to hope that it won’t ever come to that.” When his student raised his head to look at him with questions in his eyes, Konohamaru sighed. “Well, in truth… I think I’ve stalled this long enough.” “What is it that you want to talk about, sensei?” the boy asked quietly. “Look kiddo…” It had been a while since he addressed him like that, Mitsuki realized with a start. “I owe you an apology…” “What for?” Mitsuki asked, perplexed, and Konohamaru only sighed again. “The last few days had been… challenging on my part… And while I know this doesn’t justify my actions…” He paused for a moment before looking at his student directly in the eyes. “I just didn’t realize I probably came off as distant and… cold…” The boy didn’t know what to say for a moment. “Konohamaru-sensei…” The jounin raised a hand to stop him. “Please, just let me finish. It wasn’t my intention to make any of you feel sad. I care for each of you equally. And, well…” the look in his eyes turned pensive as he bowed his head. “I didn’t expect things to get so… out of hand so quickly…” he looked at Mitsuki again. “Why didn’t you say anything…? I heard from your teammates about the attacks and those… graffitis…” Yes, those drawings really didn’t help his mood. Mitsuki didn’t say anything for a moment, wondering how best he should reply… Their sensei was known to read them like clear water… “I… didn’t want to worry you sensei. You already have a lot on your plate.” Konohamaru’s gaze turned soft at these words. This boy… he was always so selfless, thinking about others before himself… sometimes it was just too much. “Mitsuki… there are times you should allow yourself to be protected as well.” And just like that, Mitsuki felt a slight lump in his throat. After what he had been through these last couple of days, these words, and the fact that it was coming from his sensei, just… touched him… almost enough to make him reconsider leaving the village… but no, not after what had happened… not after his best friend got hurt because of him… Petting Mikazuki to calm himself down a little and keep his stoic face, he finally said, “If these get any worse, I’ll report to you immediately.” “I’d appreciate that… although with Hokage-sama on the case, I doubt it will get any further.” The jounin got up on his feet and took the necessary couple of steps to approach him. Mitsuki was even more surprised when Konohamaru pulled him in for a tight hug. “We are and will always be here for you kiddo… Don’t ever forget that.” The boy had to blink a couple of times to make sure his eyes stayed dry. “Thank you, sensei.” The jounin patted him on the shoulder when they broke the hug. “Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow in the training.” He was just about to walk out of the door when the boy’s voice stopped him again. “Sensei?” The young man turned to him, question marks in his eyes. “Yeah?” There was a small, soft smile on Mitsuki’s face, one that… almost made Konohamaru feel a little… restless. “You should really make peace with Lady Hanabi.” Konohamaru was so taken aback that he just stared at his student for a moment. How could he think about such a thing with what he had been through…? “Yeah, well… we will see about that.” he mumbled for lack of a better reply before blending into the darkening evening. Why did Mitsuki’s last words feel almost… like a farewell…? … Even with his mind set, Mitsuki couldn't help but feel empty walking away from the place he called home for a year. Each step he took felt like a ton, and his mind was fogged by all the good memories. At least Mikazuki had stopped meowing, so he was hoping he wasn’t drawing much attention. "Hey, guess who's back, loser." 'Not again,' the boy thought, already too tired as he raised his head. This time, there was a bigger group of kids from various ages gathered in front of him. He realized that it was a hit-list of all those who already made their opinions about him heard - the boys from the orphanage, the Sarutobi kid, even those from yesterday. "Let me pass." he said calmly. "I have no intention to fight." "Why not? Do you only attack those who can't even defend themselves, you coward?" The blue haired boy sighed. "Let me pass." he repeated as he put the kitten’s cage on the ground. They would probably do so without a question if they knew what he was about to do. "No, you know what, come on. I dare you to attack us." The boy who tried to punch him in the orphanage came in front of him pretty quickly and shoved him. Mitsuki staggered back one step, but stood his ground. And he didn't do anything, not even raise his fists in a defense position. He just let it happen. "What's the matter? Go on, defend yourself." Another shove. "Afraid to go up against a large group? Afraid we would beat you?" Some of the other kids, mostly younger than him, the boy noticed, started cheering for the older boys. Still, he chose to do nothing. "We are not gonna let snakes spread their venom in Konoha!" "Enough." With the calm voice intervening, the children came to a stop, turning around to look at... Kakashi Hatake, the Sixth Hokage. "What do you think you are doing?" the older man asked, eyebrows furrowed. "At least ten on one?" All of the children around the boy took a step back, and one of them actually grumbled, "We were just talking." "Is that so? Well, be sure that your little 'talk' will be notified to Lord Seventh." As the kids ran away, Kakashi turned to look at Mitsuki, a little bothered by the fact that... The kid really didn't do anything... Anything at all in response, he just stood there. "You alright?" he asked, worry coating his tone. He just nodded. "Yup, I'm fine." "Where are you headed to at this hour? It's..." Kakashi checked his watch. It was almost ten pm. "Getting late." The boy didn't look at him. "I was actually headed to Lord Seventh's office..." Something that never occurred to him before then clicked on his mind. "If he is there...?" "He is," the former Hokage said, carefully gazing at the boy. "Let me escort you there then." ... Naruto had gained the habit of looking at his phone every few minutes in the last couple of hours. He had given Konohamaru two days to come back with his report, he wanted him to gather every possible lead he could trace back... But he still sat on edge, just waiting for a call... A soft knock on the door made him snap out of it. "Come in," he said, having a brief moment of dejavu of the late afternoon. He was surprised to see Mitsuki making his way into the room. "Good evening, Lord Seventh." the boy said, politely formal. "Good evening, Mitsuki," he said, and then gave the boy a warm smile. "What can I do for you?" He didn't know what brought him here at this hour, but then he thought that he might want to report the ongoing harassment on his own account, which made him feel glad. The boy came to a stop a little while away from his desk, and didn't know what to say for a moment. Naruto just waited for him to take the first step. "I am sorry." "Huh?" the Hokage asked, totally confused. "What for?" "For what happened to Boruto... I couldn't stop them..." "Mitsuki..." The older man began, but didn't know how to continue for a while. How could the boy even blame himself for this? "It's not your fault. The ones who did it will pay. They will pay for what they've been doing to you, too." Mitsuki smiled a little. "I... heard about it. But Lord Seventh... That's not why I came here." "Then what is it?" Mitsuki took in a deep breath. "I'm planning to leave Konoha tomorrow morning."

#boruto:sacrifices #boruto #naruto #mitsuki #konohamaru #sarada #boruto fanfiction #naruto fanfiction

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eternalstrigoii · 4 years

Text

Bittersweet

“It’s just gonna be a nice little fluff fic,” I say as I start this last night. I am. So sorry.

Platonic!Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader + Diaval; Maleficent x Diaval; Borra x Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader

As with all proper bonded pairs, there were times when you were not with Borra.

In the nest, those times used to be spent honing your skills, chasing captive deer through the tall, dry grass along the rocky outcroppings; scaling from the caverns to the plains using nothing but your wits, your talons, and your knees. You sparred with others, you sat with Ini in the rocky outcroppings of the nest outside, watching the cold and violent sea, and, from time to time, you entertained your kinsmen’s children with your strange ability to recall and emulate the sounds of the birds you heard on the moors.

These days, you spent an increasing amount of your free time with Diaval.

It wasn’t that you miraculously spent none of it with your kinsmen – you did, but Ini was always the curious sort, and the moors offered her a great deal of new stimulation, and Shrike had Percival. Udo always had his fledglings, and you loved him for it, but when Borra convened with Maleficent, it was in your best interest – and often also in Diaval’s – for the both of you to find something else to occupy your time.

For the moment, the days of war and battle plans were over.

So you wandered.

Whether he was a bird or a man didn’t matter, Diaval was good company. Sometimes he saved you shiny things that he’d thought you would like, and you did like them. Sometimes you lay together in the sun and you ran your talons through his feathers until he shivered (which was more amusing to watch when he was a man, and your smirk never failed to rile him).

And, sometimes, he took you to the kingdoms.

Perceforest was not a welcoming place. It better resembled a dumping ground when compared to Ulstead; the buildings were weathered and the stone streets uneven. Even its people seemed burdened by invisible forces. For a land that knew communal, council-based living (or some form of it), they still suffered. You didn’t like to go there because you knew if you went frequently enough, you would feel motivated to do something about it, and that would inevitably work its way back to Maleficent, and you would have to hatch some sort of plan.

You quite liked your free time, so you contented yourself with perching high in their trees and drawing shapes in the air until their crops flourished. Despite their farmers’ toil, it brought them some measure of relief, and there was almost always some left over for you and the raven to share.

The open-air markets of Ulstead were also a draw, with their ready-made sweets and shiny baubles, and you had yet to bother with the Midlands.

You stayed with him near Perceforest most often.

The farmer that nearly killed him twenty years ago was dead, and his daughter now owned the land. She was a pretty thing, round-hipped under her shift. Very clean. She kept house almost obsessively, and at first Diaval agreed with the thought that it was to keep nature from entering, but then she did something neither of you planned on.

She left pastries sitting on the window. In plain sight. Of you and anything else that just so happened to be looking.

You looked to your raven companion, who was, at the time, literally a raven.

He awk’d, partly flapping as his best approximation of a shrug. Do what you will, it won’t be my idea to start something.

“They smell good,” you replied. “We can share.”

He fluffed his feathers at you. No, I will not do your dirty work.

You pursed your lips so they quirked at the corner and thought for a moment. You could take one with your vines, or you could respect peace and not touch them at all, or you could find a third option that would please you both without having to cope with either extreme.

You resolved to do the latter, hopping down and quirking your fingers so that her squash vines continued to flourish while you strode up to the window.

You plucked one from the platter and made a mad dash back, going even higher into the branches than you were originally perched. Diaval laughed at you, and you swept your wing so he had to fly or be shoved off the branch by its wind.

Awk! You said something about sharing?

“You did nothing to help.” You took quite the bite only to pause and look down at it strangely. You weren’t sure what you tasted or if you liked it, so you surrendered the other portion to him.

He picked at it, and after several swallows, quirked his head back to you. Awk! Not much of a baker.

“It’s terrible,” you agreed.

Another few mouthfuls. Awk! No sugar?

You ate it, though it wasn’t as pleasant as you thought. Not pleasant like the molasses cake at the palace, or the stall-vendor with fresh raisin buns. You had no use for currency, and Diaval saw no problem with pocketing some for you from time to time.

“It’s just grain,” you said after a moment, nearly in disbelief. “Who eats just grain?”

Awk! Bread. It’s bread. Surely you must have had bread.

“That is not bread. That is…” Small and lumpy and wrong. Not much of a baker at all. “A rock.”

He quirked his head to the other side and made a low chitter of disapproval.

“What in skies do you want me to do about it? You never help.”

You swore before your ancestors if he tried to levy peace against you as an excuse, you’d smack him from the branches. Instead, he hopped onto your leg and scaled your side until he was perched upon your shoulder. And he nuzzled you, the conniving bastard.

“I will not be goaded into acts of kindness,” you hissed.

He chattered at you gently, and you could hear the honey in his tone. Oh, come on. She’s just a girl. No better than Aurora.

You scowled. Severely.

More chattering; if you help her, we can steal sweet buns.

“I should throw you in her window and see how well you manage.”

He gave you the full force of his beady, black little eyes, and you set your teeth and growled at him.

But he was Maleficent’s mate, and the scheming little brat knew you would do nothing of the sort.

“Where in skies does one find sugar?”

Awk! Awk! Don’t act like I’d make you farm it. Come on. We’ve got plenty of work to do.

He took off from the trees, and you did your best to quietly follow. You left the bread for the squirrels, though you figured if she had the guts to leave her concoctions unattended, she knew how palatable they were.

You came back several days after dropping off the sack of sugar with a note in Diaval’s marginally neater hand. From one neighbor to another, may sweetness always be shared.

You thought he was being too obvious. He thought it was a brilliant plan.

There was no bread that time, but something was certainly roasting over fire. You breathed in the smell and your wings nearly sagged against the thick limb of your perch.

“What is it?” Diaval, the man, asked.

You had to think of it. You ran your tongue across your teeth and tried to conjure up the memory of what it might be, though it failed you. “I don’t know. It smells good.”

He fluffed with pride, and pretended to wait patiently beside you.

But it took so long. You swore hours passed, and you began to ache with hunger as though you hadn’t eaten just that morning.

She put something on the ledge before you had to run off – narrowly before you had to run off, and, this time, Diaval had no hesitation about sneaking up to the window and grabbing one of them for each of you.

You waited until you were nearly halfway back to indulge yourselves. You found a nice spot in one of the sunny meadows full of flower sprites, and toasted one another to your success with the still-hot pastries in both your grasp.

You bit into it deeply, and promptly spit it back out.

Diaval actually choked.

“How hard is it to cook sweet bread?!” you yelled so loudly it startled the willow sprites napping in their tree. “Sugar, flour, leavening – sweet cream and berries!” It smelled so good, and you wanted to enjoy it, but it was half-baked at best and the gooey center was clumped with poorly mixed batter. You yelled in frustration, threw it halfway across the field, and promptly flopped backward into the grass.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day?” Diaval offered.

“I don’t know where Rome is,” you lamented. “Structural planning and baking are two entirely separate things.”

He patted the leather strap over your shoulder. “We can go to Ulstead next time?”

You were being stubborn. You didn’t want to go to Ulstead, and you didn’t want Perceforest to be a miserable little town. You looked up at the treetops, and the sky, and the vastness of it all to avoid looking at him, because then you would have to acknowledge what the horrible little bird wanted you to do, and you would rather eat handfuls of grass than be of assistance.

“Rome is a very famous city,” Diaval began, and you reached up to put your hand over his face before he could continue.

Skies. Awful, horrible, persistent little bird.

“Speak a word of this, and you’ll be missing a wing when I return you.”

He smiled at you, the beast, like he took pleasure in your kindness. “Oh no, wouldn’t dream of it. Suren of the Cavernous Dark, helping a human. So soon after peace. What would your husband say?”

“My mate would tell you to shut your horrible little mouth and keep it that way.” You got up slowly, brushing the grass and its creatures out of your hair, and turned abruptly on your heel to go back to the little farm near Perceforest.

“I don’t think he would.” There was a note of laughter in his voice as he got up to follow.

“He would,” you pressed. “Only without so many words.”

Are you a fool? was the introduction you’d settled on. It doesn’t take an army to bake a batch of sweet bread. You planned on the inherent sharpness of your tone to convey your displeasure.

But she was out in the fields when you got there, and you stopped short at the edge of the trees.

She was crying.

You turned around to leave, but Diaval was right behind you. You gave him a wide-eyed, furious look that implied he had better leave your path immediately or else he would never get the opportunity to be his beautiful bird self again, but he looked at you with the same manner of even-natured patience as he gave Maleficent.

You could’ve slapped the plumage right off of him.

You jerked your head quickly back toward the field. No. No! I am not dealing with this! This is the exact opposite of what I stuck around to do!

He sighed and leveled his gaze.

You could’ve beat your wings at him. Pushed him, smacked him, hurried him off. Instead, you flared and you quirked your head with a set jaw.

“Will it batter you so much to be nice?”

“Yes!” you whispered, much too fiercely. “Or did you forget that her father nearly killed you!”

He waited.

The things you enjoyed the most about Diaval’s company were also the things that infuriated you. He was lovely, intelligent, wholly without judgment and often also without reserve. He was a peaceful, good-natured bird, and there was even a part of you that would’ve admitted that you loved him the same as the rest of your kinsmen if he asked you directly.

But he could be a real bastard when he wanted to. Making you do things you didn’t want to. Having the audacity to ask. To propose you extend your kindness to a human. Skies. Disgusting. It spit on your fallen ancestors.

And yet, you turned back to her. Lowered your wings so you could actually see her. See her the way you’d seen Aurora on the battlefield, a child-queen with more heart than strength (though she grew into the latter). She was no more than a sniveling child, hardly much older than the girl you’d grown so fond of.

Beloved by all who meet her, you reminded yourself. Bitterly. Intentionally bitterly.

You waited until you were several paces away from Diaval to breathe out your fury. The warmth of summer left your body and made the lovely little flower grove perk with life anew, and the crying child looked up only to startle in fear.

“Your sweet bread tastes terrible,” you said by way of greeting.

She stared up at you with her mouth open like a fish plucked freshly from the river. You set your teeth to avoid laughing, and then you forced yourself to look away.

“You are very bad at baking, and I would like to understand why. It’s not a difficult task. Anyone can do it with the right resources.”

You heard Diaval sigh, and you beat your wing at him. Shut up. I’m being as nice as I am.

“…no one taught me.” She was crying again, for skies’ sake, and you really, truly, genuinely could’ve wrung Diaval’s neck like you meant to eat him for dinner.

Surely someone can, you meant to say. You meant to say it, but she went on before you could stop her.

“I’m trying. I really am trying. It’s just been so hard. I’m all on my own out here… the whole farm is mine to run and mine alone. And it just keeps growing.” She was…flush with her tears. She dabbed lightly at her wet face. “Now the cow’s calving and my goat’s getting old and I can’t harvest all of this by myself.”

“Have you no family?”

She gestured at the place where she left her terrible sweet bread, a plot of untilled yarrow and blooming sorrel. “I’m on my own.”

“No neighbors?” you offered. “No kin at all?”

“My neighbors don’t count for family.”

How strange humans were. How utterly, pitifully alone. Each and every last one of them made themselves into an island, as though the individual and the collective could not coexist.

“Your cow is calving?” You were more deliberate with your words. “Then they will soon have milk?”

“She already does.” She wiped her face again.

“Then you will also have milk for yourself. One calf won’t drink it all. Add it to your mixture before you bake. And stir it until it’s smooth. Whatever sugar you add that you feel is enough, add twice as much. And berries.”

She looked at you strangely, and you sighed so forcefully it made your wings move.

“I will help you harvest if you make edible sweet bread. Do we have a deal?”

“Why would you help me? You’re moor-folk. You have everything you need.”

You ignored the note of resentment you heard in favor of leveling your gaze upon her as Diaval had you. “Everything but sweet bread, which you will give to me in exchange for my help. That is how a bargain works.”

She was silent for a moment, studying you. You were no pixie-witted fairy godmother, nor was she some helpless child in need of your defense.

But she was alone, and your kind didn’t do that.

So you were pleased when she nodded, if only for the food.

“Then try your hand again. We’ll be evenly matched; everything I do for you is repaid in return.”

She nodded. “But…if I’m not good--?”

“You will improve.” It came out as much of a threat as you meant it.

“He’s gotten very attached to you.”

You nearly startled out of your skin at Maleficent’s voice, though, to your credit, your wings didn’t fold in defense.

“Who? The little bog-thing I shooed off?” Even you had to scrub your leather from time to time, and you put effort into the task. You washed it, dried it, re-sealed it with waxes and mended all the broken spots. “It kept throwing mud at me.”

She raised her chin, and the humanness of her expression gave you pause. You huffed back a lock of your hair from your face and tilted your head oddly.

“Diaval,” she replied. Her voice betrayed nothing.

You stared at her for much too long before you shifted back onto your haunches. “Romantically?” Your feelings on the subject were much too clear in the way you said the word – you were too fond of him to be disgusted, but that wasn’t by much.

She quirked her head at you in return.

“Skies, Maleficent, talk to me. He’s your mate.”

“And Borra is yours.” The cool evenness of her tone was so familiar and yet so frustratingly difficult to constantly have to decipher. “It would be a shame to tell him—”

“To tell him what?” No sooner had you asked than you realized the implication, and you laughed out loud at its mortality. “Do you think he would be jealous?”

She stared at you. You saw the swirl of power in her eyes.

“Are you jealous, Maleficent? You? Protector of the moors, Queen Mother to all kingdoms? Great skies.” You nearly threw your leather down on the riverbank. “Diaval is my friend, and we’ve been bothering a girl on a farm outside Perceforest for sweet bread for several weeks. She’s a terrible baker, and promised to try to do better.”

“You spoke to her?” Something told you she didn’t believe an ounce of what you said.

“I did. She’s the daughter of the human farmer who nearly killed your mate when he was just a bird. The man’s dead now. She’s by herself. No kinsmen to help her.” You left out the part where you were, though you imagined she’d be able to connect the mutually beneficial dots. “I’ll take you out there, if you like. You can endure her cooking with me.” And then, without thinking, you added, “And then you can tell me why the kingdom of Perceforest is in such disrepair.”

“It’s had more corrupt leaders than it’s had good ones.” She hid nothing from you in that respect, at least. “We’re working on resolving that.”

“We as in you and your daughter, or we as in you?”

You knew how easy it would’ve been for her to throw you headfirst into the river, and yet you still talked to her like your equal.

“You’re not one of them. You know that, don’t you? You can ask for help. We’re your people, Maleficent, your family whether or not we’re blood to you.” You picked up your leather and your leather-cloth and settled back on the shore. “Conall didn’t pluck you from the sea because of your great power, he did it because you’re you. Your place with us isn’t a matter of evening out a bargain or repaying a debt. You were one of us whether or not you fought at our side.”

There was a crease forming in your side that you’d have to reinforce before it split. You’d almost forgotten what you were getting at, only to have your head snap back up so you could reply with much too much vehemence, “And ravens mate in pairs. You’re the one he wants. That won’t change because he steals sweets with me.”

She was silent for so long that you’d almost thought she left without acknowledging you. But she hadn’t, and so you sat up without thinking to pluck the bird skull at her forehead and pull her leather wrappings off.

She let you.

“I never tell Borra that I love him as a reminder. I wish I didn’t have to say the same for you.” You closed her hands around the wrapping and brushed back a lock of her hair.

Whether or not she believed you, you thought she might’ve understood. Even when she took wing much too quietly, some part of you knew that she would eventually. She had just been on her own for far too long.

You grew nothing for the girl, but harvested much.

She spent most of her time helping you. She spent most of her time toiling still; you only came on occasion, and you had enough of a physical advantage over her to accomplish much in significantly shorter a time.

The next sweet breads she made for you were not terrible. They were not very good, but they were edible. You left half a plate for Diaval and pretended to be upset when he bounced along on raven-toes with a whole one in his mouth, just taunting you with it.

You did not help her clear the field after the second set. They were not very good, and you left the one you hadn’t finished. The squash you harvested you took with you, and it was roasted with herbs over your bonfire that night.

That was the first night Maleficent joined you.

She said nothing of your encounter at the riverbank, nor did you. She wore her hair down and Diaval the man was at her side, where he belonged.

You kept your smile to yourself for their sake.

“Try these.”

You gave a well-warranted pause. It looked like the girl – whose name you pretended not to remember, but secretly knew – had grown bold about how elaborate she could be. The bitterness of the last batch was still fresh in your mind, and you looked at her skeptically.

“Oh!” she huffed and felt around in her apron until she had their recipe in hand. “I got it from the baker. I told him that I was trying to refine my skills,” an understatement if you ever heard one, “and he offered me this. It’s very simple, and I think you’ll like it. It’s not a bread, it’s a cake. It takes much less time.”

“You didn’t forget about it?” you clarified.

Her cheeks reddened. “No, not this time. I sat there and did my mending while I waited.”

You took one of the small cakes from her plate and looked it over for scorch marks. The bottom was brown and firm, a little flaky, and the rest was a nice, spongy lump. You took a bite in front of her, and, for once, weren’t immediately repelled.

“It’s good,” you admitted.

“It’s good?” she repeated, much happier about it than she should’ve been.

You nodded. So, you could leave her be after harvest or pawn her off on the other moor-folk. You weren’t the only one in pursuit of a coveted sweet, and you imagined, lonely as she was, she’d enjoy the company of their many over just you.

“Oh, I’m glad! I’ll have to keep one and let him know how it turned out. Tell me if there’s anything special you want, will you?”

Molasses cake, you thought with renewed enthusiasm. But you shook your head fondly and watched her rush the plate back to the windowsill as though Diaval’s approval was as necessary as yours.

He wasn’t as rare of a help as you’d thought he’d be. So, perhaps, he deserved equal share.

The calf bleated, shoving his head into your hands.

“I know.” You rubbed the velveteen fur along the back of his neck. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You’d stolen the girl’s leather-brush to help the little creature itch the velvet fuzz from his horn nubs. Like any child, he was consumed with the thing that bothered him, and you took a surprising amount of pleasure in knowing how to help.

Surprising, considering you’d been dancing around the raw place in your heart that still burned like an iron wound. The raw place flared up again when you thought about your people’s own fledglings and the balms and tonics used to soothe their growing horns.

Harvest was coming. Your people had yet to decide whether you should stay in the moors or return to the nest for the winter. A great many of you believed the moors would stay unsullied; that you couldn’t just survive, but thrive if you stayed. The others worried about the change in seasons upon your elders and your fledglings, and called to make the journey before the headwinds changed and the sea became violent.

There were several reasons why you did not choose a side.

They were the same reasons why you refused to enter Ulstead even though Aurora’s young husband sent along casks of spiced cider and mulled wine. They were early, some of the first made, and the boy could’ve talked about the orchards near the sea where they were harvested all night, if you’d listened. You refused to acknowledge them, lest the raw place begin to bleed again.

“Are you alright?”

She stopped with her wash-basket on her hip, and you heaved a sigh that moved your wings. “Can you manage the work by yourself, now?”

There was a part of you, however small, that hoped she’d say no.

Instead, she beamed like Aurora as she rested her basket on the fence and leaned over it like a child. “Actually,” there was an edge of false shyness to her voice that made you bristle, “I won’t be alone for much longer.”

The ancestors enjoyed your torment, then.

“The baker’s name is John. He’s a very good man, and we’ve gotten very close. I told him of how well the farm has done, and he’d like to join me here rather than live in the village. I agreed.”

The calf rubbed his head into your palm, and the raw spot in your heart wept.

“I planned on telling you when the molasses cake was done, but I suppose now is as good of a time as any? You can still come for sweets, but I don’t suppose you’ll need to help me when I have a husband around.”

Diaval was your blessing, then more than ever. He flew down from his perch in the barn – he’d been mousing, the loaf – and plucked a garment from the basket to take to the line. She exclaimed with laughter and ran after him, uttering some gentle variation of silly bird, and you put the leather brush down.

You did not wait for the cakes. And you did not plan on going back.

“I’m not good company today,” you said as soon as the twig-nest rustled against folded wings.

Your warning didn’t faze Borra in the slightest. He joined you in your bed, folding a wing around your middle and using it as an excuse to pull you close. You tucked your chilly feet between his, since you’d already been laying there for a while, and got his face pressed into your hair for your trouble.

“Where do you run off to?” he murmured after a moment, certainly smelling the human in your hair.

“A girl in the valley makes sweets.” You told yourself that you kept your tone even, but you could hear yourself lamenting.

He waited, patiently, for the rest.

“Now she’s getting married.”

She was getting married and Maleficent checked in on her daughter at least a dozen times a day. Why she didn’t just leave to live in the castle, you’d ruefully considered asking. That lonely little thing would forge a life, Diaval would be a grandfather, and you…

You awoke with the dawn every morning and made your way down to the half-naked field of glowing blooms. A cemetery desecrated, countless lives robbed of their honor, innumerable families robbed of their memories generations-deep. Your little bloom finally opened during the summer. It was slow to grow, and very small, and you tended the rock-circle you made around it obsessively. Plucked the stray grass that dared attempt to bloom between them; replaced your shed pinfeathers when the ones sticking up out of the ground started to look weathered. Little Thing should’ve been inside you, growing. Warm and loved in the cradle of your body. Big or small, warrior or pacifist, whatever they would’ve been, you would’ve loved them so fiercely. You ached for them, and you would continue to ache for them even when the ache was, once more, an open wound.

You had done your share of crying. But the time for battle strategy was over, and you had no other outlet for your pain.

He pulled you close until you were so flush you could feel how he moved with every breath. Neither of you spoke for a long time; you trusted that he knew why you phrased it as you did, and he did, and so you lay there and navigated each painful reminder with the same inopportune dodging that you’d given the queen’s iron bombs.

“We can try again,” was how he broke that silence.

Your lips quirked half-heartedly.

When you didn’t respond, he propped himself up on his elbow and guided your chin until you were looking at him. You pressed your lips to his thumb when it brushed over them.

“If you want to.” He searched your face, and you thought it was entirely unfair for him to be so beautiful. You brushed your fingers over your favorite little decorative crack on his nose, breaking the respite of your misery to revere him. “If you’re ready.”

She left you alone for about a week. Then a paper-wrapped parcel appeared at the edge of the moors with your name on it, and it was full of sweet, sticky spiced rolls.

I’m hope I didn’t offend you, the note in her hand replied. I very much liked your company, and Diaval’s. You’re always welcome to come back. Sweetness is meant to be shared, after all.

The moor-folk bothered you for portions, and you ended up stealing three rolls and leaving them the rest. Four, you decided after a moment, before the hoard descended.

One for you, one for him, and one for the people you both loved.

Baker-John of Perceforest brought with him a cart well-stocked. He would not abandon his duties in the village, so he would simply have to go back and forth between the village and the farm. You watched them unpack said cart, your little human carrying big, stone dishes and sacks nearly half as big as she was. Her intended, not much older, brought heavier.

“And who is she?” Maleficent asked of Diaval, who told her all about Baker-John of Perceforest, who was apparently a kind and gentle, patient and loving man who your human was dearly, truly, madly in love with.

“Sarah,” you replied. John and Sarah, Sarah and John. The humans. Didn’t have the same ring to it as Maleficent and Diaval, Diaval and Maleficent or Borra and Suren, Suren and Borra, but it would do.

“They know about you?” Borra asked.

“She does,” Diaval replied.

She’d learned from you, you saw while you studied the little farm from afar. From both of you. Gone was the scarecrow, for the crows ate the pests more than the food; there was a little pile of what could not be used some ways away from everything, left to return to the soil where it could be used in the spring. The leather brush had been nailed to the fence and the calf, still shedding velvet, mooed in pleasure while he worked his head back and forth over it.

You were glad for her. Really, you were.

When she kissed him, it was warm and sweet and bright like the sun – brief, gentle, and almost always followed by delighted laughter. He brought firewood to the barn in droves, and as she gathered another satchel, she paused. Her hair fell in her face and she swept it back only to stop when she saw you. All of you.

You crooked your wing around Borra and canted your head toward Diaval and Maleficent. I’m not offended. You were the one all on your own.

She was not Aurora. She was human – just a plain, ordinary little person living a plain, ordinary little life. But when she smiled at you, at all of you…

Well, you had to stop yourself from smiling in return. Diaval would’ve never let you hear the end of it.

“Easy.” You patted the strong neck of the no-longer-calf that ran to greet you in his spring pasture. The fields were newly tilled, and your little human wore her hair up while she planted on bent knee.

Her eyes lifted, and you weren’t surprised at all by how eagerly she got to her feet. “It’s you!”

“The winter was kind to you.” She looked happy. Better fed.

Her feet sunk into the pliant earth when she ran to you, and you let her throw her arms around you like you were an old friend. Your wings even folded partially around her.

“I’m so glad you’re here. Diaval’s been coming for cakes, but he never tells me if you like them.”

“That’s because he didn’t tell me he was,” you admitted, though you could hardly be upset with him. Awful little creature, positively doting on his mate.

She laughed and hid her smile behind her hand. “Oh no.”

“I’ll deal with him later,” you joked. “That isn’t why I’ve come.”

She straightened, taking your unexpected presence seriously. Smart girl.

“With your permission, I would like to tell the moor-folk of you. They will help you with your fields in exchange for sweets just as readily.”

She glanced at the ground with her false shyness, her bright eyes glinting just like your child-queen’s. “Actually, I’d love the help. You know my husband travels back and forth, and it doesn’t give me the help I’d planned on.”

You nodded, all business. “Then I will. They are troublesome at times, but they understand gentle discouraging.”

“Of course.” She went to one of the buckets beside the well and washed the dirt from her hands. She knew nothing of your time rebuking poachers on the moors, and you didn’t feel the need to offer that information now.

“I feel I will be of little use to you this year. I also have business in Ulstead. The queen’s had twins, and I am to be their godmother.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! Do you know her well, then? Aurora, isn’t it?” She was so pleasant, so calm. You could’ve told her that you’d taken fond to a seven-headed sea dragon and you doubted she would’ve been concerned.

“I do. She loves your village, and she’s doing everything in her power to extend the benefits of annexation across the kingdom.”

“Well, that will be lovely. I’d like to thank her myself when she visits.” She was gentle and kind, your little human, but she also wasn’t entirely foolish. She paused when you offered nothing else, and you let your smile betray you.

“Aurora’s fledglings will not be the only ones soon to discover the moors.”

You’d come all this way to tell someone you barely knew and shouldn’t have trusted, and yet the way she threw her kerchief in the air made you laugh out loud. She ran to you, pulled you close against her, and hugged you like you were kin.

She withdrew with an excited gasp, taking one of your taloned hands. “The man you were with was your husband, then?”

You quirked your head. In so many words. Your people didn’t rely on institution for a crutch the way they did.

“You – you stay right here.”

You laughed at her retreat, quietly for once. You were warm with joy and hadn’t come alone, not that Diaval could be pried away from his daughter or his grandchildren even if you’d asked him to.

Your no-longer-calf butted you in the arm, and you butted him back with your wing. “No.” Let the fledglings play with the farm animals.

Sarah waddled out of the house with a stack of nesting cloth nearly half as big as she was, as though she’d never felt the warmth of your skin and failed to notice that you could forage for your own materials.

“Here, feel free to keep or give away whatever you like.” She gave them all to you, and you had to push them down in order to see over them.

“Why are you giving me a gift?”

“Because you’ve given me one! Well, several, but if it hadn’t been for you,” and how terribly you’d confronted her about her lack of practical skills, “I never would’ve met John. They say true love is what woke Aurora, and you gave true love to me. You and Diaval.” She put her hands on the blanket-stack to help you squish them down. “I hope you both know true love in all its forms – with the people you love, and with the families you make.”

“Thank you,” you said before you could stop yourself. Aurora would get her peace yet. “I will see you again, Sarah of Perceforest.”

“I’d hope so. I wanna meet them. And your husband, when the time’s right.” You pretended not to notice that she pointedly did not glance over your shoulder, and you squished the stack of blankets against your side.

“And I, yours.”

Sarah beamed.

It was not a straightforward thing, happiness. Much the same way that peace was dependent upon the presence of war, you would ache over Little Thing for the remainder of your life – but, even though Borra didn’t say anything out loud, he still gave you a sidelong glance with just a bit too much of a quirk to his lips when you retreated into the woods with that stack of nesting-cloth under your arm.

You took one of the quilts out of the pile and flung it at him. “He goaded me into being nice.”

He caught it, folded it into a more compact form, and carried it under his arm. “As has Maleficent, I see. Aurora didn’t learn it from the air.”

If you liked this and want to see other work, click here.

#Borra x Reader #Maleficent x Diaval #Platonic!Diaval x Reader #Dark Fey #part of the U.W. Universe #post-M:MoE #Suren of the Cavernous Dark #That's Not An Ending And I Know It But Here #Fluff!There Is No Plot Only Zuul

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catnaples · 4 years

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Why are you wearing clothes? NSFW

This is sinful and I’m very ashamed lmao. I really hope you like it! Fics like these aren’t my specialty, so i hope it’s well written enough!

You’re drunk and impatient, and Kuroo’s hot and ready (like a pizza, y’know?)

CW: Attempted C*ckwarming, Cre*mpie, Cursing, Overstim

KUROO IS AGED UP!

“Oof” you grunted as you fell once again into your boyfriends side. He chuckled and stared down at you, amused by how clumsy you were when you were drunk.

“Wow, Y/N. You only had two glasses of wine and you’re already trying to force yourself onto me?” He asked, giving you his signature smirk. He knew that it was an extra strong wine, but still. It was fun to tease you.

Instead of shooting a smart remark back, you simply pushed yourself further into him, grinning. “Kuroo...why are you wearing clothes right now?!” You asked, your eyes dramatically widening. Kuroo laughed again. “Y/N, we’re literally walking around in a park right now. Also, it’s freezing out.”

You wiggled you’re eyebrows and pushed him against a tree, hiccupping. “Well, big boy~ Let’s change that?” You tried to sound sultry as you growled, but it came out as gurgling instead.

You and Kuroo looked at each other with wide eyes before you both bent over and began to laugh hysterically. “Is-is that an attempt to be sexy?” Kuroo asked between streams of laughter. You were on the ground, holding your stomach as you switched between laughing and wheezing. “I was just tryna seduce you!” You cried, your cheeks beginning to hurt.

Your laughter began to die down after a few minutes, and Kuroo helped you back up. He planted a kiss on your cheek. “I haven’t laughed that hard in months, Y/N. What would I do without you?” He asked, embracing you tightly.

Instead of responding, you settled for wrapping your arms around his waist, nuzzling into him as the cold air finally started to eat through your jacket. “Let’s go home and watch a movie.” He suggested.

You continued to hold on to his arm as you both made your way back to your apartment, laughing at each other’s stupid remarks. The closer you got to your home, the more the alcohol wore off. The buzz was being replaced by sleepiness, and the cold was making you uncomfortable.

When you finally made it through the door, you made a beeline for your room. Kuroo followed, knowing that you still had some of his comfy clothes in your dresser.

The exhaustion was showing on Kuroo’s face as he got changed with you, and you knew that a movie probably wasn’t going to happen. But as you watched him pull his shirt off and you got a nice view of his muscular chest, you felt your cheeks get hot.

You both were exhausted, but you still wanted something. As you pulled on an oversized t-shirt, an idea crossed your mind. Before Kuroo could finish putting a pair of sweats on, you pushed him down on the bed. You climbed onto his lap.

“Y/N?” He asked, his narrow eyes staring up at you. “I wanna try something tonight.” You said, your hands slipping up to play with his hair. “Oh?” He asked, a small grin finding its way to his mouth. “I know we’re both tired, but I still want you.” You mumbled, grinding lightly on his lap.

His large hands found your hips and he began to knead them softly as you continued to ride his lap slowly. “Maybe, since were both so tired, we can try cockwarming?” You suggested, eyes hopeful.

Kuroo didn’t need any convincing, instantly agreeing. “Let’s get the room ready. Once I’m in you, I don’t want you getting up for anything.” He growled, gently pushing you from his lap. You felt yourself clench at those words, and wasted no time in getting the lights turned off and the bed set up.

You threw yourself onto the bed and under your covers, holding your arms out for Kuroo. He lowered himself down next to you, placing a long kiss on your lips. He pulled you into his chest and placed your leg over his hip. His dick was already half-hard, and you knew it was only going to take a few strokes to get him fully erect.

You let him run his tongue along your lower lip as your hand drifted downwards, lightly gripping his long cock. He groaned and pushed his tongue into your mouth, bringing his long fingers down to your clit. He lightly pinched and rubbed at it, causing you to grind your hips down.

You began to stroke his cock, rubbing the precum off of the head every now and then while you both got lost in the pleasure. Kuroo went to slip his fingers inside, but you were already so close that you pushed his hand away. “We’re supposed to be cockwarming.” You mumbled, releasing him. He nodded, his lips puffy and his eyes hooded.

“Well then, sweetheart. You’d better stay still while my cock is sitting inside of you.” He commanded, his voice deeper. You moaned as he positioned his dick at your entrance, teasing your sensitive hole. “And you’d better not cum right away either.” You teased him, instantly regretting your words when his dick pushed into your tight walls.

You both let out a long, lewd moan as he bottomed out, clinging to each other as you both tried not to finish right then and there. Kuroo had you in a position that let you feel all of him; every vein, every twitch of his stiff cock. You bit your lip as you fought the urge to grind down on him. “Ahh...baby...stop clenching around me like that...if you don’t want me to fuck you into the mattress.” He groaned.

“Ughn-fuck it. We don’t need to cockwarm right now,” you moaned out, flipping him onto his back. “Just fuck me.” An evil grin spread onto his lips, and you found yourself groaning. You knew exactly what he was about to do.

He flipped you over and hovered over you, the slight movements of his dick in you making you moan. “But I thought you were too tired to fuck?” He asked, his lips biting at the smooth skin of your neck.

His strong grip kept you in place, preventing you from grinding down on him. You growled in frustration. “Yeah, well I changed my mind.” You groaned, scratching at his back. You knew that he had three weaknesses, and you were going to go straight for them.

Scratching at his back was one of them. He instinctively bucked his hips into you, and you moaned. “Baby...” he warned. You shot him an evil smirk. “Why don’t you just fuck me already?” You moaned out, reaching your hand up to tug at his hair. That was his second weakness.

You pulled him down and locked your lips onto him, yanking his hair as you bit at his lower lip. And that was his third weakness. “Fuck, Y/N.” He growled, ripping his mouth away from yours. There was a fire in his eyes as he pushed your legs back, your knees almost touching your chest. “You wanna be fucked that bad? Fine, I just hope you don’t have anywhere to be for the next few days. You won’t be walking for two days when I’m done with you.”

You felt yourself clench around him again, and without warning he began to pound into you mercilessly. The room was instantly filled with the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin and your loud moans as Kuroo groaned.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight...and-UNGH. You’re so fucking warm” he pushed you down further into the mattress, as he continued to pull his dick out to the tip, before slamming it right back into you. His balls slapped your ass each time, only spurring him on.

A small sliver of a thought passed through your mind of your neighbors and how they must be trying to sleep, but you didn’t care. Kuroo’s dick was pounding you into oblivion and all you could do was lay there and take it. His tight grip was unyielding, and when it started to feel too good and you tried to move away, he only held you into place. He grinned and gave a low chuckle. “Oh, Y/N. You’re not going anywhere.”

You were rapidly approaching your high, but before the words even left your lips, he pulled out. You began to whine, but quickly switched to lewd moans again when his mouth found your clit. He began to suck and lick like it was the best thing he’s ever tasted.

He shoved his fingers into your needy pussy and curled them up to find your sweet spot. “Go ahead and cum for me kitten. It won’t be your last for tonight, that’s for sure.” He growled, the vibrations on your swollen nub sending you straight over the edge. He held your legs against the mattress as you tried to kick and buck through your orgasm, the waves of pleasure crashing over you and bringing tears to your eyes. But instead of stopping, he continued to assault your clit with his long tongue, a fiery look in his eyes when they met yours.

He continued to suck on your overstimulated clit until he could feel your walls clenching again, ignoring your pleas for him to stop as a second orgasm rapidly approached. Before you could cum again, he was flipping you onto your stomach and pushing himself back into you. His hand pushed onto your back, forcing you to lay flat on the bed as he resumed pounding you.

He wasn't lying when he said he’d pound you into the mattress. The feeling of your walls clamping down on his throbbing cock had him going faster and impossibly harder as he reached a mind blowing orgasm, demanding that you cum on his cock. As he screamed through arguably one of the best orgasms of his life, you felt another powerful orgasm wash over you, your vision turning to white as your mind felt like it was breaking. The feeling of his cum spraying against your walls only prolonged the orgasm for you, and tears once again pricked at your eyes as your body began to shake. “F-fuck, Kuroo, please, UGH”

Once he reached his high, he pulled out, his cum slowly leaking from your aching pussy. The lewd sounds disappeared, the room now being filled with the sound of your panting. You both were shaking from the intensity of your orgasms.

“Y/N, here. Let me clean you up.” Kuroo murmured in your ear, his voice soft again. He carried your shaking form to the shower and rinsed you off before doing the same for himself.

You both were more exhausted than when you had originally come home, and all you wanted now was to cuddle him with him so you could sleep. He shuffled back into the bedroom with you, too tired to pull on clothes.

As he held you tightly, your back pressed up against his chest, you turned your head to look at him. “I still want to cockwarm.” You whispered, your eyes drooping. Kuroo said nothing, opting to grin instead. “Alright, baby.” He mumbled, his dick hardening a little bit.

#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #kuroo #kuroo fic #kuroo x y/n

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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We’re Outsiders

This is a re-upload, or a throwback (originally written back in 2018). I hope you guys enjoy it too! I’ve edited it a little bit as well, since it’s original posting on the ye old @calumh-excess.

Calum’s used to being the on the fringe and used to be the one that fucks it all up. Cookie’s always used to being on the outside. Happens most of the time and completely out of her control. Together, they remind each other it’s okay to be on the outside--all you need sometimes is a shot.

Greaser!AU. Black OC.

CW: Deals with racism (some mentions of racially charged words), mentions of violence.

Enjoy my masterlist!

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Calum’s used to the dark. Most nights it’s just him out too late, past the time the street lights turn on. He likes it, driving down streets in the blinking of the streetlights as he glides over asphalt. The roads lined with trees and houses. The roads are lined with life that moves all around him, but are not bothered by him. That brings him peace. He’s so often the outsider. He’s the one that everyone stares at, with soft whispers. He knows what they’re saying is never good. He’s built that reputation for himself, with his slicked back hair, cuffed jeans and leather jacket. He’s done it to himself, being other and further ostracizing himself.

It’s not the life he chose for himself. His parents kicked him out and he had nowhere else to go. So Ashton, a guy from the south side that Calum had grown comfortable with, offered his house. It kept him in the same school for his last year and off the streets, so he took it. His friend group expanded, but now he was getting himself in more trouble than usual. Originally not a Prep and not a Greaser, Calum had managed to keep under the radar for the first year of high school. But now that he was living with Ashton, a prominent Greaser and hanging with the likes of Michael and Luke. Calum made a new name for himself.

Calum’s parents weren’t a fan of his interest in boxing. Calum took to amateur boxing as a way to finally feel like someone. His stature made it easy for him to lie about his age in the beginning of it at barely fifteen and no one cared enough to double check. Calum knew he’d never really go anywhere ultimately. He knew he’d wind up somewhere local, knew he’d end up in overalls in the car shop, changing tires and oil. After coming home too many times, coming home bloody, his parents had had enough.

Now with the Greasers, it was becoming evident Calum wasn’t just some quiet guy in the corner. His interest was saving his ass. When people wanted to pin them into corners, get into their faces, he always had a backup plan in his pocket. Fighting wasn’t his first resort, not initially. He’d try to talk a situation down. It doesn’t last long for anyone trying to pick a fight. Just about any and every fight ended with Calum standing, sometimes wavering just a little over some poor boy’s sweater vest and plaid shirt, covered in blood droplets, his fists put up in front of his face.

“Maybe sometimes, I just ought to run away from a fight,” Calum huffs to himself as his bike putters to a halt in front of the diner. “And I ought to gas this up more often too.”

He knew before he got the school to tutor that he needed to grab some gas. But he definitely thought he’d make it to the station closer to the city line. Tutoring felt like a saving grace. After work Calum spent a few hours at the school helping kids. It reminded him that he wasn’t all bad. It made him realize there was still humanity to him.

The kids he tutored normally never cared about school. They were too busy trying to survive, not wanting to be the next Black body to wash up into a river or hanging like strange fruit from a tree. But they needed school, even though Calum empathized with them, he knew they needed the basics. They needed to write, do basic addition, needed to read just a little bit. So that’s how he worked with them. He’d level with them, You can’t take that girl out on a date if you don’t know how to count how much cash you have and how much it’s gonna cost you. And you definitely can’t be cool daddy-o, if you not reading well.

The thing about kids is that they always asked; they knew he was trying to survive too in a world that seemed like it was always trying to kill them. If he came back with a black eye, or a busted lip, they asked him if his addition got him out of that fight. Calum would try not to encourage this kind of behavior, but he had to admit, the joke would be funny. Calum would reply nearly the same way, “Yeah, I added one fist plus two fists and put his candy ass flat. I’ll try subtraction next time.”

Right now though, Calum’s gotta focus on getting gas. He passes this diner all the time. He’s just never stopped here. It’s a silent understanding that this is a Blacks only establishment. He’s given a few kids rides after tutoring here. The parking lot is always full of Black people hanging around the doors and in cars, laughing as they part from their full meals. Just a couple minutes past here by vehicle is his own town, mostly white, some Blacks sprinkled into the mix. City’s split into thirds. There’s the northern side, the southern quarter and the Western side. The Black part of town neighbors right on the edge of this town. He knows it’s done strategically. The edges have become blended over time. But it’s not by a lot. The divisions aren’t invisible.

Because of winter’s grip even though it’s only closing in on evening, the darkness keeps most people in their own homes. Booths are empty. A couple tables hold people sitting. The hostess looks up from wiping down counters, smiling. She looks vaguely familiar, he thinks, as she leans against the dry part of the counter. “What can I do ya for?”

“Gas. And maybe a shake too,” Calum counters.

Her grin widens. “I can help with the shake.”

Calum goes onto to explain, “Bike’s empty. I reckon I should pay more attention.”

He watches the way her full flips twist up, her coily hair pinned back and a dainty little white flower headband tied around the middle. She raps her fingers against the counter. “Charlie boy!” she hollers turning to the kitchen.

“He in the back gettin’ ready leave,” comes a booming voice.

“He got his gas can still in his car?” There’s a shout in return and she turns back around, voice returning to her normal sweet tone. “Give me just a second.”

Calum nods, sliding onto the barstool. She slips from the counters, running into the kitchen. He notes the lack of a skirt. Her pants are tight around her thighs and hitting her just below the knees. Wait a second, he knows those leopard print pants anywhere. Her father was the one that had a crossed burned in their front yard a couple years back. It was the only time they seemed to be targeted, but rocks were thrown their windows too.

Calum sat next to her in English in tenth grade. The last year they had together before her family moved. He heard rumors that her family owned this place. But he wasn’t sure how true those were. She was always nice to him in school. “It ain’t no white boy!” she huffs, the doors sway close behind her.

A dark skinned man, bald too, stares Calum down, lips pressed together. After a silent moment, the man speaks. His voice deep and gruff. “He da one fix Ma car. Why you ain’t tell me it was him?” It’s a playful scoff from the man as he bumps her with elbow. “I’ll be back.”

Calum recognizes him. The man scared the shit out of Calum when he walked into the car shop. He looked mean, but it was just the years wearing down his brow line. He has to put on a mean face because it keeps everyone from bothering him, as he explained to Calum. “Thank you,” Calum says, sliding down and fishing out his wallet from his jacket pocket.

“Oh, keep dat. Keep it,” the man waves his hand, turning away from him.

“At least something?” Cal asks. “For the trouble?” He holds out a five dollar bill.

“If you think it I can’t spare a couple bucks,” the man starts.

The girl cuts him off. “Charlie just go get the damn gas. Ain’t no one trying to say anything or start anything. Just go.”

Calum continues to hold out the bill even as the man disappears into the back. She slides behind the counter and Calum pushes the bill towards her. “Make sure he gets that.”

“You do realize he’s gonna raise hell. He’s too proud.”

“Please.” Calum continues to hold her gaze and all the time he’s trying to pull her name to the top of his brain. Was it Deborah? She had a nickname that she went by. Calum feels his tongue curling, but everything to the comes to the tip of it feels wrong.

With a sigh, she nods and slips the bill into the pocket of her apron. “I’ll make sure he gets it. Charlie not mean, just hardheaded. As I’m sure you know, Calum.”

He lets a small laugh escape him. “Yeah, yeah I do. Wait, you remember my name?”

She winks at him. “Course I do. I remember everyone’s name. Still want that shake?” Truth be told, she didn’t always remember everyone’s name. But she remembered his, couldn’t forget it really.

“Surprise me,” he grins.

She smiles with a shake of her head. She doesn’t go far, around the wall that separates the kitchen from the back of the counter seating. Her conversation with the cook is short. Calum leans into the counter.

When she turns back around, she notices his the silver chain around his neck as he plays with it. He looks like his mind is far away. She takes in his appearance, the golden skin, the bruises probably days old due to the coloration fading. He really hadn’t changed all that much since the last time she saw him. Maybe he got a little bit more handsome. Maybe it was a change in the cut of his jaw or the chub to his cheeks had slimmed just a hair. But it was still very much Calum in front of her.

“Been in trouble?” she asks, gently rubbing her fingers over the bruises along the back of his knuckles. Her eyes linger on the one on the top of his cheek. Her cousin had told her that he seemed to be on the straight for now, but his healing body says something different.

Calum tries to recover from the shiver running down his spine. His voice is shaky as he speaks. “I’ve been trouble.”

“Cats scared of you know, huh?” Calum hears the teasing lilt to her tone, trying to keep the subject light. He shrugs at her question in response. “I’m not. I seen you fight. You ain’t so big and bad.”

It was once. She wasn’t even sure what it was over, just happened to be turning the corner to the building to walk home and behind the school a group had gathered, Calum at the center. He was breathing heavy, fists clenched. It was he was the calm eye to the hurricane of people hollering and shouting at the fighting match happening.

“Miss stealing your English notes,” he offers. That’s not what he wants to be known for, that’s not what he wants to be remembered by as the guy that could fight. “And those tiny hearts as periods,” he chuckles. The first time he saw it, he wasn’t sure if it was a heart or not. But as he skimmed over her notes more, the clear it became that those oddly large periods were really hearts in disguise.

Totally a sore subject, so she won’t be prodding that bull anymore. “Everyone here hates ‘em.”

Calum shakes his head, a grin splitting his lips. “They were kinda cute. Hope you ain’t do it for all the cats needing your notes?”

“That’s just the way I write,” she laughs. “But for you, maybe for you they were a little bigger than most.”

“Don’t do that to me, doll,” Calum laughs. “Don’t go getting my hopes up.”

“I ain’t trying to do that. By no means.” They laugh, gazes falling from each other after a moment. He didn’t know this about her. The side that liked to dish out the jabs. They didn’t ever really interact a whole lot in class, or after school when he’d return her notes. But he likes this. He likes their back and forth.

“Did you know you used to tutor my cousin?” Calum tilts his head to the side, trying to go through the catalog of his kids. He’s trying to place her face with those that he knows. But he’s coming up short. She continues on though. “You remember Elijah? Always bettin’ somebody?”

As the grin overtakes his face, Calum laughs. “Yes, yeah, I remember that kid. Always squeezin’ me for fifty cent!”

She laughs, nodding. “That’s Elijah. He’s kept his grades up. Not all A’s. But he’s doing good. He never stopped talking about all the bets y’all made. He could bash ears about you.”

“He was a good kid. Tell ‘im I said hi, will ya?”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Cookie!” a voice bellows. That’s it! That’s the nickname. At the back of his brain, he kept trying to pull it to the surface. But just couldn’t for the life of him. She spins around, grabbing the plate and glass in the window. It’s a slice of pie as far as Calum can tell and a shake. She grabs some silverware and then slides the plate and glass in front of Calum.

“No need for you to be waitin’ and be starvin’.”

“Tell me, Cookie,” he grins as the nickname slides off his tongue, “care to split this slice with me? I remember what my momma taught me about eating dessert before dinner.”

She clicks her tongue against her teeth. “Hmm,” she considers, fingers tapping at her chin. “You can get away with the nickname. This time,” she adds on, watching Calum’s brows shooting up on his face. “You’re not the only one that can dish out a knuckle sandwich.”

Calum taps the heels of his boots together, the soft thuds echoing in the quiet air of the dinner. “I’m shakin’ in my boots.”

“You better be.”

They talk about their lives, Calum working at the shop and her finishing up school though it feels like for sure she’s spending too much time at the diner. She does it mostly to help out since her parents are short staffed at the moment. Tiny pieces are cut between laughs and shy glances up from between lashes. Without even realizing the last fork clinks against the empty plate as Charlie walks back into the diner, through the front doors. “That your bike out front?”

“Yes, sir,” Calum answer, sliding off the stool.

“C’mon, and I’ll fill her up.”

“Thank you again for helpin’ me.”

“You good people. Don’t sweat it.” He doesn’t wait around before stepping back into the dark of the now thickly settled in night.

“How much do I owe you?” He turns to Cookie and nods towards the half finished shake. She waves a hand before pulling out his five from earlier.

“Let’s just say it’s on the house.” Calum goes to speak and she shakes her head. “He won’t take the money. I’ll use it to cover the bill and give him extra on his tip,” she whispers. “Believe me, I’ve got things all worked out over here.”

It’s a fair enough system and Calum hurriedly slips into his jacket before his boots click against the floor. Charlie doesn’t seem like the kind of man to keep waiting. And Calum definitely doesn’t want to find out the hard way. But as his feet carry him closer and closer to the door, his gut keeps jumping. He doesn’t want to let this be the last time he sees Cookie.

And maybe it’s just the late night and the first time a girl looked at him that didn’t throw herself at him. Sure, Cookie flirted and he flirted back. But girls had two modes with him, they either ran away from him or they were just looking for a good time. Calum normally didn’t have anything against that. But that’s not what he wanted. He wanted someone he could laugh with, someone that saw behind the bruises.

With one hand still holding the door open, Calum turns just a bit. “Cookie,” he starts, turning around. He might be pushing it just a little with the nickname. But the way she smiles lets him know that maybe she likes it too. “Mind if I see you again?”

“My English notes are always available. You know where to find me.” It ends with a nod. The bright smile that makes Calum’s stomach knot up again.

“I’ll see ya ‘round, doll.”

__________________________________________

The dinner rush seems like it’s never going to end. The second she thinks she can keep up with her tables, someone’s asking for a refill on the drink, or needing extra condiments, or more napkins. But finally, she can see through the windows again. The parking lot doesn’t look like a party of it’s own. Cookie exhales, plopping down into the barstool. If her hair weren’t already pinned back, it would’ve fallen into her face. It’s only Friday. Tomorrow will be much worse. However, right now, she can take a deep breathe. She can take a moment for herself. Cookie presses her forehead into the cool counter.

The door chimes again. God, not someone else. Not another patron. However, no matter how much she wants to disappear into the ethos, she swallows the complaints back down and pops up off the stool. “Booth or table?” she asks, automatically reaching for some menus.

“Tellin’ me the counter’s not free?” Calum grins.

She places a menu down, gesturing with a sweeping motion to the spot she once sat. “All for you.”

Calum shrugs out of his coat, draping it over the seat next to him. He chews on his bottom lip. She’s grinning up at him and he knows it’s not the same grin everyone gets. Her eyes twinkle too though he can tell she’s tired. “Full of gas today?”

It’s been a week since he had to drop in after running out. He didn’t expect her to drop it. She probably would never drop it either. “All the to the tip top,” he exhales with a tuft of laughter. She’s leaning into the end of the counter, the little part that starts to turn into the two doors that tell customers to keep out.

“Charlie Boy says thanks for the tip.” A table across from her flags her down and they lock gazes for a second. The exchange of acknowledgement nods. “I’ll be right back to get your drink.”

Calum nods, watching her rush away. It’s a skirt today but the blue matches the decor inside and he concludes it’s the uniform. Why she wasn’t wearing on that fated Wednesday he’s not sure. But he liked that. Like that she didn’t always try to fit in.

Calum looks over the menu and everything looks to die for. But he’s not really ordering anything, didn’t even intend to. He only came by to see her. Money was getting tighter thanks to repairs needed for the house, but it’s nothing that he and Ashton can’t scrap the money together for. Though, Calum was sure Ashton was going to flip a lid if he had to pulled more money for his car funds.

Cookie darts around the counter, grabbing the coffee pot and smiles when she notices Calum watching her. “Didn’t forget. Promise I’m coming back.”

“No rush. You workin’.”

When she finally gets settled again, Calum leans his elbows onto the table and rests his chin on the flat of his knuckles. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Besides working my ass off here?”

“Cookie what I tell you about all that swearin’!” The voice is distinct but he can’t place who it belongs too. The whole diner is still pretty packed and with all the waitress in the same uniform, it’s almost like a blur happening around him.

She rolls her eyes, reaches into the pocket of her apron and drops a nickel into the tip jar. “I swore yesterday and never put my two pennies in. I’m just covering myself for the next one,” she explains with a small laugh.

“Besides workin’, what are your plans?”

She shrugs. “Don’t get off until 9. I should probably get some homework done.”

“Would you be interested in catchin’ a movie?”

“Askin’ for passion pit?” At first Calum thinks she’s serious. He didn’t think his reputation was going down like that. He was a gentleman. A fighter of course, but always a gentleman. He goes to defend himself and how he’d treat her like a lady until he sees the grin on her face.

“Oh, just keep yankin’ my leg, huh? So you dig?”

She nods. “My only question, where?”

“I’m not sure of places around here, besides I have a bike. Not really drive in material. But there’s one not too far just across the west line.”

He can feel the hesitation on her. He prays she doesn’t say no. He figured that one would be close enough to her old neighborhood, it won’t put her too far into dangerous spot. The North side of town is no place for her. Nor is any spot for him to be casually. He knows that. He’s not blind to the looks Black people get in groceries stores or walking down streets. He’s not blind to the news or the lack of news surrounding disappearances.

“How far across the line?”

“Minute. Two max. Close to your old neighborhood.”

She bites onto her lip, looking up to the ceiling. “I haven’t been on that side in a while. I know those people are cool with you. South siders are thick as thieves. I’m just, nervous. But I’ll go. If it gets too bad, we gotta go. No one’s gonna burn a cross, but, I just, I’m worried.”

Calum nods. “Of course. If ya want, we could go to the one over here.”

“You’ll get nasty looks too.”

“Don’t mean you gotta sacrifice yourself.”

Her laughter is sad and heavy as it falls from her throat. She opens her mouth to say something. She wants to joke that sometimes her entire existence feels like a sacrifice, that somehow her mere existence felt inherently politicized and a form of rebellion. She doesn’t let it cross her lips though. Instead, she swallows it back down and shakes her head. “Now, what’s cookin’ good lookin’? What can I do ya for?”

Calum reaches out for her hand. The touch is light, makes her insides tingle too, if she’s honest. “You already did it. See you tomorrow, Cookie.”

“I apologize if my father’s a bummer tomorrow. Keeps a tight ship. I’ll still be able to go. But that ain’t to say you won’t have to fight for it.”

Calum nods before taking his hands back and sliding into the jacket. He’ll keep that in mind. “I’ll break out my loafers,” he grins. “Get ‘em spit shined too.”

Her laughter follows Calum out the door and through his entire ride back to the house. When Calum walks in, Ashton immediately note the grin on his friend’s lip. “What you got up to?”

Calum shakes his head, pulling his jacket off. “Nothing.”

“Nothing surely looks like a hell of a lot like something. You cheesin’ too damn hard. That girl?”

“She’s nice.”

“Just be careful.” Ashton doesn’t miss the questioning glance of his friend. He holds his hands up. “Look, don’t shoot. I’m just saying, this town ain’t too fond of people like her. She moved for a reason.”

“You fond of people like her? They folks just like us.”

“I’m not saying that, and you know it.” Ashton retorts, his gaze firm and mouth twisted down into a scowl. Ashton knows he’s not like the rest of the town. But he doesn’t want to see his friend washed up and bloated from the river. “But you gotta be careful with her. The world’s inherently against her. And you could get caught in the middle.”

Calum understands the sentiment, but sees no issues. He’s not naive to think the world’s just gonna open their arms. But people aren’t that bad. He doesn’t believe that, even if it felt like he was constantly fighting. He had to believe that there are good people out there. If not, the rest of his life would be hard and full of more scraps. “I can handle if I get caught in the middle.”

“But do you want to handle getting caught in the middle?”

“C’mon, man, do you hear yourself? I like her. She’s nice. She don’t look at my bruises and think she has to run away from me.”

“That’s awesome. You know I’m rootin’ for y’all. But you are in just as much danger as she is. And you already got plenty of people who don’t like you. It’s all they need. They’d only need a reason.”

Calum knows Ashton is right. He knows that anyone that didn’t already like him would really like him now. However, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a chance. That doesn’t mean Calum can just run away.

“I like her.” It’s final as it falls from his lips.

He brushes shoulders with Ashton as he heads to his room. It’s not meant to be mean, Ashton just can’t bare the thought of something happening. The world can’t be all bad. But it can and very much did get pretty bad. An hour or two later, as Calum just starts to feel the grip of sleep, there’s a knock on his door. He snaps awake and walks to the door.

Ashton’s holding out a cookie, from the pack they bought last week from groceries. “It’s the last one. I didn’t want to take it without asking.”

Calum wipes at his face one last time, leaning into the molding of the door. His stomach growls and he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything yet. He takes hold of the chocolate chip cookie and chuckles. “Her nickname is Cookie, ya know?” He says taking a bite of the treat.

“Well, Daddy-O, you’ll be callin’ her baby real soon.”

Calum throws a weak, half-hearted punch to Ashton’s gut. “Fuck off,” he laughs.

Ashton curls up, blocking most of the blow. He laughs too. The tension from earlier disappears. Calum understands Ashton’s concerns, but he can handle himself. One date isn’t going to end the world. He knows it won’t make the world a less spiteful place, but he can’t let that predict every move he makes. He hasn’t let it yet and he can’t start now.

__________________________________

The diner’s parking lot is shockingly full when Calum walks his bike to a stop. He kicks down stand and straddles the bike before getting his leg around. He’s mindful not put the collar of his leather jacket back down. He didn’t put too much gel in his hair either. Good impressions. That’s what he’s gotta make right now. Though, one look at him immediately gives away his affiliation, but he tries to tone it back down. Calum even threw on one of his scarcely worn button up shirts. When he walks inside, he notices Cookie untying her apron. There’s a man, a little taller, with a neat short cropped cut, and a face just like hers, though he’s a tad lighter in complexion.

She smiles at Calum and he returns the gesture, exhaling as he walks over. He’s not used to having to meet the parents up front. But this isn’t his house, these aren’t his rules. He’ll still play the game though. Calum extends his hand. “How are you, sir?”

Her father shakes his hand, grip firm and eyes sharp. “I’m good, son. How are you?”

“I’m well.”

The quick once up and down is almost too fast to catch, but Calum knows the tactic well. “I don’t judge, son. I don’t. The world’s full of it already. Just treat her right, tonight.”

“Of course, sir. Is there any time I should have her back by?”

“As long as no one’s coming through my door at ungodly hours, I’m not too concerned.”

Cookie sighs, head falling on her neck as the sigh shrinks her shoulder. “He means midnight at the latest. I’ll save ya the time of walking through that maze of a riddle.”

With that, she leads him out of the diner. Calum can feel the eyes on him. Some whistle as they leave. Nothing menacing, all good teasing love. He laughs as Cookie groans in their departure.

Calum doesn’t miss the way his own body is warming though, the jitters almost making his teeth chatter. Her touch is so sure, but gentle against his hand. Cookie pauses at his bike and releases his hand, running her fingers gently over the handlebars.

“So, a couple friends of mine wanna tag along, is that okay? I can shake ‘em if not,” Calum warns.

She nods. “That’s fine.” There’s a moment where she’s gazing up at the skies and Calum’s watching her. “Honestly, I’m just glad to get away from the dinner even if it’s only for a couple hours. I graduate in June but I know where I’m going to wind up. I just need a way not to get stuck.”

Calum pulls out the helmet. “Well, let me unstick you.”

She huffs. “My hair is not going to fit into this.”

“You better make it fit, baby. Because I’m not leaving until it’s on your head.”

She cocks one of her hips out, the black blouse tied at her waist, paired with black pants too. Her red Keds tied perfectly around her feet. “Fine. But someone better have a mirror for me to fix this afterwards.”

“I’ve gotcha, doll.”

She wants to curse the way her heart flutters at the nickname ‘doll’ because there’s no good reason for her to almost melt at the way it curls off Calum’s tongue. But she does. Especially with the tiny shy smile he always pairs it with. It gets her every time and if she could curse him so it didn’t, she would.

He slides onto the bike first and she slips on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. Her hold is strong, even a little tense when he first takes off. But a few seconds later, after being on the road, she loosens her grip. The wind is great across her face. She’s only been a bike once before. She’s not necessarily the angel most people think her out to be and she enjoys the secondary persona. It gives her a break from her reality, that she will always be bashed because of her skin color. She will always be at a disadvantage, it feels. But it doesn’t means she can’t have her fun along the way.

As the stop at a light, she watches with blurred vision as the red light burns into her retina. Soon it turns orange, and she’s staring out of her bedroom window watching white clothed bodies lighting fire to a cross. All she can think about is how she covers her younger sister’s and brother’s eyes, tries to keep them preoccupied. But they still asked her why them. What did they do wrong? And the answer unfortunate truth is nothing but exists. She doesn’t tell them that, she instead tells them that some people are just mean and don’t understand the harm in their beliefs. She doesn’t have the heart to shatter their worlds. She doesn’t have the heart to use words like racist, and evil. They’re too young still. But they know for sure. They know about it, they just don’t have the words.

“Hey,” Calum says, gently, hands wrapping around hers around his waist.

She blinks and realizes they’re parked. “Sorry, just thinking.” Her arms slip from around him and she pulls the helmet off gently. The bright bulbs on the front of the building let her know it’s the theater. The spaces are a little empty, but there are some cars. Most people have probably opted for the drive in since the weather is starting to finally break. She pushes off the seat. He watches her, quickly wiping at her face. Why the tears now? The worst time possible.

“Hey, whoa, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. I’m okay.”

“It don’t look like nothin’.”

“I-I’m okay.”

“We can skip the flick,” he offers, gingerly reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s no big deal.”

“Your friends would surely be disappointed.”

“They won’t be.”

“I just. I wish I could shake them. I can’t get that image out of my head sometimes. All of those men in my front yard. My sister and brother being scared. It’s not easy.”

He’s at a lost for words. He doesn’t know what’s that like and he probably will never. It’s not to say that he hasn’t gotten his fair share, nor Ashton. Ashton caught a lot of heat taking Cal in, but when everyone you know can keep up in a fight, people tend not to say much. But her family was prominent, and typically non-violent. “I know there’s probably not a lot I can say or do right now,” Calum starts, gently taking her chin between his fingers and tiling her head back. “But whatever you need, let me help.”

He swims in her vision for a moment and Cookie wishes she could just get over it. She wishes she could just take a sponge and wash it from memory. But it’s right there, right behind her eyelids some nights. Shutting her eyes for a moment, she lets the few tears falls, but she nods gently. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he breathes, “of course.” Calum pulls her in for just a moment, letting her compose herself. Cookie wishes she hadn’t, the smell of him now and the hint of nicotine is pressing into the hairs of her nose. She never wants to breathe out.

It takes a moment longer before she nods into his chest and they head inside. Ashton said he’d cover the tickets, if Calum covered a bit more on the groceries. So it works out. Inside, fingers threaded through each others, Calum spots, Ashton, Luke and Michael, leaning against the wall. A circle of Preps are eyeing them but their attention is immediately shifted when she and Calum walk in. Calum holds a little tighter to her hand. He prays they don’t start anything.

As they walks closer to his friends, Calum notices more people are watching them. Not just Preps, but everyone in the room. “Thought we scared you and your Daddy out of this town!” someone shouts.

Her grip tightens in response, but she doesn’t drop her gaze from the three boys in front of her, Calum’s friends. This is what she’s used to, at any march, at any speaking event. This is normal for her. It doesn’t hurt any less. It doesn’t stop making her heart jolt at every insult, but she can hide the flinches, she can hold back her tongue. For a moment.

“You know you don’t belong here!”

She’s waiting for one of them to use the word. She just need the lips to curl into the start of n sound and she can pounce. She’d rather not start a scene here, on the wrong side of town. But god, does she only need one reason, she only needs one of them to set her off. “Either cut the gas, or you’re gonna have a problem,” Calum warns, a single ring adorned digit signaling out the offender.

“Oh, she can’t talk, huh?” Joseph is always one to try and start any fire he can. It was like he almost got off on the humiliation.

“Drop dead,” Cookie hisses. “No one wants anything to do with you. Won’t no one thinking about you for two seconds, so now you gotta make yourself known.”

“Fream speaks!”

God, she wanted not to give in. She wanted to walk away. “I do. But you got a lot to say. So keep running your mouth, half way to a bruisin’ as it is.”

Calum looks back to her. He didn’t expect that from her, but something hits his chest. It’s a strange excitement and the adrenaline before a fight. Part of it definitely disbelief. Not Cookie, he hasn’t pegged her as the type. But maybe he had been more wrong about her than he thought. Maybe all the teasing and flirty wasn’t just her playing games. While Calum would rather not have a fight, he sure as hell wouldn’t leave her to a fight alone. “The lady spoke,” he grins, turning back to Joseph. “Shut it or we dance.”

Joseph, who once was surrounded by his posse, notices that only on a couple of his original boys still stand. No one really wants to get into a fight with Calum. And everyone can see the other three circling in close too. The odds are heavily on their favor and Joseph would definitely be the laugh of the town. “You’re not worth it anyway,” Joseph finally mutters. Though Calum can see the way he’s holding something in the back of his mouth.

Calum pushes her back behind him, just in time too before the spit lands on the floor at her feet. His hands are in fists before he realizes and he surges forward. Grabbing the collar of Joseph’s shirt, Calum lifts him from the ground. He can’t even get the word out before Joseph releases an ‘Oof’ doubling from a blow. Calum looks to his left to see her fist at her side. “Try me again,” she hisses. “Put him down and let him try me again. Just because my dad’s nonviolent, don’t mean I am all the time.”

Calum drops the boy from his grasp. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Ashton, Luke, and Michael who have been keeping to the back, watching, waiting for anyone to step in, finally move in towards them. Luke takes hold of Calum’s bicep. “Let’s go. We can’t afford any heat right now.” Luke’s taking in Cookie and the crowd. It can go south real fast for them.

Calum nods and reaches out, running his fingers from the top of her vein along her wrist to her fingers. Cookie’s hand unfolds and he intertwines their fingers. She takes a step back and while Joseph is still recovering, she spits on his shoes. “Need better aim next time!”

The five of them shuffle out of the theater, quickly, knowing any attendant that happened to see the heated argument could be dialing for the cops. Outside, Calum pushes her closer to Michael. Most people don’t suspect him. He’s good in a fight, but not overtly identifiable. “Ride with Michael.” Folks definitely saw Calum and Cookie walk in together. She can’t be on his bike, not with him. If he gets caught and pushed around by the cops, it’s fine. But if she’s caught with him, that’s bad news.

“Sorry for ruining our date,” she calls out to him.

Calum slips on the helmet, grinning. “You didn’t ruin it, Cookie. You made it a hell of a night. Michael, goose it. Got it? Burn fucking rubber.”

Michael nods with a grin. “You know how to pick ‘em, Cal.”

Cookie slides into the passenger seat of Michael’s car. And true to Calum’s instruction, Michael blares down the backroads. He laughs about halfway through the journey. “Got a solid jab,” he offers.

“Thanks. Dad taught me.”

“Cal boxes. You know that?”

“Heard something like it.”

“Yeah,” he hiccups as they bounce a deep hole in the road. “Maybe he knew deep down you could fight too.”

Soon they pull into the driveway of a decently upkeep house. The outside doesn’t have a lot done to it and she knows that the inside might be a little sparse too. But everyone does what they need to in order to survive. One car is already there. But not too soon after they climb out of the car, she can hear the rumble of Calum’s bike. She pauses near the front steps, one hand on the railing and watches him. The tires kick up dust and rocks as he swerves into the driveway. He continues on around the house, slowly creeping by. Soon the deep rumble ceases and instead she can hear the crunch of feet against the gravel and dirt.

Calum pulls the helmet up as he rounds the house. “No heat, as far as I could tell.” Everyone exhales. He walks up to her, grin on his cheeks, curls perfectly disheveled from the quick tug up from his helmet. “Jets and a mean jab, got it all don’t you?”

“I shouldn’t have. I just hate his guts. I’m sorry.”

With a shake of his head, Calum takes her hand. “You’re fine. He deserved it anyway.” Her hand trembles in his. “C’mon,” he urges, taking her into the house.

The decor isn’t as sparse as she thought it would be, the couch has a couple blankets draped over the back of it with end pillows. The cherry wood dining room table has four chairs that match and a small bowl in the center some fruit sits in it. There’s a big shelf with records on it, some books.

The walls a little bare minus some old photos. “It’s not a lot. But we get by,” Calum whispers.

She shakes her head. “Reminds me of the old house. Even the new one we have isn’t too packed. Half the time, money’s going to the diner. The other half, the time’s going there too. Just never seems worth trying to unearth everything.”

Calum soothes the skin of her hand with his hand. He never considered that, that her life on the outside looked one way. But on the inside it’s way different. It makes sense why she has so many hours at the diner. “What can I do ya for?” he grins.

She laughs. “That’s my line. You can’t go stealing that.”

“Too bad, doll. Looks like I just did. So what can I do ya for?”

“Honestly, at this point a smoke would be nice. But water will do.”

Almost way too sheepishly, Calum reached into his jacket pocket and dangles the pack between his fingers. “I try not to smoke often. It’s not a habit I’m proud of, but if you want one,” he trails off with a shrug.

It’s tempting. It’s very tempting. Her statement was mostly a joke. But she keeps eying it. So, Calum places the helmet on the couch and hands her the packet. He slips out of his jacket, finding the lighter. She knows she shouldn’t give in. She hasn’t had one in a few weeks. Mostly because her dad would kill her. “I’ll go get us some drinks. Then we can step outside.”

“So we’ve met,” Michael starts, cutting through the awkward silence as Calum shuffles into the kitchen. “I’m Michael.” He points to the blonde to his right. “That’s Luke. Watch out for his limbs.” He then motions to a brunette. “That’s Ashton. Calum and him live together here. I live a few houses down and Luke lives like a street over.”

She smiles at them, still playing at the carton top. “Sorry about missing the movie again.”

“You were way more entertainin’,” Luke laughs. “Besides, we hadn’t gotten tickets just yet, so win-win.”

Ashton’s stare freezes her. It’s somewhere teetering on the edge of the disappointment. “Scold me,” she starts. “You won’t be any worse than my father.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned,” Ashton answers truthfully. He’s impressed because he’s only never heard about her, seen her through others eyes. They all call her quiet, reserved, put together. He’s never really laid his own eyes on her. But now, she didn’t really go off the deep end until provoked. He can give her that. She didn’t throw the first punch. Though she made damn sure that she threw the last one though.

Ashton’s concerned because what does this mean for the rest of them. They already have enough of a target on their back. He doesn’t want to make her out to be a villain, but his world’s not easy on her and it won’t be easy on them if they associate with her. “This isn’t against you, it’s just, we’re already so…”

“Alienated. Greasers are low down, dirty, get into fights all the time. You guys are the scary people everyone should run from. And I’m the shit stain on this here great country. We’re both outsiders. I’m just further out of the circle than you. I get it.”

“But you’re sweet, got a little rattle snake in you, but you’re good people,” Ashton counters.He doesn’t want to discredit her by any means.

“I’m never going to have the best of both worlds. So you best decide now what world you want.”

Ashton watches Calum from the kitchen doorway, a beer in one hand and a coke in the other. “You ever think we could actually fit in Ash? Because if so, you’re a dip stick, the biggest one I’ve ever seen. If you thought just because I wasn’t Black, that you’d somehow could still skate into the white agenda, you were wrong. You can’t choose me and then accept her,” Calum counters. “Won’t ever work.:

“We’re outsiders, we live on the outskirts of town. We weren’t eva’ gonna fit in,” Michael says.

“But do we always have to be behind?” Ashton questions.

She places the pack down on the coffee table. “We will always be behind. And until you accept that, you’re never going to make it forward.”

It makes sense. They were always going to be pushed to the outskirts. They could never make it in. The door wouldn’t open for them. Ashton’s known this, but it was easier to be on the outside and still be white. He could still see the door, could still knock on it. She can’t even get a glance at it. “The world’s never gonna be fair to you,” Ashton sighs. “But the least I can do is be fair to you.”

“I hope it will be one day. Today’s just not the day.”

Ashton stands from the kitchen table, “Care for a beer? Coke? Water?”

“Coke’s fine, thanks.”

“You heard the lady, get her a coke,” he grins as Calum. He can be fair to her. The inside wasn’t meant for them anyhow. What would he gain? Status that all relied on following prescribed rules that meant nothing? That was his whole thing. Following who’s rules? Why follow them? What be the reason for it for him to break one and face backlash? It’s pointless that’s what it is.

“Bring that,” Calum urges, nodding to the pack. She grabs it and follows behind Calum to the back of the house. He points out bathrooms and bedroom. She pokes her head into Calum’s. Lots of posters cover the walls of various musicians.

“If I ain’t know better I’d say you might be into music.”

“Just a little,” Calum laughs.

“Too busy boxing now, huh?” She lands a few fake punches to his torso and Calum bows every so slightly at them. Their laughter is soft.

“I’m trying to keep it clean, legal.”

They settle onto the top step of the back porch and Calum sets the Coke near her feet. She hands him the pack. He taps it twice to his palm before pulling out a cigarette.

“Most people run when they know I fight, but not you.”

“Ain’t most people. And you ain’t the only one that can fight.”

He shakes his head, lips wrapped around the butt of the nicotine filled paper. Cookie’s got him there. She watches him flick the lighter and the way the flames lick at the paper. She watches the cut of his jaw, the way his hair falls in different directions around head now. “Shouldn’t grease it back so much,” she mutters, hand reaching up to play in it. She stops herself, asking him silently.

He nods. “Go ahead.” The cloud billows from his nose and mouth as he speaks. She drags her nails over his scalp, letting her fingers graze the soft strands. He holds the cigarette out to her. He grins when she hesitates. “I’m willing to share one. But if you’re afraid of cooties, I understand. I did get the shot though.”

She laughs, slapping his arm and takes the paper between her fingers before inhaling the nicotine. “Earlier,” she starts, passing the burning paper back to Calum, “that red light made me think of the cross in my front yard. I’ve got a brother and sister. Both younger than me. I’m terrified for them. They’re going to have same shitty world that I had. We march, we protest and we die. For what?”

“So the world’s not so shitty for them,” Calum exhales.”Maybe, hopefully.”

“Easier said than done.”

“No one said life was easy. Because if so, they’re a goddamn liar.” Calum holds out the cigarette for her, but she shakes her head, going for the bottle at her feet. “I’m sorry about Ashton. He means well. Just a worrier. Thought I had talked sense into him earlier.”

“I’m not upset.” It’s silent, the crickets sounding from the bushes. Calum thinks about all the hate she sees on a daily. How does she do it? He figures it’s not without trouble. They’re all burdened. No one in life gets through it untouched. Everyone has scars.

Calum’s comforted by the silence between them and before he’s realizing he’s talking. The words are just coming out of his mouth. “My parents kicked me out. I wasn’t always here. I mean, I was always other. I was always a fighter though I never liked it. I was always different. But I wasn’t always labeled different, outside.”

“You get by though.”

Calum nods, letting her take the last hit of the cigarette. “Car shop is good cash. How I got my bike. Tutor helps a little. Nearly dropped out, but Ash footed a lot of the expenses. I had to repeat a year, which ain’t the prettiest thing to admit. It took me a while to find a place to stay, wasn’t going to school all too often.”

“I bet that makes the kids feel better. The ones you tutor.” She figured Calum was older, figured that they had meet in English class by some repeat or calculation but she wasn’t sure.

“It does. They know it’s okay if things take them a bit longer.”

“Thanks. For coming to our side. For helping out. It helps more than you might now.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” There’s another pause. He watches the smoke float from her lips. “Can I see you again? Maybe actually have an actual date?”

“Telling me sharing a cigarette on your back porch isn’t a date?”

“Exactly,” Calum laughs. He hasn’t even touched his beer. He doesn’t really want it. He brought it just in case she didn’t want the fizzy drink. He’s not too upset about it. One of the other boys will take it no doubt.

They sit outside, way after all the nicotine is inhaled. She rests her head onto Calum’s shoulder. “I vote next date is food. Because every time I see you you not eating!”

“I eat I swear to it!”

“Picnic, my place. You’ll have to excuse the anklebiters if they’re around.”

“Next time, your place. I’ll excuse the anklebiters. If they’re around.”

The ride back to her house isn’t long. Feels much shorter this time around. The redlight doesn’t shock her system. The wind on her face is welcomed as it blows back Calum’s scent too. He pulls into the driveway and walks her up to the door.

“Thanks for tonight. Even though it didn’t turn out like we planned.”

Calum shrugs. He enjoys the way it turned out. “Clearly it well enough for me to get a second date.”

“Calum, if I didn’t know better I would say you’re trying to get jacketed.”

He laughs. “I know I want to see you again.” It’s direct and skirts around the going steady tease. Truth be told, he’s not sure about that. But he doesn’t want to completely ruin his chances with her.

The door creaks open a little. “Good night, Calum.”

“Good night, Cookie.” She steps into the house, sending him a small wave. He waves back and waits for the door to close. He had plenty of time, he thinks at his own place to kiss her. Or make some sort of move. But maybe it was better that they just talked, that they spilt guts to each other that they hadn’t let others see just yet.

Calum starts down the porch when the front door creaks open again. He’s not sure what’s wrong but before he can turn around fully to ask, lips are pressed gently to his cheek.

“You missed,” Calum teases. Cookie, still bent over, pushes into his cheek and Calum turns to face her completely. Her lips are soft against his and holy hell--it’s happening. Their shared breath is the slight sweet of her Coke and the bitterness of nicotine.

“Ain’t miss that time,” Cookie teases. Her lips brush against her as she speaks and they linger for what feels like an eternity, lips just centimeters from each other and breathing in the other’s exhales.

“Wasn’t a footballer, but you’re gunning for that jacket,” Calum whispers.

“I think I look good in leather,” she hums, brushing her nose over his.

“Bet you look gorgeous in it.” It leaves him in an exhale. Her chuckle is soft before she straightening back up. She slips into the dark of the house, waving one last time to Calum.

His boots nearly trip him as he heads down to his bike. Calum can still feel teh ghost of her lips on his. Her nails are still pressing into the flesh of his cheek to keep his head straight. Not like with a kiss like that he wouldn’t have followed her anyway she wanted him to go.

He’s gonna get in deep with her; he can feel it. And he doesn’t even care.

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ladynightmare913 · 4 years

Text

Red Rose, Blood Moon

Welcome to chapter 2! This is an original story inspired by the tale of Red Riding Hood. I would like to say a special thank you to my best friend and co-author Olivia ( @asunshinepuff) for joining me in writing this world onto paper.

This chapter contains mentions of weapons and an attempted sacrifice. You have been warned.

The story contain only original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those of you who want to be tagged to follow along this story, let me know! If you have any curiosities, theories, or questions, feel free to ask me or Olivia on her blog.

I hope you enjoy, now without further adieu!

Chapter 2: The Bride in Red

The rest of the night Cassandra couldn’t sleep, and at first rays of sunlight, she burst from her bed, dressed for the day and was out the door before her parents could so much as say good morning.

The young girl only had one thought in her mind as she marched across the village. Why? Why didn’t she tell me? Is there something she had done to make her seem untrustworthy? They were best friend’s weren’t they? Practically sisters since they were toddlers. She wasn’t even hurt, at least she thought she wasn’t, she just wanted to know the truth. So she continued on to the cottage inside the woods.

The cottage was a quaint little thing, surrounded by bushes and tree branches that hung low, covering the roof. Snow covered everything, the cottage itself was a warm dark wood with ash hardwood lining the front, the second story was a soft cream in color with dark wood accents. There was smoke coming from the chimney.

Rosabella opened the door, her sapphire blue eyes brightening. “Cass! Good morning!” She tilts her head in confusion, no one ever visits her Grandmère’s cottage. Rosabella shook those thoughts away. The reason why no one visited was because the villagers didn’t like grandmere, and grandmere didn’t like them. But Cassander was her friend, surely her grandmere would like her. Rosabella smiled.

Cassandra had planned what she wanted to say, to ask her friend, but the moment her eyes met Rose’s, the words seemed to disappear. “Good morning,” She finally managed to get out.

Rosabella smiles. “Did you eat breakfast yet? Grandmère made apple pie! I was going to bring it to your house!”

Cassandra’s eyes widen. She did not eat breakfast that morning, and Rose was distracting her from her thoughts, she needed to ask her questions. But they could wait until after pie, right?

“Really? She did?” Cassandra exclaimed. Rosabella promptly nodded before grabbing her hand and pulling her inside the cottage, shutting the door.

“Hold on, let me tell Grandmere you’re here.” Rosabella turns to leave when Cassandra only holds her hand tighter. Rosabella blink in confusion. “Cass?”

The blonde haired girl looked to her friend in desperation, her eyes shifting quickly. She was nervous, she wasn’t nervous on the way over to the cottage, yet her body decided to shake now? With a stained sigh, she looks to her friend. She was determined to not let this go until she had an answer. “I saw you.”

“You saw me?”

Wonderful, how vague could she possibly get? She was very worried about admitting what she saw. She was scared that her best friend would get angry with her and she’d lose a friend. Her only friend really. “Please don’t be mad, I didn’t mean to… but I saw you, at wolf’s time… turn… ”

Rosabella’s smile faltered, her shoulders tensed. “When?”

“When you were at the edge of the forest… last night.” She paused at the pale face of her friend. Her worry only increased at what she might have to say in response. She didn’t know what she should do. If she lost her best friend from this…

Rosabella paled, “It’s not what you think…” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t kill the sheep! I swear! Yes I like to eat meat but I would never do that! You have to believe me! I’m not what the villagers say about me! I would never hurt anyone!” Her eyes start to water. “I didn’t want to scare you, but I couldn’t tell you, Grandmère wouldn’t let me! I’m not hurting anyone in the village! Grandmère says I’m too small to be dangerous! I’m a puppy!”

Cassandra tenses at the sight of tears in her friend’s eyes, she hadn’t meant to make her cry. But, now things made sense. Why Rosabella always had to be back home before dark, why she would panic if she lost track of time, why the dog from last night was so smart, why the dog’s eyes looked exactly like Rosabella’s. “Rose…” She whispered softly.

“Please don’t tell anyone, they already think I’m strange…” The raven haired girl with bright red streaks pleaded, tears running down her cheeks.

The blonde shakes her head, she wraps her arms around her friend and hugs her tightly. A small attempt to comfort Rosabella, but she knew she had to say something to calm her down. “You can trust me… I won’t tell anyone.” Please trust me. Her sky blue eyes widened ever so slightly, if she were to keep this a secret, she would have to make sure her father never found out. He wouldn’t hesitate to go after Rose, despite their friendship. “Especially not Papá, He can’t ever know…”

The weeping girl pulled away from the hug as she wiped her tears with her sleeves as she nodded. “Thank you…” Rosabella finally smiles. “So… want some pie?”

“Yes please.” Cassandra replies with a smile of her own. “Rose? For what it’s worth, I don’t think you're strange at all, only” She pauses for a moment, thinking for the word she had recently learned, “stupefying!”

Rosabella’s eyes widened, a wide smile breaking through her tears. “Thank you.”

“So… you’re a wolf?” The girls burst out into laughter. They settle down for pie, Cassandra stays in their cottage nearly the entire day. Only when Grandmere told the little girl to head home did she leave, hugging her friend good night. And the villagers watched in amazement as little Cassandra walked into the village from the path leading to Grandmere’s cottage, she ignored them.

Soon the villagers began to notice the girls spent more time than ever in each other’s presence. Cassandra described the stories in her books with vivid detail, and Rosabella would invite Cassandra to spend the night in her grandmère’s cottage. Stuffing themselves full on pies and sleeping next to the fireplace.

As the years went by, Cassandra and Rosabella had grown in beauty and grace. Erinna had taken it upon herself to ensure that Rosabella didn’t go fight the older boys whenever they did something remotely idotic. And if Rosabella by chance did teach the boys a lesson, Cassandra would somehow become quite forgetful of what things occurred. Or, she would take it upon herself to smack them with a book. Erinna would only shake her head in amusement at Cassandra. But Rosabella was not as fortunate.

The village ladies would all scold Rosabella for beating the boys in the village, and for not acting like the proper young lady she was becoming. The village chief’s wife, who unfortunately gave birth to Gregory, marched with her group of fellow mothers, to Grandmère’s cottage to compile a list of grievances about the girl. Grandmère promptly shoved them off her land with a broom. And when that didn’t work, the old woman proceeded to grab her crossbow. The ladies never returned. Not even when the hem of Rose’ skirt was a few inches too short, or when she laughed far too loudly, or when she beat up Gregory for simply being annoying.

Cassandra stayed true to her word and kept Rosabella’s secret. But with each passing day she watched her father leave for a hunt, her desire to become a hunter only grew. She wanted to prove to her father that she could be strong enough. That she could be like him, she wasn’t going to be like the others. She shared her wants with Rosabella and Grandmère, asking them how to go about it. Grandmère suggested to just learn as much as she could from books and put it into practice in secret, and once Cassandra was ready, Grandmère would offer her support. And a good slap if there should be the need.

And so, Rosabella took Cassandra into the forest. When on her nightly outings as a wolf, Rosabella came across many perfect spots for her to practice her archery. They would often sneak to and from the forest. Having many close calls when the hunters made a sudden decision to go for a small hunt.

The villagers grew more and more tired and outraged whenever the morning after Wolf’s Time was filled with the remains of a slaughter pig. And it only grew worse when people began to be attacked in broad daylight. Yet no one was able to catch so much a glimpse of the wolf. Only the dark brown fur left behind. In desperation, the village chief called for the help of a shaman from a neighboring village across the mountain pass.

The Chief had called for a village meeting the day the Shaman arrived. The Chief had every lined up in a circle in the center of their small village. Rosabella stood beside Cassandra, both watching in confusion as the Shaman waved a bowl of burning incense gently as he walked. How was burning incense going to solve anything?

The Shaman was an old man with fair skin, blue eyes and dressed in what Rose thought was the most hideous set of robes.

“Do you really think he can stop the wolf?” Rosabella whispered under her breath as she looked at Cassandra with amusement.

“With a little smoke? No way.” Cassandra whispered back under her breath.

The girls giggle, Erinna shushes them quietly. Shaking her head. The village chief walked towards Rosabella.

The Chief was a bulky man with long brown hair that was pulled back in a small strip of leather. He had green eyes with a dark tanned skin from being under the sun. A dark blue sash strapped across his chest, over his brown vest. He looked troubled.

“Where is your Grandmère?”

With a sigh, Rosabella answered. “Grandmère said she was too old to stand in the sun all day. And that a shaman will solve nothing.”

The Chief only frowns. “I thought I told you to drag her by her wrinkly old skin if you had too.”

“To which she promptly told me to tell you, ‘Come get me yourself if it’s so bloody important.’”

The mothers gasped in shock and shook their heads in disdain. The Shaman stopped his incense waving to glare at Rose as well. Rosabella looked down to her hands, it was always like this. The Chief merely scoffed before he walked away. Rosabella sighed in relief. The Shaman carried on with his incense, he walked slowly. Rose’s nose twitched, the smell grew strong as he got closer.

When the Shaman was right in front of Rose, he paused. His head turning to look at her closer. Studying the red streaks of hair, the pale skin and large blue eyes. His eyes narrowed for what seemed like eternity for Rose. She could hear the women whispering amongst themselves, some nodding their heads. Some even looked smug. As if they were not surprised the Shaman stopped at her. That everything they ever scrutinized about her, the way she looked, the way she acted and spoke, was proof enough about how strange she was.

“You.” Was the verdict. One simple word and her blood turned ice.

“Me?” Rosabella asked, her head snapped up, her eyes wide.

The Shaman didn’t bother to answer her, only to turn to the rest of the villagers.

“I know why the wolf has plagued your village!” He shouted. “She has the mark of the wolf!” He pointed to Rosabella.

Rose starred in fear and shock. How? “What?!” But the Shaman ignored her and carried on with his proclamation.

“Her hair is stained with the blood of the wolf’s victims! She was born to be the sacrifice! To pay for the wolf’s crimes! Build an altar and offer the child to the wolf! Then will your village finally be free of the wolf! The Bride of the Wolf will free you from this curse!”

The villager’s gasp and one woman even says “I knew it! She’s the cause of all this!”

Quickly, two men grabbed onto Rosabella’s arms. Rose couldn’t move, she was frozen in terror. Her mouth agape, her eyes wide in fear.

“No! You’re lying!” Cassandra cries out desperately, eyes wide with tears threatening to fall. “Let her go!”

Rosabella shakes her head frantically, pulling against the men. “Please… I have done nothing wrong! I am not the wolf’s bride!”

“Please! Leave her alone! She’s innocent!”

“Hush Cassandra.” Royce grips his daughter’s arm as Rosabella is dragged away. “Or he’ll say you’re the bride as well!” He frowned.

“Better than letting her die!” Cassandra protests, pulling against her father’s grip.

“Cassandra don’t test me! This is not one of your stories where speaking up for someone will save them, it will only drag you down with them.” He only wraps his arms across her chest to stop her from running towards Rose. He only pitted the girl. She was strange yes, but she didn’t deserve this fate.

“Papá please… I can’t lose her!” She pleads, losing the battle against her tears that streamed down her face. This couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t fair. Failing over and over to remove her father’s arms, she stops her protests and sobs as her friend grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

The villagers ignore their protests, they begin to follow the men taking Rosabella away to the barn.

“Please! I didn’t do anything!” Rosabella pleaded. The men simply tossed to her to the ground, a sob escaped her lips. The men chained her wrists and legs. The Shaman left a bowl of incense in front of Rose.

“Please… I’m innocent!” She sobbed, her eyes pleading with the Shaman.

“I know you are innocent, but only the blood of the innocent can pay for the crimes of the wolf. Think of your village, your sacrifice will free them from the curse.” The Shaman patted her head.

Her shoulders fell. “My village…”

The men joined the group outside of the barn as they watched. Some woman gave her a pitying look. The Shaman joined them.

“We have three days to prepare an altar before Wolf’s Time. I suggest you not try anything.” The doors slammed shut.

Rosebella stayed there frozen for hours. With a deep breath, Rose slowly layed down to her side, curled up tightly. She sobbed silently for hours. Praying for anyone to stop this. To wake her up and tell her it was all a nightmare. But no one came.

Cassandra had hardly moved from her bedroom, the door remained tightly shut. She couldn’t stop crying. It was as if her heart had split in two. And, a burning anger wanted to rise from deep inside her. The only time she truly left, sneaking out from her room whilst her father was out in the village, and her mother was busy in the living room. She hardly ate the food her mother offered, actively avoided running into her father, and could not find solace in her books like she used to.

She lay down upon her bed, silently looking out the window. Watching the snowfall on the day that should’ve been happy for her friend, but in fact was the opposite. How horrible, she mused. The day of Rosabella’s birth was now the day of her death.

A thought crosses Cassandra’s mind. Does Grandmère know? She sits up. What if Grandmère didn’t know and has been waiting for Rosabella to come home? Looking back out the window, she knew someone had to tell her. Better her than someone from the village… She looked towards her bedroom door, listening silently to her parents faint voices for a moment, then pushed herself off the bed. She grabs her satchel, putting it both on before putting on her long violet cloak over her dress. With a deep breath, she unlocks her door.

“Cassandra!” Her mother gasps in surprise as she looks over to see her child descending down the stairs. Erinna had been in the midst of preparing lunch for her family, the ladle dropping to the floor in her shock. Erinna quickly took notice of her cloak. “Where are you going?” She asks, concern etched on her face.

Cassandra pauses at the base of the stairs, clutching the strap of her satchel before looking to her mother. “Grandmeré’s.” She says softly.

“Oh…” Erinna looked as if she wanted to say more, but she stopped herself. “... Don’t be out too late… I’m sure she’s not in the best of moods.”

Cassandra only stares blankly at her mother before she walks out the door. The walk to the cottage was silent and full of dread. So lost in her thoughts, Cassandra didn’t notice that she was standing at the front door. Her eyes glazed over. She knocks on the door.

No one answers.

Cassandra frowns. She knocks again.

“Go away!” A familiar voice yells out. The sound of things crashing is clear.

Cassandra takes a breath before she yells out, “Grandmère, it’s Cassandra…” There is no answer, only a loud clatter.

With a sigh, she places a hand upon the door handle - finding it to be unlocked and opens the door, stepping inside. “Is everything alright?” Her eyes widened as she looked at the state of the dining table, there were weapons all over it. Daggers, a crossbow, pistols, bullets. “What are you-?”

“Think child! Where’s all your intelligence you so proudly show off! What does it look like I’m doing?! I’m going to break Rosabella out of her prison!”

Grandmère was a thin, tall woman with a sharp pair of green eyes behind round glasses. Her hair was stark white, her skin was pale, and her lips were in a firm line. She looked frail with her long bony fingers, but Cassandra knew better than to underestimate the strength of the older woman. She was dressed in a dark grey dress with a white shall, and black boots. Grandmère had aged well.

“Getting a shaman, ha! As if a shaman will solve their problems! I told them, you need to use silver to kill that monster, but did they listen to me? No! It’s not as if I’ve hunted those blasted wolves for nearly sixty years of my life. What could I know?” The old woman grumbles out.

Cassandra watches the old woman she’s come to know carefully, observing the weapons all over the dining table once again. She walks closer to the table, her eyes shining with newfound hope. “Let me help.”

Grandmère scoffed, she grabbed a pistol to clean as she eyed Cassandra. “How can a child help me? Have you ever broken someone out of their prison?” She raises a thin grey brow.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow slightly. “No, I haven’t. But I can learn!”

Grandmère lowers the pistol as she looks over the child. “Even if I did accept your help, you’re far too young! You’ll be fumbling about more than you actually helping me!”

“Too young? I’m not a little girl anymore.” She says with a scoff. “And you’re too old to be sneaking about at night. What if you trip over a pebble, then where would you be? On the ground because you can’t get up.”

Grandmère glares at the little girl. “You’re too noisy.”

“And you're too skinny.”

The old woman and child glare at each in silence for a long moment before Cassandra breaks into a smile. “Just trust me!”

Grandmère’s eyes narrowed her eyes, she sighs. She looks back to her weapons.

“Where did you get all this stuff?”

“I’m a hunter, dear. It’s mine, from my youth.” She answers as she cleans another dagger.

Cassandra gasps in surprise, “You were a hunter?!”

“Not just any old hunter girl, I hunted monsters. Monsters like that wolf.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened even more if it was possible. She had so many questions, and she was about to ask before she noticed a large leather bag on the floor by Grandmère’s feet. Her shoulders slumped. It was as if the pain from Rosabella’s situation resurfaced inside her. She was going to be alone, wasn’t she? She’d never see them again…

“You’re leaving, aren’t you…”

“Well we can’t very well stay here now can we? This would be the very first place they’d search. I have to take Rosabella someplace safe.”

Cassandra understood. She didn’t like it, not at all, but she understood and oh how she wished she didn’t. A thought comes to mind. “If you hunt monsters like these wolves… then how come you didn’t kill Rose? Isn’t she one of them?”

The old woman finally stopped. Slowly lowering the dagger. “She’s not one of them.”

Cassandra frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s different, she can change at will without pain. The others can shift when the moon is full. And when they shift they always howl from pain.” Her hand reached for another pistol.

“But why would you risk it?” Cassandra placed her hand on the pistol.

“Move the hand girly.”

“I will, once you answer.” She says, her gaze unwavering.

Grandmère glared, after a long moment she looked away. With a sigh, the old woman spoke at last. “... The life of a hunter… is a life you live alone… everyone I knew died from some monster… I was the only one left.” The old woman paused. Her breathing slowed. “I was lonely… and I had stumbled upon this village by mere chance. But they thought I was strange so they sent me away to live in this old cottage. But oh did they come crying to me whenever someone fell ill.” She tsked, “But when the Chief brought Rosebella in that tiny blanket, I fell in love. I learned quickly what she was, and she was different. I had never seen hair like heirs before. Nor had I seen a wolf pup with such blue eyes.” She finally looked back to Cassandra. “It was a chance to have someone, and I took it. Fate brought her to me, it was a risk I knew how to deal with… if Rose was the same as those monsters.” She pulled the pistol from under Cassandra’s hand. “And she wasn’t.”

Cassandra grew quiet as she listened to the old woman’s tale. She could imagine it clearly, like she was there herself. In a way, she understood. Thoughts ran through her mind slowly as she listened to the old woman’s explanation, and she watched Grandmère pull the pistol from under her hand. Looking back down to the leather bag at the floor, a thought comes to mind. Albeit it was incredibly reckless, and she doubts Grandmeré will accept, but it’s the only one she had. “Take me with you, please.”

Grandmère froze, she stared at Cassandra. “And what about your parents? They would know I took you with me.”

“I don’t care. Rose is my best friend, and she's the only one who has ever understood me.” She says with a shake of her head. I’m strange too. “And I can’t go pretending that everything is alright, in this small minded village, if she’s not here.”

“If you come with us, you’ll probably never see your parents again.” She tilts her head, looking her over. “Are you really willing to never see them again?”

“I know, and I’ll miss them.” She admits, keeping her gaze locked onto the old woman. “But that won’t change my mind.”

The old woman stared at the girl for a long time, searching for something. Cassandra did her best to not look away. Grandmère’s gaze was intense, as if it was piercing in her very soul. She relaxed her gaze when she seemed to have found what she was looking for. She continues her task of cleaning her weapons.

“Go home. Pack one bag. Go to your bed in your day clothes. When your parents are asleep, sneak out.” She says nothing more. Cassandra hugged her.

“BUT DON’T BE SMILING AND OBVIOUS ABOUT IT!” Cassandra only giggled. “So, what’s the plan?”

After spending the day with the old woman, Cassandra did just as she was told. She went back home. She packed one bag. She got into her bed in her day clothes. She allowed her parents to tuck her into bed. And when her parents were asleep, she rose from her bed.

“Goodbye Mamá, Papá… I love you…” She turns to the window, opening it, a cold breeze filling her room, but she ignores her urge to shiver as she sits on the edge of the window. Reaching behind her bed, she grabs the packed bag and throws the strap over her shoulder. She looks back into her room that she’s known all her life. “I’m sorry.”

She closes the window behind her before jumping down to the snow, landing with a soft oof.

A sigh filled her ears. “You couldn’t have chosen the door? Like a normal person?” Grandmère scowled.

Cassandra merely rolled her eyes, “If by normal you mean a girl who looks at boys all day? Or dreams about boys? Then no. I’m not normal.”

With a scoff from the old woman, the pair went off to the barn.

Rosebella slept. And when she didn’t sleep she only stared at the walls of the barn. She didn’t know if it was day or night, only that she was alone and cold. And hungry.

It was for the village. Her thoughts would remind her the reason for her suffering. It’s for the best. She couldn’t disagree. They never never liked her anyway. But, did she really have to die? Clearly she must. The shaman said so. But... I don’t want to die.

Now that wasn’t really her choice now was it? Rosabella pulled on her chains, she was exhausted and weak from the lack of food. You’d think a sacrifice would be treated better. Well… at least they didn’t chain her to a tree. Her eyes hurt from crying, she closed her eyes, it hurt to think. She just wanted to sleep.

When Rosabella awoke, she was being carried into the village bath house. Her head rolled, her eyes stung from the sunlight, she hadn’t seen the sun in days. The woman who carried her stripped her of her dress and proceeded to wash her body clean. The bath water smelled of rose petals. She tried to pull herself free but the women only shushed her, and carried on.

Once the bath was finished, they dried her up and dressed in a simple red dress with a hood. It didn’t fit her well. They didn’t even have the courtesy to make her a dress that fit? Rosabella found herself unable to care. They brushed and braided her hair, painted red paint to her lips and took her outside.

There the villagers were waiting. An altar was built in the center of the village, she swallowed thickly.

“Please… don’t do this…” They all ignored her.

She was set upon the altar, and chained up once more. Her eyes searched the crowd, but she saw neither Cassandra or Grandmère. Good. She didn’t want them to see her. To see her as a sacrificial lamb.

The Shaman did his prayer that Rosabella didn’t bother to listen too. It was just a formality in her opinion. A nice way to send someone to their death. Afterwards, the Shaman sent everyone off to their homes when the sun began to set.

Well, it won’t be long now. She closed her eyes.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was deep into the night, she saw a figure looming over her. “... Cassandra?”

Cassandra smiles. “Hello Rose!” She whispered. She looked to another figure, who was pulling on the chains.

Rosabella gasps, she sits up. “Grandmère… What are you both doing here?!”

“Hush! We’re breaking you free, what else does it look like?” She says in a low voice. Grandmère turned her attention back to picking the locks. The chains fall to the altar.

“But!”

“I don’t want to hear a word about you being a sacrifice! It’s looney that’s what it is.” She grumbles. Rosabella stared in wonder.

“We better hurry.” She says as she pulls Rosabella up, quickly taking her hand and guiding her away.

“I’m not letting those fools murder my grandchild.”

The old woman leads the two girls through the woods, past her cottage. On the edge of the forest a dirt path comes to view with an open carriage with a horse waiting for them. Grandmère lifts the girls into the carriage She groans a bit picking up the girls before she climbs in. Once they settle she reaches into her satchel and pulls out a beautiful bright red embroidered cloak and hands it to Rosabella.

“I was saving this for your 16th birthday, but now you’ll just have to grow into it.” The old woman smiles gently as she cups her granddaughter’s cheek.”

Rosabella stared at the beautiful cloak. Gently stroking it before putting it on, she smiles. “It's wonderful, Grandmère, thank you.”

The old woman smiles before she looks at Cassandra. “Are you still sure?”

Cassandra nods with a smile of her own, “There’s no turning back.”

The old woman nods before she reaches into her dress pocket, pulling out a piece of parchment and handing it to the driver. “Go to the city. No stops.”

The driver nods before he looks to forward. The carriage moves departs, the old woman and two girls escape the village, just as a wolf howls. They were free.

#Original story #Red Riding Hood #asunshinepuff ocs #our ocs #Rosabella Louve #Cassandra Azure #Royce Azure #Erinna Azure #Grandmere #cw weapons #cw sacrifice attempt #Werewolves #Curse #not my pic.#ladynightmare ocs

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mcnypieces · 4 years

Text

A month later and at last I come bearing an update once again. It’s bound to be incredibly lengthy as life has not been its most placid, but I am here nonetheless.

TL;DR for those also struggling with their time recently: Life stressful, Bun scare, WoW fun but friend/Mythic+ group is a mess due to losing a friend to toxicity, I will likely be remaking this multimuse blog and starting fresh there to give me more incentive to be around to write comfortably in a fresh, happy, non-cluttered place, complete with a new Birkan OC I talked about some months before now. Though I haven’t technically decided and was going to ask opinions, I will likely still be remaking, as everything here is a mess. Lulu’s blog will remain as is for now, as I am attached to it and has retained more activity from me ( not much more, however ), though I have also considered moving her with everyone as well to keep everyone in one place and maybe make my mind feel more focused in a collective space. I’m still very much on the fence about it. Thoughts on that are welcome.

There was a bit of optimism at the beginning of my break to play WoW. However, a little less than a day into the launch, I noticed something off about the youngest of my rabbits. Hazel, a netherland dwarf gifted to me by a neighbor down the way during Christmas a couple years ago so she had friends and wasn’t alone during the day, developed a head tilt. It was enough to be noticeable, but nowhere near the cases most see posted in pictures. Head tilt in rabbits is often a very serious thing, as it can cause permanent damage and even death if not treated immediately. Anything from an injury to unkempt ears to a common parasite ( which is technically classified as a fungus ) to neurological troubles - the range is about as vast as self-diagnosing with WebMD. Torticollis in rabbits has a bunch of different causes, very few of which are relatively mild.

I was - to say the least - in absolute hysterics. She was off balance, tripping over herself, curling up into herself trying to keep footing. To somebody that’s never seen it in person before, it looks like you’re watching an animal on the verge of passing from something neurological. I had no idea what was going on. To be frank, I was absolutely terrified. It was 1AM and very few vets were 24-hour, especially in this crisis, much less ones that could look at rabbits. I steeled myself to call the closest one for recommendations on what to do and where to go. Naturally, I was told there was nothing this place could do besides euthanasia ─ which, in my very emotional state, I was incredibly offended by the mere immediate suggestion of. Hazel had been acting completely normal up until then, and she still had her energy. She was trying to climb all over the place despite having no balance, and she showed no other symptoms of anything besides just tilting and falling over herself. At this point obviously I know they were simply stating that was the only thing they could do as they don’t take exotic pets, but in the moment, being offered it as the first and seemingly only solution made me upset. I’m sure that would be anybody in that situation. So, of course, I refused, and they told me of other places that would be able to at least see her at that time and give me more sound options.

I find a 24 hour emergency pet clinic about thirty minutes away. There’s a place that for sure takes exotics, but it’s 2 hours away and closed at this hour. Okay, fine, I don’t have time to wait with this. I call the 24 hour clinic. They tell me they do see exotics and can treat the basics but they don’t have the equipment to properly diagnose anything for certain. Unfortunate, but I don’t have any other options at this point. They say they will take her and monitor her behavior to figure out where I should go from there. I take her there. I try not to break down again on the ride there, I try not to break down as they take her padded comfy box from me. They tell me they have another, more serious case they have to see to immediately but will monitor her and do a basic check-up. It will take them an hour at minimum, and I was welcome to stay in the parking lot. I decide against it, go home to clean up and prep a space for her while trying to steel myself more. It takes a couple hours for them to call back.

Lo and behold, they have no idea what’s wrong. As stated when I called, aside from the head tilting, she is acting completely normal. Eating, going to the bathroom, has her energy, no leg or eye issues that are common with the usual problems that lead to head tilting. What tests they can run are absolutely normal. They gave her what they referred to as “a bunny feast”, and she delighted herself in it with no problems, and they even brushed her down for me ( I didn’t get the chance yet, her winter coat was just coming in ). She just has a head tilt all of a sudden, out of nowhere. This is great news, but it’s also upsetting, because I still have no idea what’s going on. They give me medication for an infection and Metacam for the potential pain she could have been in, and sent me on my way to monitor her at home. If anything changed for the worse, I would take her to the vet in Raleigh two hours away to have actual tests done.

Okay, so I’m still in the dark on what’s wrong, but I have medication. Great. I watch her for two weeks, give her the infection medication every 12 hours and the pain medication the first 4 days. And, in time, her head tilt begins to disappear. That tells both the doctor and I that it was either 1) an ear infection, which was now cured, or 2) an injury. My mind has me leaning towards the latter, if only because I know how fast she runs all over the place and Jolyne, my cat, does play with her. They have done so for years now without issue, often times Jojo will be running away from Hazel rather than vice versa. Hazel will do loops back and forth and then suddenly charge at her in an attempt to catch her off guard. I have not let her out with Jojo since then in case roughhousing was in fact the cause, but Hazel is back to running around like the crazy thing she is. I’m still watching her every day, and all the rabbits will hopefully be getting new, large hutches for Christmas. Hazel’s has been ordered. To this moment, I still have no idea what caused her head tilt. What I did learn, however, is that there are a lot of rabbits that get euthanized due to head tilt, when most of the ailments - if caught early enough and with lengthy TLC - can be cured. Rabbits can even live happily with the tilt should it become permanent ( which it can be! ). Here is a happy bun who lived a wonderful life with a permanent head tilt. Much worse than the way Hazel’s was, but the common bad tilt nonetheless. I called to tell them the great news, how grateful I was they could do anything at all, and they were ecstatic to have me call them back. Things in that regard are now back to normal, but I keep an eye on her as per usual. Definitely not the kind of scare I was expecting out of nowhere, but one I received nonetheless.

During the time I monitored her and kept her close at my side in her hutch ( I went out of the way to move her hutch in with me when I cleaned it, because why wouldn’t I? ), I enjoyed the launch of Shadowlands. My main WoW friend group, A/B/C/D/E, were all playing and content with what was happening. We even were talking to old friends, thinking about raiding, had two new friends coming to learn to play the game. It was great! But then base Mythics came out, and things went sour out of nowhere.

One of our long time friends in our original Mythic+ group became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. We’ve all had our disagreements and issues with said friend for some time, as he has been very negative the past few months and a hamper on the friend group even before launch. Everyone knows things are at an all time low, and the world is not in its best state - but we come to play games to get away from the realities of things. We’re here to have fun and kid around, not to mope. This is not to say we’re not here to be supportive if something is genuinely wrong, or that sadness just isn’t allowed ever. That would be silly. We’re always here to support each other in rough times, and such is the reason we’re as tight-knit as we are to begin with. Always has been the case.

However, this was not your typical sad sort of negative. This was the permanent “Glass is Half Empty” mentality. Everything had to be negative. Win a BG match? He didn’t have fun because he got targeted down one time when he was alone on a caster. Clear base Mythics for the first time of the expansion? No time to celebrate, because he didn’t get a piece of gear out of it, or he didn’t do the burst he wanted on a trash pack because we didn’t cater to his pull plan. During the second week of Mythics, he was constantly complaining about not getting gear drops to the point it was making other members upset. No one likes doing eight dungeons, getting one or two drops, and both being pieces you don’t need. Hell, I did Mythic+ this entire week since it came out and I still have a Heroic neck on my body because it has a socket and great stats and I’ve not gotten another drop since. But to complain about not getting a drop and dunking on people who are getting the upgrade ─ which, in turn, betters the group ─ is just ridiculous. This was not exclusive to just WoW, either. Everything they played together when I was not present, he acted the same way ─ negative, upsetting, and very, very defensive whenever someone would tell him to knock it off. He’d pull the “oh you don’t care about me” card. He constantly felt like people were coming after him, even when nobody ever was, and that everyone just had something against him and we kept him there out of sheer pity ─ which was infuriating to all of us, the people who still considered him a friend and cared about him to tolerate the toxic behavior and try to work through it. He’d pretend to be a victim if you tried to call him out on bad behavior, acting as if he was being singled out, while also bad mouthing other people and poking fun at them and then disguising it as a joke ( or in his case, “a meme” ). When you’d do the same back, he’d pull the whole “dude that’s not cool, I get you’re joking but it’s not funny” attitude every time. He had to be right all the time, and if you tried to tell him he was wrong, he’d fight you on it until the bloody end, even when proven wrong earlier. He wanted to be catered to and, if things weren’t going the way he wanted, he was negative. If he wasn’t having fun, nobody else was allowed to have fun.

Friend A, who is essentially our leader that brought everybody together and often makes calls for the group ( though in reality we’re all just an aimless bunch of friends messing around and having fun ), has known Friend C for a longer than any of us. He considers him his best friend, and they have been close for many years since Cataclysm. We’re all friends, of course, but A and C have been close for a very long time. They are very supportive of one another, regardless of what happens, and always have been. However, even Friend A is getting very frustrated with Friend C’s behavior. Friend C has not always been like this. In fact, he used to be the complete opposite. He loves the guy to death and back, but the other members, particularly Friend D, is getting into mini verbal fisticuffs during dungeons disguised as friendly fun being poked and forth almost every night. Friend D complains about Friend C behind his back ( which he has been asked to tone down and, some nights, has been agreed with based on the issue at hand ). A new coworker of Friend A who is also a very chill, cool person had her own reservations about him when she joined due to his behavior and it kept her from joining voice calls. Hell, I got into an argument with him a week before launch due to his behavior, to which he tried to invalidate my argument by claiming I was “coming after him” and therefore my side was automatically invalid because I had a “personal vendetta” against him and me “shit-talking” him while making my points “comes off a certain way” ─ when the point I was making had absolutely nothing to do with him personally. Again, the same “I’m being attacked” mentality, when no such thing was happening.

Eventually one night while he was complaining about loot, Friend A had a talk with him about not complaining about not getting loot anymore, as it was wearing on everyone’s nerves. Mythic+ would come out soon, loot would be flowing in, and everyone would eventually be geared, including him. This wasn’t the first time he was talked to in regards to the way he’d been acting in general. He agreed to tone it down, and that was that. But guess what? That didn’t happen. The next night we finish up our Mythics, and he has to physically stop himself from making a comment and covers it up with “nope, I promised I wouldn’t complain about loot” with a tone that sounds like someone is struggling really, really hard not to say something and is holding back. Normally this would be something nobody cares about and is part of the process but this isn’t the first time he said something about it. He then proceeds to complain anyway, spends night questioning the tank’s ( Friend D at the time ) pulls and complaining about being beat in DPS every other pull because “oh I don’t have gear cause the game hates me so-” when he’s not even doing his AoE rotation properly ( found this out later after everything fell through ). His attitude is so negative it’s affecting the way he plays and, to put it bluntly, he’s playing and acting like shit.

So Friend A sits him down. Again. At this point he’s still trying his absolute best to work things out with him, but his foot has come down. His behavior for months has been toxic. People are getting fed up. He’s bringing down group morale. Everyone is worried his attitude is going to make the new people who are trying to learn the game quit because he’s constantly shit talking the game and pretending the world is ending in voice. Friend A tells him he’s here for him still and how he’s always here to talk if life is a mess and Friend C is still welcome, but he needs to get his shit straight. By the end of the chat, Friend C claims “that’s just how he is” and he can’t do anything about it ─ which is just such bullshit. We know good and well how he really is, and this ain’t it. He’s just too lazy, full of himself, and down on his luck to acknowledge he has a problem. He says it’s shitty of us not to “accept him for who he is” and how we all know his life is shit and that he’s justified. Friend A essentially tells him he doesn’t want somebody like that in his group. Friend C takes this as “oh I don’t want you here period”, essentially says “well I don’t want to be in a group that just pities me and takes me along because they feel bad and not because they’re actually my friends”, leaves the discord group, removes Friend A from discord, removes friend A from Battle.net, then blocks him in both places. Out of nowhere. Friend A then comes to announce that Friend C will no longer be a part of our group. This is a TL;DR, since I wasn’t there for the conversation and it’s been a little bit since I’ve asked Friend A exactly what was said and feel it inappropriate to ask for specifics again since it’s all behind us now and that night still upsets him to this moment.

Since then, Friend C has come back to try and make amends to everyone, especially the group, as he dropped without telling anybody out of frustration and essentially said “fuck you” to the entire group because he was upset at his best friend. Friend A was very emotional about it after it happened as, like said, this was his best friend who essentially just claimed he didn’t care about him at all and just pitied him despite doing everything he could to try to keep everybody happy and even catering to Friend C at times against his better judgement. Despite that, however, Friend A has stated multiple times he would not even take Friend C back as a friend unless he had a life evaluation first. Friend A and Friend C sat down to have another talk after the dust settled so Friend C could apologize, as Friend C reached out supposedly to do so, but he still acted as though he didn’t do anything wrong. He swore constantly on his dog-who-he-loved-dearly’s ashes he didn’t say the shitty things he said to Friend A that night. He didn’t own up to anything he said or did, only apologized for leaving immediately and dipping on everyone else, as he worried he’d “burned the bridge”. Friend A did not welcome him back with open arms but told him his doors were still open to talk and were never closed to begin with ( Friend C closed them himself by leaving suddenly, after all ) and that he could talk to him again when he figured everything out. Everyone is at least on speaking terms again, but he has not rejoined the discord nor the game group, and wasn’t even playing for a time. Now he’s supposedly playing and having fun again on his own terms and doing things we haven’t. Supposedly. So our Mythic+ group had a gap in it, which was filled by one of the new friends who just started playing. Both new players in our group are learning fast, but it has slowed our progression down, which we accept. People have swapped around classes to find accommodations as well, with Friend A now tanking and Friend D healing as they did before, delaying progress further. But now with things decided and in place, we will begin to push again. After all, it’s only the first week of Mythic+. We haven’t really lost any important progress.

Friend A was very upset and felt like there was more he could’ve done, but everyone in the group has told him day in and day out there was nothing else he could’ve done. Friend C still has a lot to sort out and has seemingly taken absolutely nothing from this situation.

Both of these situations, on top of the seizures the person I consider a second mom to me still happening ( which she went in for today to be looked at again while she’s being treated for something else ), has made writing nigh impossible. I have been having a lot of fun playing WoW and the issue with Friend C, while a big hamper on things in the moment, hasn’t stopped me from enjoying it as is. Both the major hospitals near me have recently announced they are at full capacity on virus patients and will no longer be accepting more of them and, so long as there’s no immediate reason to do so, have asked people to stay inside as much as possible because of it. With Hazel’s emergency making me miss my dad’s small Thanksgiving as I was up all night that night and it was the next day, this means I will also not make it to his Christmas. I did not go to my mom’s get-together for Christmas either, as it was at her restaurant where she works and the number of people there made me nervous. She was sad, but there’s nothing I could really do to justify the risk. The fact people still want to have any kind of gathering even for the holidays blows my mind.

That all being said, things have calmed down enough for me to consider making another attempt at writing again and retuning to the blogs I have missed dearly. The breaks are always nice, but I’ve had to take far too many of late, and struggling with the energy and mindset to write for months is really starting to get under this bun’s blue fur. In the time I’ve been away I’ve thought about remaking this blog, as it’s a complete mess and riddled with old things that are no longer a part of it. My tags are messed up, my info is all over the place, and I feel as though a fresh place filled with friends who are still active might speed up the process of getting me back on track. In addition to that, I’ve thought more about the OC idea I brought up some time ago and will be adding said OC to the roster once things are set-up, assuming I go through with the idea. I’ve also considered adding Lulubelle to the multimuse as well to keep everyone in one place, but as I’m attached to her blog and hers is more organized, I’m reluctant to do so. It is a thought and consideration, nonetheless. It will all take some time to do, but afterward, assuming it goes as expected, activity will resume once again.

It will take some time, but hopefully things will be back to the way they were soon enough. ♥

#❥ // * the rabbit stowaway ( ooc. )#❥ // * shouting from the scaffold ( psa. )#❥ // * ever running on stories of the sea ( long post. )#|| holy moly this is so long I'm so sorry #tl;dr is plenty enough of an update.#but it felt reassuring to type out the hectic events of the month.#I know it's unnecessary but explaining my absence makes me feel better about it.#I have high hopes and nothing will stop me from kicking down the proverbial door.#I will return as I planned if it's the last thing I do.#I swear on my little bunny life. ||

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